A Desperate Plan

By Eugene L. Gitin

A Desperate Plan is a wonderful romp through the worlds of government, the military and medical care. You'll enjoy it!
-Lesley Visser, sportscaster/writer, ABC/ESPN

A Desperate Plan is a fast paced, exciting political action thriller. It chronicles a sinister government "cover-up" at its worst. All power, no ethics.
-Barry Kutin, former speaker pro tempore, House of Representatives, State of Florida legislature

A Desperate Plan provides an accurate glimpse of prison life, a world few people know or want to know about. This plot is frightening, but believable! It will keep you constantly guessing as to who are the good guys and who are the bad guys. Once you start it, you won't put it down.
-Jim Brigham, correctional medical professional

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 8, 2004
• ISBN: 9780595767298

Eugene L. Gitin

EUGENE L. GITIN, M.D., is a retired emergency medical physician who spent two years in charge of several correctional care contracts at both the state prison and county jail levels. He currently lives at Fisher Island, Florida, and Boulder, Colorado. He is married and has two sons.

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All Rights Reserved © 2004 by Eugene L. Gitin

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

iUniverse, Inc.

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www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 978-0-5957-6729-8

ISBN: 0-595-31920-3

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

P A R T I

P A R T II

P A R T III

P A R T IV

P A R T V

TO GAIL

List of Significant Characters

Dorothy hemming       nurse at fullcrest prison

Ambassador poc    cambodian ambassador to the united states

King abdul     member of royal arabian family with oil interests

Significant Acronyms

P A R T I 

Branch Post Office, Washington, D.C., July 1, 2004, 8:00 A.M.

Bob Hummer didn’t like any part of what he was doing, but by the eighth week, he started to relax a little. Hummer cruised into the marble building and checked the box marked J-310 as he had every day since May. It had always been empty. He started to turn around as usual, then froze. This time there was something inside.

He glanced around the post office, but no one was paying any attention to him. Hummer fumbled with the box’s four number combination lock, screwed up twice and cursed. The third time, he took a deep breath, willing himself to get control and dialed up the combination more deliberately. This time he felt the lock give. He swung open the brass door and withdrew a 5 x 7 brown envelope sent from Fullcrest Prison. By the heft and shape of it, Hummer guessed Terry had sent a tape. A gift from the brother of the Vice President of the United States. Hummer’s stomach lurched.

He hurried out without opening the envelope and found the early morning’s faint drizzle now giving way to a steady rain. Hummer hadn’t brought a raincoat, and ran from the gray stone steps of the post office down the block to his car, landing in a puddle along the way.

Jesus! he muttered as the wetness crept through his socks.

He unlocked the government issued Town Car, threw himself and his package inside, and sighed. He pulled out of the space and drove past the post office with its cold marble columns standing out against the gray sky. The gathering clouds promised bad weather ahead and suited Hummer’s mood. He placed a hand on his stomach as though calming an animal, then drove toward Capital Hill, stopping at a drive-through Dunkin’ Donuts where the clerk knew him on sight.

Bob Hummer’s Office, July 1, 8:30 A.M.

Hummer pulled into his reserved spot marked Chief-of-Staff-V.P. and climbed the granite steps of the old Executive Building with the weariness of an old man. Outside the door, he stopped and turned toward the White House as he did every day. The majesty of the view stood out amongst the otherwise bleak conditions. He usually felt elated just prior to entering the building where his office was located, but Hummer knew that this day was not going to be like most days.

The Vice President and his staff had been relegated to space outside of the White House Compound, a somewhat unusual decision by the President’s Chief Of Staff. The official word was that Sam Martin’s offices were being renovated, but Hummer suspected President Oliver didn’t care about remodeling as much as keeping the Vice President out of his hair. Hummer and the Vice President had small working offices within the White House, but Dick Steele, the President’s Chief of Staff, had made it clear they should only be used when the President needed Sam Martin close. That didn’t happen very often. Sam didn’t seem to mind, but Hummer did. He didn’t like being so far away from the decision-making loop. Fulfilling mostly ceremonial duties. So useless and so unimportant.

Hummer, deep in thought, strode unseeing past the portraits of former Vice Presidents and into his office, aware only of the irritating clatter his shoes made on the polished wood floor.

Morning, Judy. He forced a smile. I need you to cancel my 9:00 breakfast. I’ll reschedule later. And hold my calls for now. I’ll let you know when I’m available again. He handed off his briefcase to his secretary, took from her the waiting cup of coffee, and continued into his office, shutting the heavy wooden double doors behind him.

Surrounded by the legions of photographs that he used as his main accent, he settled into the leather desk chair that had followed him throughout his political career. He made it a habit to compulsively straighten up his office each night before leaving for the evening, so now, at least, he faced a clean slate. Yesterday’s problems were all dealt with and he was free to concentrate on the big one that he had feared.

He arranged the coffee cup, Terry Martin’s envelope, Dunkin’ Donuts bag and his calendar on his oversize mahogany desk, and willed himself to take the next step.

He tore open the envelope and dumped out the tape. No note. Hummer dropped the tape into the player in his credenza and hit the play button.

„Bob, said Terry Martin. „I‘m desperate, with a capital ‚D.‘

Hummer sighed and ran his finger over the Presidential seal on his coffee cup as Martin continued. „I don‘t know who else to turn to. Certainly not that son of a bitch brother of mine. Vice President of the United States and he can‘t keep me out of jail!"

Two donuts—one frosted, one jelly-filled. Hummer couldn‘t decide, so he took a bite of each, and then sipped his coffee.

„Vice President, my ass!" Martin railed. „You guys just threw me to the wolves! Piranhas on five sides of me and you bastards just toss me right in. I‘ve figured it out, Bobby. I was the fall guy. I was the patsy. The reason none of the big guys are going down is because someone cut a deal, maybe even with Sam, so I‘d take the fall. That‘s it, isn‘t it? Hell, the papers are saying this was a hundred million dollar scam. Not for me, it wasn‘t. The whole time I was on the Board, I collected a total of forty grand in director‘s fees—a lousy forty thousand, and I‘m in jail for the rest of my life?

„Think about it, Bobby. Why did they want me there in the first place? The only thing I know about the banking biz is how to write a check. But that didn‘t stop them from putting me on the Board, did it? ‚Join the Board,‘ Sam said. ‚It‘ll be good for you. Make a little money, shake a few hands.‘ The hell with him. He told me to watch Callahan, vote the way Callahan votes—and that was it! And who told me to act on the inside information? My fair-haired brother, that‘s who. He said, ‚Take a taste, Terry, just don‘t be greedy.‘

Hummer dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin and tapped a pencil on the edge of his desk. Funny, being Terry Martin‘s contact had originally seemed like a good idea. He was the likely intermediary to operate the best between the Vice President and his brother. There was enough embarrassment to go around and a little bit of distance seemed like a good idea. Maybe it would help give them some relief from the daily pounding they were experiencing at the hands of The Washington Post.

„And how was I supposed to know about rigged bonds? I hardly know what a bond issue is, much less how to rig the bastards. I didn‘t know until I was in the goddamn courtroom, in the courtroom, that they were just ping-ponging the bonds between Silvermeadow and Cal United S&L. Nobody ever told me the goddamn directors were opening credit lines for each other. If you would have told me what the hell was going on, I could have protected myself. But no, all any of you bastards told me was to vote the way Callahan voted. ‘If he votes yes, you vote yes. If he votes no, you vote no.’

"Callahan and all the rest of those guys made millions! And me, the royal patsy of all time, I get a 32 years sentence! I’m 57 years old. Even if I get the maximum reduced time for good behavior, I’ll be sitting in this lousy jail till I’m 85, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to let that happen. Everybody who made the money, everybody who did the crime, is free. I’m the only guy pinched. It’s crazy. And guess what? Callahan is out on appeal. Yes, the guy buying stock in his own bank with ill-gotten funds is out, free as a goddamned bird.

If it wasn’t a set up, Terry continued, "why in God’s name did you Einsteins tell me to plead guilty? Why cop a plea if the prize is a life sentence? And how come all those goddamned lawyers forgot to tell me that if I rolled over, I couldn’t be released pending appeal? That there can’t be an appeal on a plea bargain. That’s some fine print, Bobby. I was stupid to believe you guys, to trust you.

Martin, who had pitched his voice high and shrill, suddenly dropped his tone. „Well, I‘m not stupid now." Hummer rubbed the goose bumps off his arm and vaguely wondered where they came from on this warm July morning.

