Dark Money — A Thriller

The following is a sample chapter of DARK MONEY by John Risvold, available now at Amazon.com in paperback or for Kindle.

CHAPTER 1

WASHINGTON, D.C.

His voice was crisp in Kyle Richardson’s ear.

“Take a seat, Congressman,” the man in the charcoal suit demanded. His bald head and thick glasses gleamed in the bar light. “Have another drink, try to relax.”

Off the Record, the bar attached to the prestigious Hay-Adams hotel in Washington, D.C., was unusually slow for this time of night. Typically, the bar was packed with the District’s movers and shakers. It was a place where lobbyists and staffers, journalists and bureaucrats shared drinks and whispered inside information. Tonight, it was the place where Congressman Kyle Richardson would bargain for his future.

“I’d prefer to stand,” Kyle replied. He was on edge and the nervous perspiration on his forehead was evident. He glared at the man in the charcoal suit. “What the hell do you want from me?” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“I think you need to watch your tone, Congressman.” The man leaned in closely, locking eyes with Kyle. “I have something you need. In fact, I have everything you need in order to keep your job. You do want to be the vice president? And get the people who took Yvonne from you? And, of course, you want to keep all of the money, I presume?” This last question made Kyle’s stomach drop. “You get to decide, Congressman: How much is the rest of your life worth to you?”

Kyle remained silent. He stared straight ahead, unflinching. His years on the Hill had taught him to be strong in the face of fear and nerves. The man spoke again before Kyle could get all of his thoughts in order.

“Did you bring the money?”

“Yeah, I have it right here.” Kyle nodded toward the briefcase in his right hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” He looked around the room and recognized a few of the patrons from their stints on 24-hour news channels. “Somewhere we won’t be seen by reporters?”

“Upstairs. Room 557. Meet me there in 10 minutes.” With that the man stood up and walked briskly from the bar, though the hotel lobby, to the elevator. Kyle sat at the bar and began to count the seconds. After a minute he went to the lobby. He had the strange feeling that he was being followed. He looked around the room, over his shoulder. It took him only a moment to notice that the hotel’s security guard was nowhere to be seen. That was all Kyle needed to know he needed to move.

He approached the bank of elevators moving up and away from the lobby and pressed the button. It glowed yellow for a second before the elevator arrived and he stepped aboard. He adjusted his shirt and felt the cold steel of the Glock pistol tucked in his waistband. He adjusted his suit jacket to make sure the weapon remained concealed.

The doors closed before anyone could have noticed that he had left the bar. The elevator rumbled as it took him up to the fifth floor. The dimly lit hallway seemed unusually narrow for such a luxurious hotel. Toward the end of the hall, a cleaning lady was diligently knocking on doors, offering her services to the guests inside.

Kyle reached room 557 and knocked twice. His hand throbbed a bit from striking the wooden door much harder than intended. The adrenaline didn’t help. He looked back down the hallway and was relieved to see that the bank of elevators remained silent. He hadn’t been followed. The only noise on the floor was the humming of a nearby ice machine and a pair of vending machines, plus the cleaning lady at the far end of the hall making her rounds.

The door to room 557 swung open to reveal a large suite complete with kitchen and living room. The man in the charcoal suit peaked around from behind the door, looking both ways down the hallway before ushering Kyle into the living area. He was shorter than Kyle by at least six inches and looked far older than he had in the forgiving light of the bar downstairs.

“Congressman, step in quickly. Please put your briefcase on the desk.” Kyle stepped into the room and did as he was told.

“What the hell is this all about? Whose side are you on?” Kyle’s eyes flashed with anger. He took a few steps toward the man in the dark-charcoal suit and thought about hitting him before he noticed the pistol in his right hand.

“Please, Congressman, take a step back and listen carefully,” the man responded. I’m not on a side. I’m merely doing what I must do to survive, and in the process I can help you. First I need to see that you brought the money. I assure you that if the money is there as you promised, this meeting will be well worth your time.”

