A Simple Choice - Hardcover

Pepper, David

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593419731 ISBN 13: 9780593419731

Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

A propulsive political thriller featuring two outsiders caught up in a stunning conspiracy, filled with details and twists that only a true political insider could write.

When one of the nation’s most prestigious senators jumps from a cliff in Maine, it is no surprise that the political elite and the media flock to the story, determined to uncover what has happened--and whether foul play was involved. Palmer Knight, a fast-rising TV news correspondent, is sent to cover the mysterious death, and finds himself embroiled in a plot that goes far beyond the Senate and onto the global stage.

Meanwhile, Army veteran and former Supreme Court clerk Amity Jones thought she had left the fast lane behind when she moved to Ohio to care for her cancer-stricken mother. But her dogged pursuit of a local medical mystery places bring her back to the world of politics, and ultimately into Palmer's investigation of the senator’s death. The unlikely duo, brought together by seemingly unconnected events, soon find themselves enmeshed in a political conspiracy that reaches the highest levels of power, and places their lives—and many others—in terrible danger.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David Pepper is the author of The Voter File, The People's House, and The Wingman, all of which feature Jack Sharpe. He earned his B.A. from Yale University and his J.D. from Yale Law School. He has clerked for a judge on the United States Court of Appeals, served in local elected office in Ohio, worked for major law firms, and taught election and voting rights law. Prior to law school, Pepper worked in St. Petersburg, Russia, for the Washington-based Center for Strategic and International Studies. In 2015, he was unanimously elected Chairman of the Democratic Party of Ohio.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

Pemaquid Point, Maine

The gray grooved rocks and the old lighthouse atop them had served as center stage for Senator Duke Garber's most pivotal moments. So there was only one place to do what he needed to do now.

He parked the old black Ford pickup in the dirt parking lot at the bottom of the rocky hill. With the sun inching above the horizon, wisps of yellow and orange streaking north and south, he'd counted on being alone.

But a white station wagon sat parked at the far end of the lot. No doubt it was that of the tall woman who walked her two chocolate Labs here most days. She'd often arrive later in the morning, as he was leaving. They'd share polite nods as they crossed paths.

He peered up the hill toward the lighthouse. Nobody there. She must've been on the dirt path that hugged the shoreline, the same trail where he'd walked his golden retriever, Max, for years. Or, in later years, where Max had walked him.

The good news was that she would recognize his car and think nothing of it.

He turned off the engine, left the key in the ignition, and opened the truck door. He grunted as he lifted the heavy work boot off the floorboard and onto the rider along the truck's side. He lugged his right foot over, then lowered both boots to the lot's dusty surface.

Leaning against the truck, he stood upright to his full, wiry six feet two inches—two inches shorter than the peak height that had served him well, apart from his three years as a paratrooper in Vietnam, where his size made him a juicy target. The 3.5-liter engine went silent, and he swiveled his head-his right ear was the better one-to enjoy the full symphony of the Atlantic crashing into the craggy Maine coast. Above the steady breeze came the percussion: first the thundering crash of waves against rock, then the fizz of the water receding.

He opened the truck's rear driver's-side door and pulled out the gray backpack. He'd bought it in nearby Bristol the day before, then filled it with gravel from his driveway in New Harbor. Every bone in his torso must've creaked as he hauled the thirty pounds onto his back and cinched two nylon straps tight around his shoulders. He buckled two more sets of straps at his sternum and waist.

He trudged up the slick striated rocks. Like the rings of an ancient redwood, horizontal streaks of white, rust, black, and gray marked different minerals piling up over passing eras. Droplets of frigid ocean spray kissed his cheeks and forehead. The pungent whiff of salt water and fish wafted into his nostrils, a stench only a lifelong Mainer could love.

With each labored step, memories rushed back in pinpoint detail. As a kid playing with his two sisters under the watchful eye of his mother. As a teenager making out with Maude Fletcher in his souped-up Dodge Charger in the spot where the station wagon was now parked. Exchanging vows with Kay at the very top. His own kids climbing every inch of these rocks, year after year, before they moved west. Walking with Kay, then with Max, then alone.

