Star Spangled Villains

By Gina Star Pollack

STAR SPANGLED VILLAINS is a novel of mystery and roller-coaster suspense. President-elect Paul Bulgrando boldly moves the inaugural events to Hearst Castle in California. But instead of triumph and adulation, he's assailed with skeletons, arson, murder, blackmail and a family secret so astounding it could topple his presidency. A scathing political allegory of vanity, deceit and murder, Paul's fate is out of his control. Will he remain president? Or will it be necessary to impeach him, or invoke the 25th amendment throwing the nation into political turmoil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543985610

Gina Star Pollack

Gina Star Pollack had an amazing career as a Human Resources executive. She currently writes mystery novels and her amateur sleuth, Camille Truesdale, solves mysteries using her skills and intuition based upon her experience as an HR professional. Ms. Pollack's debut novel, "Star Spangled Villains," is an exciting political thriller with a 5-Star review from Readers' Favorite. Her new novel, "Fem-igarch," is the first in a mystery series following the exploits of Camille as she helps the police and FBI solve murders and jewel thefts.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Ancestral Abyss

A geyser of blood spurted into the air. Dark red droplets propelled by bits of teeth and runny snot. The boy collapsed onto the ground, moaning and cowering, his hands raised to protect his face from more blows. The boss kicked him with the toe of his boot to make sure he would stay down.

"It’s done. Comprende? Finito!"

Pressing the muddy boot on the boy’s hip, the man raised his arm and motioned for the grizzled workhand to come to his side. Bring the bundles here. Then bury them as deep as you can. The workhand trembled, too frightened to speak. I’ll get this one outta here before anyone comes looking for him.

The man dragged the seventeen-year-old by the collar of his soiled denim shirt away from the grape fields, toward the road. A tan burlap rucksack filled with loose bills hung low over his shoulder. He snorted with contempt hearing the boy beg for his family.

Jefe, por favor, mi esposa, mi niño… He struggled to break free, but the man was stronger, filled with the power of righteousness.

Reaching the dirt road that led to the highway, the man threw the boy on the ground then kicked him in his ass. Vamonos! Never come back here again! Tossing the sack of money on the wet leaves, the man turned and ran back into the field, never looking back.

Shrouded by the fog, the man crouched low in the grapevines and watched the old workhand shovel clods of dirt into the deep pit. A sodden cowboy hat shielded the man’s face from the misty drizzle while he kept alert for intruders. The light rain had softened the loamy soil making the job easier. Combined with the fog, it caused puffs of ghostlike vapors to rise as the mounds of earth thudded down, concealing the bundles.

The man chain-smoked cigarettes to calm his nerves, impatiently waiting for the sacks to be hidden. Shivering, his damp jeans and worn checkered shirt clung to his torso like a sticky second skin. Finally, the workhand whispered a prayer in his native Spanish, blessing the bodies entombed in the unconsecrated ground. There was no need to worry about the workhand’s loyalty. Bound to the family and the grape fields for survival, he would never tell anyone what had transpired this fateful night. Or divulge his reluctant part in the cover-up.

Rising, the man brushed the dirt from his knees and slowly walked back to the house, his head held high. He felt no guilt over the violence and deception, only pride that he had protected the family honor. The future and lineage of the dynasty were secured for generations to come. In time the bones, blood, and essence of the corpses would nourish the soil and coalesce to enrich the seeds of the harvest. Breathing in the musky air, the man imagined he could smell the bouquet of the blood-red wine he would drink to dull the remembrance of this night.

PAUL

Ambition

Chapter 1

It felt like his psyche had sparked to life the instant the jet crossed the border into California. Reclining comfortably in the plush leather seat, Paul closed his eyes and imagined the crowds cheering his arrival. ‘Hail Paul, Caesar of the twenty-first century.’ Masking his excitement, Paul sat straighter and peered out the small window. For a few moments, he reveled in the bright blue sky and shifting clouds shaped like cartoon bubbles. In his mind’s eye, each cottony billboard proclaimed a welcoming home salute: Victory, Power, Destiny, Command . Until he could no longer contain the smile that grew across his face.

Paul transferred his focus to the reflection in the windowpane. Turning his face from side to side, Paul examined the prominent cheekbones, large dark brown eyes, long aquiline nose, and trademark cleft chin. His children thought he was vain, but Paul was pleased his thick, styled brown hair shone free of gray strands thanks to his stylist. He vehemently believed he owed a youthful, virile appearance to his constituents in the tradition of Reagan and Kennedy. He intended to make his terms in office as hugely memorable as well.

