24 – The Hunt For Red November – Chapter 36

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Chapter 36

THERE WAS SOMETHING about this section of Point Lookout Road with it abundant lush tree forests that reminded him of home. 

His home town of Magnolia Springs, Alabama had long stretches of tree lined roads like this one and the one on Lighthouse Road, his final destination.  There were no glaring street lights or the constant din of humanity.  There was only the road and his thoughts.

During the summer months – once or twice a week when he’d make the long drive – he’d roll down the driver side window and listen to the familiar sounds of chirping crickets and Oystercatchers.  The clean fresh scent emanating from the Loblolly pines and the Potomac River were intoxicating.  So was the thought of the unbridled sex that lay at the end of these tree lined roads.

He could feel himself harden as he turned off Piney Point Road onto Lighthouse Road and listened to the tires as they bumped along the narrow two lane road that led to the little whitewashed wood frame house that he’d purchased in her name. It was secluded; sitting some twelve feet back from the road and was shrouded in tall Loblolly pines.

The house had been built in the eighteen hundreds and had front and back enclosed porches.  The bottom portion of the porches were clad in the same whitewashed oak as the rest of the house.  The upper portion, however, was surrounded in fine wire mesh to keep out mosquitos and other insects that floated in from the Potomac.

He turned the black Chevrolet Impala into the gravel driveway and quietly steered the car around to the side of the house out of the view of the neighbors.  He made no attempt to get out.  This was hard for him.  He sat in the car in the dark, thinking.

Arnold Stone had bested all of the other Republican candidates and he was winning over the hearts of even more voters.  When the time was right, Stone was to persuade his many voters that they should back Noah Daniels for President since Daniels was the more experienced man.  And that meant that he, Jackson ‘Ready’ McRae, was the next Vice President of the United States of America.

And now that bin Caneer was dead and buried no one would ever know about his or Daniel’s part in the plot.  The only thing he had to fear now was a sex scandal.  He opened the car door and got out.

It was eight o’clock on a Sunday night and he knew that she’d be in the kitchen which was at the back of the old house.  No doubt, she was busying herself washing the supper dishes. It was her habit to do so before she took him to bed.  She’d told him that she liked the house to be clean for when he rose in the pre-dawn morning to make coffee for the long drive back to Georgetown and his official life.

The door to the back porch squeaked whenever it was  opened and served as warning signal to the occupant within that someone was about to knock on her door.

A mish-mash of collected outdoor furniture graced the back porch that no one but the two of them ever saw.  And a worn out black rubber welcome mat had been thrown down casually in front of the door through to the interior of the house.

He paused, his hand motionless in midair, ready to knock but memories of nights spent in her bed flooded over him leaving him weak.  The old-fashioned spring bed had sagged every time he’d pushed downward forcing him to work harder.  Sweat had poured from his body soaking her fine white sheets.  The memory of her black skin against the stark white sheets sent a shock of unanticipated desire through his body.

“This has to be the last time.  She is a threat to your chances of being Vice President,” he warned himself.

She had violated his number one rule, whether innocently or deliberately, he wasn’t sure.  But she had secretly taken pictures of them together.  He’d found them the last time he was here.  And that had led to an argument.  She’d been infuriated that he’d rifled through her things; accusing him of spying on her.  In the heat of the argument, he’d accused her of setting him up for blackmail.  It hit him later that she hadn’t denied it.  She had to go.  No matter how great she was in bed.  She had to go.   And he hoped that the one hundred thousand dollars he had in his upper breast pocket plus the deed to the house would soften the blow.  He pulled the key from his pants pocket and unlocked the door.

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