The Undertaker

“Let me venture a guess, Pete. I bet the good major told you he was calling the FBI and they would swoop in here and whisk the two of you off to a safe house somewhere in the lovely Virginia countryside. Is that what he told you?” Tinkerton's eyes twinkled with amusement. “He was calling in the cavalry to the rescue, the bad guys would go to jail, and the two of you would live happily ever after? Is that the fairy tale you told them, Major? Oh, shame on you.”

Hardin glared at Tinkerton, but the Senator did not answer.

“The cavalry?” Tinkerton walked to the window and looked down into dark side city street beneath the window. “I don't see any horses, but there is a large, midnight-blue Mercedes with New Jersey license plates parked down there by the side door. Did you know that, Tim? Is that what the FBI is driving these days? Mercedes Benz sedans with Jersey license plates. Or, could that be a couple of Rico Patillo's gunmen sitting inside?”

He backed away and motioned me to the window with the Glock. “Come over here, Pete. Take a look for yourself… Carefully, very carefully.”

I stepped to the window and sure enough, there was a large, dark Mercedes parked in the side street near the building's rear entrance.

Tinkerton motioned me back to the chair. “You phoned the good Senator here and told him you and your little slut were coming down to Washington, right here to his office where you'd be safe, so you could personally hand him Louie Panozzo's files on those flash drives, didn't you?” Tinkerton shook his head. “You are such a fool, Pete. Do you have any idea what you had in your pocket? Do you? You were handing Timmy the world on a silver platter, on Rico Patillo's platter, and that Mercedes is what you were going to get in return, you and “Miz” Kasmarek.”

He motioned toward the Marine Corps flag standing in the far corner of the room, surrounded by all his photographs and decorations. “A Silver Star,” he shook his head sadly. “The voters ate that up, didn't they, Major? You should read the citation, it would make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. “Heroism above and beyond…” at “the risk of his own life…” against “a skilled and resourceful enemy…” and all the rest of that crap. It was great stuff, really. It took Sergeant Dannmeyer and me half the night and a bottle of Chivas in a Saudi bar to put that crap down on paper without vomiting.”

Tinkerton turned and glared angrily at him. “Semper Fidelis, Major? Did I hear you say “Semper Fi!” Always faithful. Duty. Honor. Country. Too bad you never understood any of it, Timmy.”

Slowly he walked around the chair until he stood behind Hardin and began tapping the Glock's silencer lightly against the side of the Senator's head. “It may sounds trite, Pete, but there really is no honor among thieves. None whatsoever.” He leaned over, almost whispering in Hardin's ear. “I might be a fanatic when it comes to things I truly believe in, but Timmy here doesn't believe in anything, not a goddamned thing except himself, his ego, and his career. He is an unrepentant crook, plain and simple, and all he wants is power. He was selling you two out and he was about to sell me out right along with you. Can't say Timmy didn't aim high though, that he didn't set some ambitious goals for himself. What he was buying, was nothing less than the White House.”

“You need to watch the caffeine, Ralph; it's making you a bit paranoid.” Hardin tried to laugh, desperate to regain some of his old composure. “The White House? You've gone way over the top this time.”

Tinkerton's smile faded as he swung the automatic in a short, vicious blow, raking the barrel across the Senator's cheek. “Semper Fi! How's that for “over the top” and “paranoid,” old buddy?”

The blow snapped Hardin's head sideways. Stunned, his hand went to his cheek and came away streaked with blood. Tinkerton was skilled at knowing a man's vanities and weaknesses, and he knew Hardin by heart. The Senator cowered in his chair as Tinkerton stepped closer and pointed the Glock at Hardin's head. “You ungrateful bastard, I have you on tape working the whole thing out with Rico Patillo!” Tinkerton pressed the silencer against the bridge of Hardin's nose. “What was it you called me? “A liability?” You told him it was, “time to cut our losses?” Isn't that what you told Rico… Major?”

Tinkerton was red hot now and I was surprised he didn't blow the Senator's brains all over the office carpet, right then. He looked at me and said, “Pete, we deserved better than this — you and I. If you had only listened to me back there in Columbus, boy, you and me, we had it all.”