Mr. President-elect, President Bulgrando…

Damn, that sounded great! Paul looked up to see his soon to be appointed Secretary of State, General Pierce Hedwall, standing stiffly at attention in the doorway. Have a seat, Pierce. Paul motioned toward the one across the cabin.

Thank you, sir. Despite shrapnel in his hip from a combat injury, the general sat crisply, his posture ramrod perfect. With his black hair cropped in a buzz cut and dressed in a navy suit and striped tie, the military legend looked formidable. He still wore his medals along with a flag pin on his lapel. It’s an honor to join your team and attend your swearing-in ceremony, Mr. President.

It’s going to be an epic week. You’ll brag to your grandchildren about serving in my historic administration. Paul waved a copy of the inaugural invitation. Proof he was returning to California, a winner. A hero to his party. The newly elected leader of the greatest country in the world, President of the United States of America.

My son is grateful you recommended him to join the security detail for the event. His Marine buddies at Camp Pendleton are proud to have a team member serve.

Family is everything. I intend to make it a priority to protect our brave soldiers and veterans stationed in the U.S. and at our bases around the world. Paul was proud of his heritage, the son of Italian immigrants who had spent their life harvesting the grape fields of central California. Now he was poised to return to his family’s winery to celebrate after realizing his greatest dream.

On behalf of the U.S. forces, we’re privileged to have you as our commander in chief. Hedwall saluted.

Paul saluted back, his fingers itching to clutch the nuclear football. In a few days, the awesome power to annihilate the country’s enemies would be at his fingertips. What an aphrodisiac! Let’s get down to business. Give me an update.

Yes, sir. I received a report from Vance Barkley detailing the FBI’s progress.

Have any militant groups claimed responsibility?

Barkley advised two terrorist factions broadcast videos on the internet with their soldiers cheering. The Army of Righteousness and The Sword of Truth both declared victory for the breach of security at the White House.

Vile barbarians. You should send drones to destroy their camps. During the vetting process, his team had been impressed with Hedwall’s dynamic leadership of U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.

FBI techs are dissecting the videos for secret clues and signals. I agree with your instinct to strike back swiftly, sir, but Barkley’s adamant someone on the inside must have aided the terrorists.

Paul sat forward and stared into Hedwall’s icy blue eyes. I want you to make sure the FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security tear apart the backgrounds of every single outgoing member of the former president’s staff.

We’re already on it, sir.

I’m sure that some traitor from that Democratic regime plotted to harm me for patriotically shouting the cold truth about their party failures. I don’t care how you do it, get some proof.

I intend to oversee the efforts to expose the collaborator. We’ll make him an example for any other fanatics who might harbor desires to interfere with your presidency.

You assured us you had developed a network of sources to provide Intel to proactively deal with terrorist threats. Paul believed networking was the key to success in business and politics. Savvy alliances, combined with knowledge of deviant scandals, never failed to engender loyalty and obedience.

I’m a master at winning strategic battles, sir. Every one of my medals proves my successes. Hedwall patted his chest.

Then don’t disappoint me or the American people, General. Eliminate the threats before they happen. Do I make myself clear?

Crystal, sir. My staff is deciphering encrypted texts from reliable informants as we speak.

Leaning forward, Paul pointed his fingers like a gun at the general’s nose. In the business arena, I wage war with words, money, and computer bytes. I expect you to emulate my scorched earth management style.

Message received, Mr. President.

I want the perpetrators captured and rotting in Gitmo in forty-eight hours. Failure is not an option.

"’ In war, then, let your great object be victory, not lengthy campaigns.’ I follow the military treatise of Sun Tzu, sir. You will have your swift retaliation."

Paul held back a smirk as Hedwall executed a sharp salute before exiting the cabin. With his anger vented, he was once again excited about the inauguration. After his record-setting electoral victory, Paul had come up with the perfect idea to show the world how unique his presidency would be. A native Californian, he decided to move the ceremony and parties to the west coast. He would boldly make history as the first president to be sworn in on the country’s western border, honoring America’s population from sea to shining sea. That would also solve the issue of where they would live with the White House temporarily closed due to the poisoned air system.

It had been a brutal campaign, waged against a politically traditional opponent. The liberal media had called him simplistic, unqualified, and vulgar for preaching bold truths about the economy, healthcare, immigration, and terrorism. But his brash, simple message had resonated with billions of Americans fed up with political hacks who had churned out the same platitudes for the past eight years. And his landslide election had proved the message of his campaign slogan ‘United by Power to Lead the World.’

Lifting a glass of water, Paul studied the embossed presidential seal before drinking. How proud his father must be as they prepared for his triumphant arrival at the family’s winery. With the decline of his mother’s health, it would have been difficult for his father to travel to Washington DC. But here, in the central valley of California where he had been born and raised, his father and the staff of the winery would join in the festivities. A win-win for his family, friends, the population of his country, and most important…for him.

Reaching for his cell to compose a tweet announcing his imminent arrival in California, Paul was surprised to hear footsteps running through the plane. Looking up, he saw the pretty face of Kim Spinnaker, his press secretary peering into the cabin.

Hey, Kim, what’s up? Paul smiled. I could hear your heels clacking double-time when you raced through the plane. Used to Kim’s energy and enthusiastic bursts of information throughout the campaign, Paul prepared himself for a rapid-fire tale of the media’s latest praise or condemnation, depending upon the affiliation of the network.

Mr. President, I’ve received some incredible news.

Was there another terrorist attack? A school shooting?

Kim shook her head, no. Please turn on the video to KPOW. I’m so sorry, sir. I can’t imagine how you’re going to feel.

Turning on the live feed, Paul quickly read the bold copy moving along the bottom of the screen while staring at the picture. It was a shot of his family’s winery in San Luis Obispo County with a wide hole in the ground marked off by yellow police tape. As the leaves of the grapevines swayed in the breeze, he saw the workers standing still watching the police inspect the grounds.

We’ve got to draft a press release before we land, sir. We only have ten minutes.

Calm down and give me a minute to think. Paul raised a finger without taking his eyes from the TV.

Oh my gosh, what are we going to tell the media? Kim’s voice shook.

A chill ran up Pauls’ spine as he read the words on the bottom of the screen, trying to comprehend their meaning.

Human bones discovered buried in family winery of President-elect Bulgrando…Is there a murderer hiding in the presidential family tree?

Chapter 2

Paul felt like a superstar in a Hollywood blockbuster as he stared out the tinted limousine window, part of a parade of shiny black limos and SUVs. Sirens and horns blared, heralding his arrival at Miracoloso, the luxurious B&B set on his family winery grounds. Military helicopters circled above like eagles in the sky, securing the air space. While off in the distance, press copters attempted to fly close enough to snap photos of his arrival.

Pushing aside any negative thoughts about the human remains unearthed in the vineyard, Paul pulsated with childlike anticipation as the Italian style villa came into view. Remodeled several years ago with funds from his private equity firm, Miracoloso boasted eighteen sumptuous suites. Each elegant chamber decorated in the style and ambiance of an Italian city.

Hickley, open the window so I can wave to the crowd.

That’s not advisable, Mr. President-elect. Your safety would be compromised.

I told you I wouldn’t tolerate barriers between my countrymen and me.

But, sir, protocol dictates tha…

Find some way to protect me with the window down. Or you’re off my team!

Yes, sir. Just give me a moment to come up with an alternative way to protect you.

Think faster, Hickley! Paul was enjoying rattling the guy’s cage. He had chosen him as the lead agent partly because his Boston accent added a Kennedy vibe to his protection squad. Another asset was Hickley’s single status ensuring he had minimal distractions from his duties. The guy should be focusing on taking a bullet for him, not on a wife, kids, or pets. At five-ten, Hickley had a beefy college football player’s physique, so Paul intended to use the agent as a human shield if the need arose.

OK, sir. I’m going to jump out and jog next to the car. Then I can move in front of your window if we see anyone acting strangely.

Finally, some out of the box-car thinking! Paul smirked as he saw Taylor roll her eyes. With the window down Paul waved and smiled at the surprised revelers lining the street cheering, whistling and waving flags. What a high!

Paul knew the Secret Service was ecstatic that he and his entourage were residing in a private compound. They had set up a security perimeter and procedures similar to Camp David. He planned to make his family’s winery property, including Miracoloso, his west coast White House, similar to his hero Ronald Reagan’s Rancho Del Cielo. Paul and Taylor were staying in two adjoining suites, the Lake Como and the Bellagio located in the secluded north wing with sweeping vineyard views. The rooms were decorated in soothing shades of pastel blues and greens, with prints of lakeside harbors and sailboats on the walls. He liked to compare himself to Napoleon, who had enjoyed romantic trysts with Josephine in Villa D’Este castle ensconced along the banks of the real Lake Como.

The limo rolled up to the marble columned portico, and Paul turned to Taylor beside him. He quickly inspected her short blond pixie cut, beautifully sculpted face and tailored white silk suit, then nodded his approval at his young second wife. Paul took her chin in his hand, forcing her to focus on his instructions.

Babe, you’re about to be crowned as my first lady, so make sure to stand straight, smile at the crowd and don’t answer any questions from the press. Leave that to Kim since she knows how to handle those intrusive hacks.

Taylor nodded her head and kissed Paul softly on the cheek, careful not to leave a lipstick smudge. Of course, darling. But I don’t understand why the tourist who discovered the skeletons would be digging around in the wine fields.

It’s an old custom. He waved his hand in a whatever gesture.

Really.

Paul blew air through his lips, trying to reign in his impatience to greet the crowd. The Incas had a tradition of burying special treasures as a gift to their Gods to keep the land fertile.

Wasn’t the Incan empire in Peru?

Yup, but some of the malbec wine growers in Argentina have continued that tradition in modern times.

I hope you’re not talking about animal sacrifice, Paul?

Don’t be foolish. The winemakers bury the first bottle of the new harvest wine in a wooden box in the vineyard. It’s a symbolic gesture to keep the grape soil fertile.

Oh, that kind of treasure.

Yes. Then as a PR ploy to increase tourism in the wine tasting shops, they permit guests to wander through the grape fields and search for those treasured bottles. If they find one, they can keep it for good luck. My father continued the Argentinian malbec tradition here in California.

Argentina, hmmm. Taylor ran a pinkie over her bottom lip.

Yes, Argentina. Paul pinched her cheek firmly. Keep in mind that during the Roman Empire women were forbidden to drink wine. A man who found his wife drinking wine was at liberty to divorce or kill her.

You can be such a chauvinistic jerk sometimes!

My ancestors did live near Rome.

So maybe we should’ve booked the Coliseum for your inauguration. Throw your opponents in with the lions. Taylor smiled and fluffed her hair.

Amusing, babe. Time to greet my supporters.

I’m ready.

You’re a pro at playing for the crowd, like when you won the bronze at the Olympics.

I know, smile, wave, and walk confidently.

And hold my hand so everyone can see we’re in love. Got it?

I’ll make sure to follow your lead, as always.

Satisfied with Taylor’s response, Paul motioned for the agent to open the limo door.

The pungent aroma of fermented grapes enveloped Paul’s senses as his feet touched the earth of his boyhood. Memories, sights, and sounds of past wine harvests comforted his soul as he recalled his happy younger years. As the sole heir and prince of the central valley, Paul always felt greatness was his destiny. But deep down, his superego had shouted that the winery and family businesses were too small a stage for his ambitions.

After acquiring his MBA at Stanford, Paul had joined a private equity firm in San Francisco. In short order, he had cultivated uber-wealthy clients and easily outperformed the other associates. Following several frenetic years of working twenty-four/seven, Paul orchestrated a coup. Taking the top five investors, he set up a private equity shop BullForce PE. Broadcasting his business motto Win or Walk to wealthy mavericks worldwide.

Utilizing his financial genius and Mediterranean charm, Paul grew his profitable book of business from one to twenty large-cap funds. Over the years, he opened offices in New York, Chicago, London, and Shanghai. To all the world it appeared that Paul’s business acumen was unending. Magazine covers proclaimed him a media-savvy billionaire…smart, stylish, and shrewd. Loved by his investors, employees, beautiful women, and the camera, it appeared Paul had a perfect life. But, as every legend knows, even perfection can become tiresome.

So Paul sought new challenges, new heights to climb. Hence, his surprising run for the presidency. A job with minimal financial incentive, but the most incredible aphrodisiac to someone of Paul’s nature. The power to rule the world.

Now, with the power in his grasp, Paul would not permit those skeletons to destroy his perfectly crafted ascension to dominion on the world stage. It was time for damage control and superlative PR spinning. Paul understood that every great man gets tested, and this was his greatest challenge so far. He would do whatever it took to pulverize those old bones into dust. Re-energized, Paul stood taller, smiled wider, waved at the crowd, and entered the proscenium determined to succeed.

Chapter 3

S on. Luigi paced around the room. I got no idea how those bones got buried there. Or whose bones they could be.

I find that hard to believe.

For all we know, they could’ve been buried in that spot for two hundred years.

Paul studied his father carefully. A pro at interpreting words and body language, it was more difficult deciphering the truth when it came to family members. Emotions and shared memories tended to cloud perceptions and to be in the office where his father had run the winery business conjured up intense recollections of adolescence and his yearning for independence. He forced himself to focus.

