Could Russia or another entity influence the vote in future elections? Some believe an investment in time, energy, and money, along with the appropriate technology, could lead to an . . .
Election Correction
“Jordan, I’m sick and tired of hearing the candidates bash each other. They don’t talk about what they can do, but only about what their opponents can’t do.”
“And the name calling by candidates from both major parties is inappropriate, Denise.”
“I don’t trust any of them. The logic of their statements eludes most people—even some of the brightest minds.”
“I suppose you consider yourself one of those intellectuals who does get it, Denise?”
“Well, some people might place me in that category.”
“Maybe so. And you know, Denise, the ethics of all the candidates are at best questionable.”
“Yeah, using a personal computer to transmit highly confidential information. Can you believe that? There is no way I could back that candidate for the highest office in the land.”
“Denise, Jordan, you can stop now. Thank you. You’ve done as I asked in your opening statements about the election, without mentioning names or making unsubstantiated accusations to support your remarks,” Dr. Winkler stated. “Class, let’s give them a hand.”
Applause resonated throughout the room that day in 2016, just seven months away from the November general election. I admired Dr. Winkler. He was a talented Political Science professor and I enjoyed all the classes I’d taken with him at Boston Proper University—three to be exact.
As Jordan Rush, the soon to be graduate student at Washington D.C. University, I sat at a desk in the outer office adjoining the plush offices of Senator Warren Bradshaw, and reflected on my undergraduate college years, which culminated with my graduation two months ago, in June. I did well, and my academic success landed me a summer internship in the District of Columbia, where I worked closely with Senator Bradshaw, one of the most respected politicians in the nation’s capital.
In my short time in this position, my on-the-job experience had been both eye opening and mind-boggling. I learned the ins-and-outs of what I concluded to be a somewhat corrupt political system. Many did not tell the truth. They seemed to care only about themselves. Determined to be better than what I’d witnessed, I began to craft my political future in a way that just might change the outcome of this and future general elections, in a positive way.
As such, I placed a phone call to Denise, my college “power partner.” The phone rang and rang. Dammit, I thought. She’s not picking up. My mind drifted. But then . . .
“Hello,” a pleasing, high-pitched voice brought me back to reality.
“Denise, it’s Jordan.”
“Well, Jordan, my man, why have you taken so long to call?”
“Hey, it’s only been two months.”
“That’s a long time. My hair’s starting to turn gray.”
“Yeah, you’re becoming an old woman.”
“You better believe it. I’ll be twenty-two in six months.”
“See, you are old.”
“Okay, Jordan, cut it out. To what do I owe your gracing my ears with your melodic tones.”
“Denise, my sweet, I have a proposition for you.”
“I don’t do sex with someone who hasn’t called me in two months.”
“That would be nice, but that’s not the proposal I had in mind.”
“Then what?”
“How would you like to determine the outcome of the November election?”
“You’re dreaming, Jordan. Two soon to-be graduate students have no control over the political machinery running awry in these screwed up candidates’ bids for office.”
“But maybe we do.”
“All right, prove it to me.”
“Meet me at eight o’clock Wednesday evening at the Celebration Café. I’ve reserved the back room.”
“But I’m not in Washington, I’m in Boston.”
“The plane ticket you’ll receive in the mail will get you here in time for the meeting. And I’ve made a hotel reservation for you, as well.
“Gee, a whole meeting room just for the two of us. And a hotel reservation, too. Very flattering. So you are making a move on me.”
“You can fantasize all you want. But no, my dear Denise, we will not be alone at the café and you will be alone in your hotel room and I will be in mine. I thought we might need some chaperones for our rendezvous, so I invited two to join us.”
“Oh, that’s nice . . . a double date.”
“Yes, in a matter of speaking.”
“Who are these people?”
“Let’s just say, if we have any chance of affecting the outcome of the election, we need these two on our side.”
“Where’d you find them?”
“Interns see and hear a lot. I’m a looker and listener and data flows into my magnificent brain. However, these two just dropped into my life one day. Seemed to know I came from Boston. And we have a common interest. In my brief conversations with them, they appeared to be as dissatisfied with upcoming election as you and I are.”