But notable moments at Pemaquid Point spanned beyond the personal.

Whenever things got tough-close elections, tough decisions, moments calling for thoughtful deliberation-the senator had paced these rocks in silence.

Goose bumps pricked along his forearms as he stepped out of the glow of the rising sun into the long, cool shadow of the lighthouse. Shrouded in a similar shadow, he'd called President Bush to let him know he opposed the Iraq war. He grinned, recalling the machine-gun spray of Texan profanity the commander in chief had fired back his way. His decision, wildly unpopular at the time, had aged far better than he had.

Higher up the rocks, he passed a weather-worn cedar bench. A decade before, sitting on that bench, he'd pulled the plug on a nascent campaign for the White House. He'd second-guessed himself ever since. President Robinson had been a huge disappointment. He could've beaten her that year, and he would've done better by the country. He could've been one of the greats.

Past the bench, up and to the left, an exceptional slab of pearl-gray granite jutted out amid the flat sandstone surrounding it. As long as his truck, it burst upward several feet in the air, folding over at its top like a thick blanket over the back of a couch. Geologists explained that it, too, was once horizontal, but that extreme pressure and heat created the distinct fold of rock millions of years ago.

Whatever the cause, Duke considered it Mother Nature's perfect lectern. It was where he'd launched his first campaign for the House decades earlier, along with his first Senate race ten years later. And it was there, on a spring morning three years past, that Duke had stood proudly next to Colorado governor Janet Moore and endorsed her for the presidency.

It was a decisive moment in the campaign-many said the final nail in the GOP coffin-given that Duke was a Republican and Moore a Democrat. He and the president had been close ever since. She offered him the secretary of defense post months later, but he declined. His chairmanship was the better job, a perch from where he guarded every one of America's most valued secrets-and knew more than any other elected official in the nation short of the president herself. Plus the diagnosis had just come in.

As he climbed farther, the waves thundered loudly enough that they even penetrated his nearly useless left ear. Usually therapeutic, the ocean's roar now churned his stomach. The higher he stepped, the tighter his chest squeezed, allowing only short, quick breaths.

Still, he kept plodding up the hill. Sills of multicolored rock, some with edges as sharp as knives, now towered over him on one side. Crevices and creases at his feet grew wider and more perilous.

After years of back pain and endless steroid shots, his withered legs didn't move the way they used to. He concentrated on each step as if navigating an obstacle course. If he tripped or hesitated in any way, it might tempt him to reconsider. And reconsidering would be a mistake.

He'd made the choice, eyes wide-open. This had always been one of the possible outcomes. And delaying would make things worse for so many.

He passed the lighthouse, absorbing its simple grandeur one last time. The white stone. The antique lens. The flashing red light. The quaint keeper's house behind it, now a museum that preserved the region's story-and would soon tell his own. Pemaquid's lighthouse had become his anchor, a source of serenity in a world buffeted by chaos. Of many major accomplishments with nationwide or worldwide implications, he was just as proud of his quiet work to keep this little gem open all these years, squirreling money into the Coast Guard's budget to sustain it.

As he neared the highest rock, roundish and creamy gray, gulls circled overhead. One landed on the cliff's edge, squawking loudly and flapping its wings, as if warning the town's most famous resident that he was getting too close. Through the breeze, the muffled sound of dogs barking echoed from the far side of the lighthouse. Probably the old lady's Labs on the trail below.

He ignored it all.

Instead, he pulled the backpack's straps even tighter, as he'd do before jumping out of an airplane decades before.

With the edge now only feet away, both legs shuddered as if pleading for him to turn around.

He clenched his jaw. He'd made his choice long ago. There was no stopping now.

He focused all his energy on his right leg, the stronger of the two. He lifted it up, forced it forward for a long stride, then planted it firmly onto the steeply angled rock.

His left took more effort-a dragging motion more than a true step.

Then back to his right. The workhorse. His longest stride yet landed on the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593419731
• ISBN 13: 9780593419731
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 416
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar