The Ring

By Dirk Dieters

This is the story of a family responding to tragedy and caught in the center of the deadly affairs of others. On moving day, Martin Dougherty’s wife is accidentally killed, sending the family into turmoil. Martin and his three children, Kristi, Kim, and Ken must deal with a new city and a new life which becomes complicated by their discovery of information that brings with it murder, presidential bids, and extortion by domestic terrorists weaving Martin and the family through a dangerous gauntlet.
The saga moves in erratic fashion from Denver to Tucson; connects with a small town in South Carolina; and affects national politics in Washington DC exposing them to violent forces threatening them and the teenage girl whom they must save to save themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665575744

Dirk Dieters

Dirk Dieters lives in Tucson, Arizona where he operates a small business management consulting and accounting firm. His twenty-eight years of consulting, practicing law, and coaching are drawn upon in his novels. Power is the third novel in the Martin Dougherty Series. For more information, visit his website at DDietersAuthor.com or email him at [e-mail]

Book preview

The

Ring

Dirk Dieters

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2022 Dirk Dieters. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/14/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7573-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7574-4 (e)

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Plantation House on the photo:

Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels

Capitol Building on the Cover

Photo by Alejandro Barba on Unsplash

Contents

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Part Two

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Part Three

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Suspicion

Chapter One

About the Author

Thanks to Jan White for her hours of editing and incredible interest; to Kyle Conley for her suggestions; and of course, to Moira White for her reading and support.

Part One

Our intellect may be confused but your emotions will never lie to you….

Chapter One

The vibration of Rodney’s burner phone shook the silent air. Pressing answer he took the call knowing who the caller was. There was only one person who could call this phone. He sighed. It was not what he wanted today. The phone had rung just the other day, things were under control and he had no desire to speak to the caller. A voice started lecturing him in a calm, condescending drawl, You know that we can’t have people poking around. Do I have to ask again if you are going to take care of this…situation? The only sounds for the next thirty seconds were the sounds of crickets. He awaited a response from Rodney that wasn’t going to come–then, You do what you have to do. Silence again.

Rodney finally spoke. I’ve taken care of it, Rodney assured him.

I’ve heard that before. This cannot go wrong. The caller rarely contacted Rodney so any call from him brought urgency. The caller was Rodney’s brother and the junior United States Senator from South Carolina. Something was up. The editor of the paper had called Rodney the day before to let him know that someone seemed to have too much interest in a very sensitive issue and Rodney knew it was his responsibility to deal with it but why was his brother pestering him?

It was always assumed that Rodney would fix it, and he would. He always did–he was the fixer. To call twice about this was sending a message. This issue had to be addressed immediately. Any means would justify the ends so long as it was done without any possibility of them being implicated–that’s how it always was. Rodney also knew that there were more issues than his brother realized but he was okay so long as his brother didn’t know about them and he planned to keep it that way. Rodney had a realistic fear if even some of what he knew ever became known by his brother. Couldn’t risk that. He shouldn’t have bothered to call, he thought to himself. My plan is already in place. I’m Rodney Widman, I don’t have to kiss up to him.

They had grown up together, Rodney in his brother’s shadow. His brother was an athlete, his brother went to college, his brother was in the national spotlight and Rodney was left giving tours in South Carolina. He couldn’t admit it but he hated his brother. He hated that he was also protected by him and that he relied on him for his livelihood. Without his brother he was no one. With his brother he had power. That he would call insulted him and brought a frown to his face and a knot in his stomach. Why wasn’t he the one in front of the cameras instead of him? Why did he have to live in the obscurity and boredom of a hot, humid Southern town without a decent restaurant, leading tours to the occasional tourist while his brother traveled the country in style? But Rodney had a plan that would give him the last laugh. But today they had a job to do.

It was too bad but the target had screwed up. He actually liked Bobby. Rodney had chosen Bobby for this role and he had played it well–Bobby was scared and obedient but then some people just got in the wrong place at the wrong time—and a strong message had to be sent. Bobby was a nice guy but he never should have contacted the newspaper–for anything. Rodney probably would have let it go but his brother wouldn’t and now he had to deal with it. Bobby didn’t know it but the newspaper he contacted was controlled by Rodney’s brother. There were some topics that simply were too toxic that even looking into them was fatal. Although Rodney didn’t really know yet why Bobby was poking into this taboo subject, a message had to be sent to address this unforgivable sin. He needed to be scared. Using a popular phrase, Bobby has been a useful idiot unknowingly playing his part. The fact is, Rodney had a few other people that Thad didn’t know about in similar roles. The power Rodney derived from his brother gave him the ability to use people as he saw fit. He needed the old lady quiet and Bobby had kept her quiet until now and he needed to be reminded of his role. Contacting the newspaper was a mistake. Rodney’s plan was simple. There would be an accident that would be enough of a scare to remind Bobby that he was under Rodney’s control. Rodney needed to be reassured that the old lady was under control and, now even more importantly, to get that box.