Pop, under normal circumstances, the discovery of bones buried in our winery would be cause for concern. Now, with the eyes of the universe watching me as the president-elect, this is catastrophic.

Paul walked over and put his hand on his father’s arm to halt his pacing. Almost equal in height, Paul stared into the steely hazel eyes magnified now by thick lenses. Still tall, lean and muscular from years of working alongside the crews planting and harvesting the grapes, Luigi was an imposing man. His full head of white hair worn in a no-nonsense crewcut.

Listen carefully. I know you like to control everything that goes on here at the winery. But this time, you must let me and my press secretary handle the media and the police investigation.

You can’t expect me to be quiet like a dummy if the cops ask me questions. They know I’m the boss.

The discovery of concealed bones goes way beyond the circle of our family home, businesses, and laborers. Everyone in the country, damn the world, will be watching how this investigation proceeds. Frankly, you’re out of your depth here.

But they’ll think I’m trying to hide something. I…

Paul gripped his father’s arm tighter. Going forward, you’re not to speak to any cops, employees, or anyone about the skeletons. My team will handle all inquiries, and I’ve already hired an attorney to represent us.

Why do I need a fancy, high-priced lawyer? I got nothing to hide.

Paul let go of his father and walked over to the scarred wooden desk. Sitting down, he sent a message that he was in control now. Paul watched his father cross his arms and lift his chin angrily. He hadn’t seen his father since his wedding to Taylor. Luigi wore his age well, due in part to a healthy Mediterranean diet. Though he hadn’t attended college, Luigi was smart and adept at running the business side of the winery, besides managing the grape fields. Much of this expertise had been learned growing up on his ancestors’ winery in Italy.

Earth, grapes, and wine bottling were his family’s calling dating back decades in the northern hills of Italia. Luigi and his mother Angelina had emigrated from the villages outside Rome before he was born. Introducing the Italian malbec grape to the central valley of California, his parents had built a wine empire with their pioneer spirit and calloused hands. Their hopes and prayers for a large family to continue their legacy never happened. His mother had nearly died giving birth to her only son, never able to conceive again. So he had been raised as the malbec heir. They approved of his education, were proud when he graduated with a master’s in business administration. But they always believed he would return to manage the winery until he shattered that dream too.

That was the past, and Paul was going to make damned sure that some old bones and buried secrets wouldn’t destroy his legacy. So he intended to wring the truth out of his father, no matter how painful those hidden family mysteries were.

It’s time for us to speak man to man, Pop. No more riddles or attempts to subvert the truth.

Are you calling me a liar?

I know you better than anyone, except Mom. I’m positive you know exactly whose skeletons they are and why someone buried them in our winery.

Hey, you give your father some respect! I made this life possible for you.

Paul sighed. I do respect you and understand you’re only trying to protect me.

That’s what a good father does for his boy.

But those skeletons are going to be closely examined by the FBI, so we need to be proactive.

You mean those science machines they use to check for DNA? Like on TV?

"Yes. It’s time to tell me all the secrets you’ve been keeping. Only me! Then I’ll devise a plausible story to satisfy the police, the press, and my opponents without destroying my fortune and my presidency." Paul motioned for Luigi to sit across the desk.

Luigi sat down and rubbed his hand over his mouth. I know you speak Italian, son. But you grew up in California, so I don’t think you understand the importance of omerta in our souls.

What do you mean?

Our Roman ancestors would do anything, go to any lengths to protect the honor and sanctity of la Famiglia.

What exactly do you mean by ‘do anything,’ what have you done?

What needed to be done, boy.

Who the hell knows about this?

Luigi flung his hand. Silenzioso! Let me tell you what happened my way.

Okay. I’m not criticizing you, but if you want me to protect all of us, I need the absolute truth.

Si.

It’s time to shed light on those skeletons that rose up from their grave.

Chapter 4

Paul was finishing up the morning briefing with Kim, satisfied with the talking points he had provided for her to read at the press conference this afternoon. His eyes roamed over her youthful, Midwestern cheerleader face and figure. She personified his type of peppy female staffer. She was always agreeable, never critical or moody, and was adept at delivering unpleasant news tactfully.

Nicholas is due to arrive shortly. He’ll be ready to assist you with the media and the police investigation.

I’m sure he’ll be a huge asset in helping me handle the press releases about the skeletons, sir.

My son’s the best at deflecting intrusive questions, as well as spinning the narrative in our favor.

Everyone in the PR world admires Nicky’s proficiency as the head of Investor Relations for BullForce.