“Magnificent brain. That’s what I love about you, Jordan. And you’re so humble.”
“You don’t get anywhere in Washington by being humble.”
“Then okay, I’ll see you Wednesday evening. Oh, will you pick me up at the airport?”
“I can’t, but a driver will meet you outside the baggage claim area. Look for a tall, sexy blonde holding a sign with your name. He’ll drive you to the hotel. See you soon. Bye.”
I couldn’t wait to see Denise. Throughout my college years, she was like the other half of me, in an intellectual way. We made things happen. Not quite on the scale of what I was contemplating, but still impressive. We orchestrated most college elections—tried our best to make them fair.
Wednesday evening arrived. When I entered the door of the café, Christian Robinson and Angela Walker were waiting for me. Christian, a tall, brown-haired man of about thirty-five, paced back and forth in the lobby of the restaurant. Sitting on the padded bench beside the door, the redheaded Angela, a few years his senior, rapidly moved her fingers to the music playing over the café’s sound system.
Before I could speak, Angela moaned, “It’s about time. We’ve been here for fifteen minutes.”
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was only two minutes after eight. Rather than engage in a battle with a woman I wanted to be a part of my team, I kept my reply to myself. “Nice to see you again, Angela. How are you doing Christian?”
He nodded his head and muttered, “Good, very good.”
“Where’s the girl?” Angela inquired.
“I sent a car for her. She should be here any minute.”
“You’ve kept your mouth shut about your plan, haven’t you?” Angela queried. “I have too much invested in the world I’ve created here in Washington to have it blown up by a scheme wandering around in your young mind, no matter how good you think it is.”
“Yes, I’ve kept quiet. Just the three of us—and Denise—know it exists and only I know the details. I haven’t even discussed them with her. I’m getting a bit worried. She should have been here by now.”
Christian gave me a weird look. “I’m not going to wait much longer,” he stated. “My time is valuable.”
“Yes, mine, too,” Angela said, shaking her head. “Why don’t we get on with our discussion without your young lady? You said she doesn’t know the details. So why wait?”
“Because she has the technical expertise to make the plan work. I’m only one piece of this puzzle,” I asserted.
Both Angela and Christian nodded to one another. Christian turned and started toward the door. Angela got up from the bench and followed him. Then something strange happened. Angela looked over her shoulder and murmured just loud enough for me to hear. “Was your plan to murder one or more of the prospective candidates?”
This question blew my mind. What was she thinking? I stood there in silence. The next thing I knew, I found my face pressed against the wall. I couldn’t see anything. Then someone grabbed my hands and handcuffed them behind my back and read me my rights.
“You’ve got the recording of his unwillingness to answer the question, Angela?” a voice echoed behind me.
“Sure do. He’s been planning this for months. Said he had to change the outcome of the election and he knew how to get it done.”
“But . . . but, you don’t understand!" I yelled.
“Turn him around. I want to see his face,” a male voice ordered.
And when they did, I was staring at two men in suits. One, a large gray-haired man, in his fifties, shouted, “What don’t we understand?”
Trembling, I screamed, “That I never planned to murder anyone.”
At that moment, a figure wearing a hoody and a mask came through the café door and stood before me, with what looked like a knife in its hand. This scared the hell out of me. I began to sweat profusely. “What do you want from me?” I whimpered.
The masked intruder ran its fingers over my cheek. And then a soft woman’s voice murmured, “Now aren’t you sorry you waited two months to call me?”
“Huh? Denise?”
No response. She just ignored me. But then what came out of her mouth left me dumbfounded.
“Hello, cousin Angela. And nice to see you again, Christian.”
“You know them, Denise?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But why am I being arrested?”
“Arrested, . . . no. Accosted, maybe. But not arrested.”
“But these federal agents—the handcuffs?”
“Federal agents? Not really. Hello, Daddy. And how are you, my wonderful brother, Doug?”
“What’s this all about?”
“I decided, if you met my family, I might be able to push our relationship to the next level.”
“Next level?”
“And, by the way, I cancelled your room reservation. The bed in mine is big enough for two.”
Copyright © 2016 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
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