„You can‘t be much of a player, Bobby, working for that wimp brother of mine, but you better swing some power in my direction pretty damn soon. You‘ve got to help me. My brilliant defense attorney assures me that he has some great ideas for my case. That there is some precedent for his bullshit. Some reason why he deserves all of that god damn money. Well fuck that. I want out. Serial killers get better sentences than this. Even Ivan Boesky got out in three years. Why did that damned judge make an example out of me? Why did he go into his Patrick Henry speech for the television cameras? He was going to give me the max, no matter what. All that stuff about blind justice being applied to the rich and poor alike—bullshit!

„I‘m taking the fall because you guys think I‘m expendable. And guess what? You‘re wrong. I‘m not going down alone." The tape wound to an end and clicked off with a smack that made Hummer jump. He flipped the cassette.

„I‘m back," Martin said in a tone that gave his listener no comfort. „I want you to play both sides of this for Sam. He‘s got to hear it. Tell him his big brother told him to listen and listen good.

„You‘re a good guy, Bobby. Always were. Your letter was my only mail last week and it cheered me up. So you want to know about prison life. Well, it‘s not Stanford, mind you, but it‘s not San Quentin, either. The screws and inmates call this place a residence hall, but it’s a barracks surrounded by concertina wire, okay? There’s a guard tower, of course, where they can pick off escapees. Rumor has it one guy made it out alive. Shimmied under a truck while on work detail and got out through the front gate. Now they check under each vehicle, so the likelihood of me getting away with that is slim.

«The kitchen job you arranged isn’t bad. Food here sucks, though. An inmate told me the Feds pay a lousy $3.44 per person per day for all three meals. Gee, no wonder we’ve been a little short on filet mignon. Anyhow, I work and exercise. I’ve decided until you get me out of this dump, I might as well get into decent shape. I’m trying to deal with all of this, but I swear, I didn’t expect it to be so bad.

«Listen Bobby, do whatever you have to do to get me out of here. Talk to Sam. You know as well as I do he’s always gotten away with murder. He got it all: the old man’s attention, Stanford, everything. All I got was the leftovers. Oh, yeah, and a frame up job and a conviction. Don’t think you can lock me away and forget about me. Sam isn’t going to sell me out. He better not, or I’ll take him down with me. Like I said, I’m sure as hell not going down alone. I’m counting on you, Bobby. Don’t forget, friend. I’m desperate.»

Several minutes went by till the cassette wound to an end, and Hummer sat there silently and waited.

Hummer hit his direct line to Dick Steele’s desk, and Steele, the President’s Chief of Staff, picked up on the first ring. «What?»

Even now, Hummer managed a smile. He’d been quick to learn the ABCs of Steele’s personality—arrogance, belligerence and confrontation.

«Dick, Bob Hummer. I have to meet with you right away.»

«Sorry, Bob. I’m up to my ass in alligators. We’ve got meetings scheduled all day and—»

«Dick, it’s important.»

Steele sighed at the other end of the phone. «I can see you tonight. At the City Club.» But he couldn’t help name-dropping. «I’m meeting with the Russians in five minutes. We’re working an energy deal, and then I’ve got a follow-up with the Foreign Minister later.»

«Great, but Dick, this is crucial. What time at the City Club?»

«8:30. That’ll give me an hour or so with Sholokov.»

«Thanks. I’ll see you then. Give me at least half an hour.»

«I’ll do what I can,» Steele said and rang off without saying good-bye.

Hummer rubbed his eyes and recalled how it used to be, when he and the Martin brothers were young. They had lived two doors apart, but Bob spent as

much time in the Martins’ house as he did in his own. Mr. Martin referred to the boys as the Three Stooges, and treated Bob, an only child, as he did his own sons.

An awkward and overweight child, Bob idolized Terry and Sam, with their broad shoulders, rugged good looks and natural grace. The three boys would often meet in the morning and peddle furiously on their bicycles to their secret place, a cave near an abandoned rock quarry. Terry, two years older than Sam and Bob, presided over this refuge, their clubhouse. Bob and Sam would lie on their stomachs and listen as Terry spun for them wild stories—the wilder, the better. They may or may not have been true, but were told as the gospel.

But things changed. Their senior year in high school, Bob and Sam were accepted at Stanford while Terry, who had struggled with poor grades and low SAT scores two years before, was attending a lesser state school. Away from Terry, Sam began to show his own leadership. He had direction both his brother and Hummer lacked, and it was Sam who urged his friend Bob to follow him into the study of political science. Terry meanwhile felt like he had been abandoned and left behind. Out of sight and out of mind.

After college and a stint in the Peace Corps, Sam Martin emerged as a golden boy who made the right choices and knew the right people. His light seemed to cast his brother in shadow. Terry’s sense of inadequacy rose with his brother’s popularity, and the two became increasingly estranged.

After Terry’s conviction, Sam cut his brother off altogether. Besides, as the spokesperson for the administration’s ‘tough-on-crime’ bill, Sam couldn’t afford to protect Terry.

Hummer, who remembered Terry as a childhood hero, acted as the head of Terry’s damage control ad hoc committee. He promised Terry a secret mail drop to calm him down after the sentencing. It had worked at the time, but now it was Hummer who needed some calming down. He had gained almost twenty pounds since Terry went to Fullcrest. At 210 pounds, he felt out of control. Never a sartorial role model, he tended to project a rumpled image. Most people who met him had difficulty describing his blend-into-the-wallpaper presence. He was the perfect foil to the Vice President who loved to look elegant and distinguished. Both men were of average height but far different in the star power they commanded.

Terry fit into none of these categories. He was a rebel, refusing to behave within the confines that his parents’ upper middle class life style encouraged. Terry was always on the edge of trouble, refusing to settle down and get his work done. He slept through summer jobs, confronted authority, refused to go to church services, was a below average student throughout his elementary and high school careers and choose to take the punishments that his parents meted out, rather then buckle down and give in. Never willing to go along with the program.

And so, Hummer summed up for himself, draining his coffee cup, here they were—Sam was Vice President, he was Sam’s Chief of Staff and Terry, who should be enjoying the role of the Vice President’s brother, sat in Fullcrest, a convicted felon and a very big thorn in the Administration’s side.

He found himself wondering now who the real fall guy was—Terry or himself.

City Club, July 1, 8:00 P.M.

Hummer drummed his nails at the mahogany horseshoe bar in Washington’s most exclusive club, while an untouched glass of Perrier sweated in front of him. Even those who could afford the $50,000 annual dues weren’t guaranteed membership. He sometimes wondered why he’d been accepted and some Congressmen had not. As Sam Martin’s right hand man, he wasn’t, as Terry Martin had reminded him, a key power player. He was just a title. And he knew it.

The doors to the City Club’s private elevator slid open and Hummer raised a finger, unnecessarily identifying himself. Dick Steele saw him and nodded, a non-committal smile on his face. He handed his raincoat to the waiting white-gloved attendant and padded across the plush carpeted floor, stopping to do a mini-schmooze with a handful of senators. To Hummer, Steele’s performance took forever.

Finally, the Chief of Staff approached Hummer and shook his hand. Bob! he called out with a grin, as though they hadn’t planned to meet. Like he anticipated an enjoyable evening of social banter.

We’ve got problems, Hummer said.

Steele nodded. What else is new? Let’s grab a table.

Hummer followed Steele to a table overlooking the Mall. At Hummer’s heels, a second waiter came up with a fresh Perrier and a Stoli martini for Steele who sipped the drink, gave his approval, and with it, the tacit instruction to leave them alone.

Talk to me, Bobby, Steele said.

Big trouble, Dick, Hummer relied. I got a tape from Terry Martin. Shit.

Hummer nodded. He’s restless. I’m concerned that, you know, he might try to...make waves. He went on to detail Martin’s tape while Steele listened without expression or comment.

When Hummer had finished, Steele motioned to the waiter that Stoli martini number two should be on the assembly line. What does the Veep say? he asked.

The Vice President doesn’t know about the tape yet. He was out of town today and I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone. But he’s been talking about getting Terry transferred out of Fullcrest. Hell, it’s maximum security. Why should Terry be there instead of a minimum security prison?

Steele shook his head, his mouth set. Terry stays at Fullcrest. We move him and we get that Dukakis soft-on-crime shit. It’s too close to the election for that. The press is still sniffing around. Besides, the asshole pleaded guilty.

His attorney advised him on that plea. I think we need to send Terry to Som-erville. I made some calls. We can move him tomorrow, no problem.

No, Steele snapped. Terry stays where he is. Forget that asshole and start worrying about his brother. You know the President isn’t as crazy about your boss staying on the ticket as the media thinks. If Sam...well, let’s just say that Sam doesn’t need any of Terry’s bullshit right now. Okay?

Hummer allowed himself one full second of fantasy, in which he was Chief of Staff and Steele was the V.P.’s peon. Then he came back to reality and gave a deferential shrug. You’re the boss, he said.

Ain’t that the truth? Steele pushed himself up from the table and sailed toward the elevator while Hummer stared after him.

Office of the Vice President, July 2, 9:30 A.M

Sam Martin in beige slacks and pullover pink and blue striped shirt stood to the side of his huge oak desk, which had once belonged to Vice President Truman. He collected American Art Pottery and the entire room was dominated by long shelves displaying the best work of the Van Briggle and Roseville work shops. The pieces were beautiful in their own right and quintessentially red, white and blue.

Bobby! Martin exclaimed when Hummer was ushered in. Good morning, Sam. Thanks for seeing me.

No problem, but I’ve got a 10:00 tee-time. You’ve got fifteen minutes, pal. Shoot.

I received a tape from Terry.

There might have been a flicker of concern on the Vice President’s face, but before Hummer could be sure, it vanished. How’s he doing, Bob? Martin asked, folding his fingers around the putter shaft.

"Ah, well, not great. Physically he seems okay, but emotionally—emotionally, he’s not doing too well. As you know, we’re all very unhappy he’s at Fullcrest.

We’re still working on it with Andy Maddox over at the Bureau of Prisons. We feel pretty comfortable that after the election, we’ll be able to transfer him over to Somerville or another minimum security facility. But right now, Steele doesn’t think it’s wise to move him."

Martin smoothly stroked one of the golf balls into the waiting metal receptacle 10 feet away and waited while the machine spat it back out to him again.

Terry’s facing fairly hard time, Hummer continued. Needless to say, he’s bitter. He thinks we set him up somehow. Says we made him a fall guy.

Martin looked at his watch. Anything else, Bob? I don’t want to be late.

Okay, quickly—he thinks Feldstein, who handled his defense, screwed him by telling him to plead guilty. I see his point, you know? He did exactly what we told him to do and now he’s flat on his ass at Fullcrest.

But he’s guilty! Martin interjected.

Hummer rubbed his eyes. I know, I know. The judge went ballistic when Terry admitted that he personally delivered the bribe. It even caught the prosecution by surprise and messed us up big time. We’d set up with the other side to charge Terry with fraud, but the judge blew the whistle on that and sentenced him under the bribery guidelines instead. And under those guidelines he got that huge sentence.

But what worries me is he doesn’t see his complicity in this whole mess. He sees ours.

Vice President Martin stroked a putt, which sailed a good six inches wide of its mark. Shit.

Terry wants you to hear the tape, Hummer said.

Martin held up a hand. No need. I’m sure you’ve summarized it well. Jeez, like I want to get involved with him, anyway. Right before the election. As usual, my brother’s timing is excellent. After the Silvermeadow deal, I was amazed the President kept me on the ticket. For the first time that morning, he looked Hummer in the eye. We owe him for that.

I want to stay on the team, so I’m towing the party line, Bob. Remember the America First Coalition? Without the backing of the conservatives, we never would have made it, so I’m going to fight for every one of their issues. No gun control—ever. Pro-life in all instances, an enthusiastic thumbs up for any weapons system that will help the defense contractors. Star Wars. The Space Station. The Super Collider. Whatever. If the Coalition wants it, they’ve got it from me. Its not like those lefty ecology nuts ever supported me in the first place. Those assholes have been hounding me for years.

He took another swing at a ball that dropped neatly into the cup. The Vice President smiled. Never quit on a miss.

Hummer cracked his knuckles. Sometimes he still missed the Sam he knew from before, the kid with an appetite for life, for taking chances, for speaking out. As if the Vice President had heard his old friend’s thoughts, he said, Bob, all I want is to finish out eight years as Vice President. Then I’ll find a position in some major think-tank or something. Maybe set up a peace institute like Jimmy Carter so I can skate through the rest of my years. And I owe you, too, buddy. I know that. Wherever I go, you come with me.

Thanks, Sam. But I came to talk to you about Terry, Hummer said and wished