Kyle walked over to the desk in the corner of the suite’s living room. At the far end of the room was a large sliding glass door, which opened to a small veranda that overlooked the White House. The curtains were wide open, and the lights from Lafayette Square and the North Lawn of the White House made the room feel brighter. The man in the charcoal suit pulled the curtains closed. Kyle popped open the locks on the brown-leather case to reveal the money demanded. Neat stacks of $100 bills were bound by rubber bands. The man in the charcoal suit looked relieved as Benjamin Franklin stared up at him.

“Good. Now let’s get down to business,” the man in the charcoal suit said to himself.

“Okay, I did my part. Now who are you and what do you want?,” Kyle asked.

“I want you to know that I am serious. I can help you.”

“Help me? Help me with what?”

“I know about Richpac, Congressman.” The words hung in the air for a moment. Kyle said nothing. “I know where the money is coming from, and I know that most of it is going right into your pocket. I know about the nomination and how you got it. Do you?”

“Yeah, Speaker Warner’s from Ohio. He needed to take Missouri, and I was his best bet at the nomination.” The man in the charcoal suit scoffed loudly at Kyle’s explanation.

“What if I told you that Morley Tobacco is responsible for your ascension? That they are responsible for all of your campaign funding and they forced Warner to choose you?”

“I’d say you’re full of shit and have no proof.”

“What if I told you that they had my partner and your girlfriend murdered to keep this secret, among others?”

Kyle recoiled at the news that Morley was responsible for Yvonne’s death. What the reporter had told him at the debate was true. They had killed her to keep her quiet.

“I’m from Missouri. We’ve got a saying back home. I don’t believe you, you’ve got to show me. Where’s your proof they wanted me?”

“Your chemical-additives ban. They can’t have you banning their №1 income source, can they? If that happened they’d be bankrupt. So they chose you to ”

“But the bill is going to pass. The President is going to sign it. It’ll be law before inauguration day.”

“No, Congressman, it won’t. They’re buying off your running mate, Steven Warner, and setting you up to take the fall for the murders. Unless you go along with their plan, that is. They’re giving Warner power in exchange for killing the bill. They want you along in case things get rocky. Political scandal is a nice insurance policy”

“So what do you want?”

“I want to help you Congressman, the problem is, you’re in hot water yourself for your little campaign-donation skimming.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I figured you would say that. Mr. Richardson, I know who Jay Blumenthal is.” Kyle felt the color drain from his face. “I know about the money, I know about the DOJ’s grand-jury investigation into your campaign-finance practices, and most importantly I know that right now federal agents are combing through evidence they collected after they raided your townhouse. My guess is that they’ll find a way to tie the murder of your lobbyist girlfriend and the campaign skimming together in a nice neat package.” Kyle was speechless. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they included the murder of my partner as well. Just for good measure.”

“How could you possibly know all of that?” Kyle’s voice quivered with fear.

“I know all of this because I’ve made it my business to know all of this, ever since my partner was murdered. Ever since your girlfriend was killed.”

“But I didn’t murder anyone.”

“Did you not hear me, Congressman? I know that. Nobody else cares! You’re a wanted man. We have very little time!”

“How do you know I’m wanted?” He was stammering now, parroting back the facts that had just been thrown on him like a ton of bricks. He was the prime suspect a racketeering scheme that included two murders. His ears rang with the news.

“I know much more than you could begin to imagine. I know Morley is pouring millions into your pac, is about to hand you a prized nomination, all for the price of a few thousand American lives, poisoned by IsoBlue7.”

“Who … who are you?,” Kyle stammered.

“My name is Dr. Harold Doty, Congressman, and I’m your last hope at walking away from all of this with a clean slate.” Kyle scrunched his face in confusion as he tried to place the doctor. Then it hit him. Doty was the name on the email that linked PennaChem to Morley. The whistleblower. But now the whistleblower had a gun in his hand.

“I’m a chemical engineer by trade. I was one of two engineers that Morley paid to conduct the IsoBlue7 safety studies. Last week my partner, Dr. Ryan, turned up dead. He was found dead in his PennaChem laboratory. I know it was Morley; I have the video proof.” He gestured to a black briefcase next to Kyle’s. “I can give you all of the information you need to walk away from murder charges and your bevy of white-collar crimes.” Kyle was shocked. He didn’t exactly know what to say. He felt his jaw slack a little bit as he let the doctor’s words pour through him.

“If those studies showed IsoBlue7 was safe, then my chemical-additives ban wouldn’t have any effect on it. I don’t understand.” Kyle tried to reason but didn’t have all of the facts.

“The studies were falsified. Only the original report my partner and I produced was legitimate. But you know that, Congressman. I emailed that study to you. I know you got it and read it. You know that my report showed that IsoBlue7 was deadly in even small doses. Morley doctored the other studies. I retained copies of the original study. That’s the reason I’m here, that your girlfriend and my partner are dead. The reason you’re just a heartbeat away from the Oval Office come next election.”

“Doctor I don’t know what to say, I …” Kyle trailed off as he thought hard, looking for a way to get out of this mess without being blackmailed.

“You don’t need to say anything, just hand over the money, take my briefcase and leave.”

“Doctor, you don’t need the money. I can protect you; the FBI can protect you. We can call the U.S. Attorney’s Office. We’ll get in touch with them, and they can protect you until we build the case against Morley. Against the — ”

“Absolutely not,” Doty snapped back, waving the pistol around a bit as he spoke. “How are those people supposed to protect me when they’re the ones about to put you in federal prison? Are you so naive to think that they don’t have people on the inside, that you are better connected than Morley?”

Kyle hadn’t thought about it. He hadn’t figured that they would have people on the inside; he thought he was the insider. He had no idea how deep the conspiracy ran.

“No. This is my offer.” Doty spoke quickly and to the point. “You give me the money so I can get out of the country, and in exchange you get all of the information you need to protect you from those federal agents and U.S. Attorneys who went through your home with a fine-tooth comb. I’m certain they have all the evidence they need to prove my theory. I’m kept safe; you get to stand by Speaker Warner at the convention. That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

“I accept,” said Kyle. He knew it was better to save himself than risk his life to save them both. Doty moved quickly toward the table where the two black briefcases sat. He picked up Kyle’s and left his own worn black-leather briefcase for Kyle to take.

“The combination is 7–4–3. Inside are all of the documents linking Morley to the murders, to the chemicals, and to the money in your Richpac. All you have to do is connect the dots. Find Stephanie Mitchell. She can help you, if she’s not already dead. As for me, I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you, but it was a pleasure doing business with you.” Kyle took Doty’s suitcase from table but felt the urge to plead with him once more. I know we can protect him, the U.S. Attorney will need him to testify, he thought. Just then there was a loud banging on the door.

“Housekeeping,” came a muffled voice through the thick wooden door. The knock had been harder than Kyle had heard the cleaning lady give earlier. It confirmed his earlier suspicions: He had been followed.

Before he could say anything, Doty responded, “No thank you.” When the knocking continued, the doctor went to the door. As he turned the handle to tell the cleaning lady to go away, Kyle shouted for him to stop. It was too late. The door was kicked in with force. Shards of wood rained down on Doty. He fell backward. Two large men dressed in black suits charged through the door with pistols in hand. Kyle dodged their reach. Doty’s pistol fell to Kyle’s feet. He grabbed the weapon and quickly aimed at one of the intruders and pulled the trigger.

The bullet tore through the man, a dark red viscous liquid bubbling down his arm from where he had been struck in the shoulder. It wouldn’t be a fatal wound, but it would stop him long enough for Kyle to get across the living room of the suite. He turned and bolted toward the door of room 557 before the intruders could turn to follow him.

Kyle froze as he heard four gunshots echo through the room. He waited for the pain to hit him. It took him a moment to realize he hadn’t been shot before he started moving again. He scrambled out of the hotel room and into the hallway, running toward the bank of elevators. He ignored the elevators and dashed for the staircase at the end of the hall. He was halfway to the exit when he heard the sound of the room’s sliding glass door shatter as a body passed through it, out into the cold, dark night. He heard the thump of Doty’s body as it spilled over the terrace balcony and onto the street below. Before he could make another move, the two men tackled him and pinned him to the ground.

“The congressman is secure,” one of the men spoke into his jacket sleeve.

To read the next chapter visit www.johnrisvold.com or order Dark Money from Amazon.com today.