Rodney could never do it himself. Thanks to an undistinguished time in the military, he had learned to accept his limitations. Fortunately the entire tour was spent next to a person that he knew could pull this off. A person who would ask no questions. Rodney knew him as Thomas. He knew from the desert that he had the nerve that Rodney lacked. Didn’t matter if either of them liked each other, this was business and over the years he had completed other missions successfully. He had already called across the country and the skinny, long-haired, blonde guy that he called was now sitting in the high grass on the side of the road.

Rodney watched the plan unfold from a distance while Thomas prepared the accident. Thomas was wishing to himself that Rodney would go away and leave him there alone. All he could do is screw this up–but he’s paying. As Thomas sat on the side of the road the morning mist began to burn off and his mind continued to wander. It’s going to be hot and muggy–surprise–it always is hot and muggy here which is why I live in the desert. No wind, just water hanging in the air and starting to bead on his forehead. He laid in the soft grass with sweat building on his shirt, not from stress but from the heat. A light wind began to move some of the air but it was of no help, it merely brought more heat and humidity. Thomas didn’t even want to think about the critters that were crawling around his boots. He awaited the signal alerting him that the target was about to leave his long gravel drive about a half-mile to the south. Rodney had told him that he would probably be coming fast. The plan was to cause him to lose control and swerve into the ditch at which time Rodney would take over. Was it a good plan? Thomas didn’t care. He didn’t tell him what to do; he did what he was told. When the car turned north and accelerated down the tree-lined road Thomas would shoot the right front tire. Thomas had brought with him a partner who was on the other side poised to create the distraction he needed. He had to bring a partner because he didn’t trust Rodney.

The location that was chosen was far enough along the road to allow the vehicle to accelerate. The distraction would provide his opportunity to create an accident. That was the end of his mission and he would be gone. His mission was to cause the car to swerve off the road and crash. Rodney wanted to scare the driver–he hadn’t thought beyond that. He wanted to tell Thomas everything but Thomas didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know anything other than what he was being paid to do.

Thomas’ phone vibrated the signal. An old BMW came up the empty section of Highway 17 when suddenly a large object in the road appeared around the turn. The car skidded and braked, the driver losing control. A shot rang out. The sound penetrated the silent vacuum to the ears of no one, the bullet penetrated the right front tire. The sudden hit to the tire caused the driver to violently swerve to the right. The car started a roll through the ditch before hitting a huge oak tree and then skidding into a thick stand of southern pine. Thomas exhaled. A rush of excitement made him smile as he watched the car smashing into the trees. The left front of the car took the brunt of the impact, the windshield shattered and following the car into the woods was a trail of metal and glass. No explosion, just an eerie silence. The unexplainable stillness was in contradiction to the adrenalin that shot through Thomas. There were visible signs of the vehicle’s entry into the woods but it had gone in so deeply that it was no longer visible from the road. Thomas wanted to shout in exhilaration but instead he professionally kept his poise, rose and headed towards his exit vehicle to meet his partner. He hoped to exit and avoid Rodney but he wasn’t that lucky. Rodney appeared and Thomas spoke. Told you we were good.

Just get the hell out of here—I’ll take care of the rest. You know the drill said Rodney

What do you think I’m going to do? I’m outta here. Thomas knew to look for a significant amount of cash stuffed inside 64-ounce tomato paste cans that would be delivered the following day to the compound.

Rodney quickly ran to inspect the wreck. There was a problem—pinned by the trees, the door would not open. That wasn’t the plan. The plan was for him to scare Bobby and to get what he wanted from the car but there was no way to get inside. Rodney looked at Bobby without empathy but then with panic as he realized that Bobby was gruesomely embedded in the windshield with a large part of his head missing. He was obviously dead. Rodney was shaken, I didn’t want him dead Crap–what if Thad finds out? he thought. I needed him–we were only supposed to scare him. And there was more. In the front passenger seat was the old lady. Rodney knew that he couldn’t be seen but didn’t know if she was alive. Careful avoiding any acts that might risk his identification he left the scene with unfinished business. Might have to embellish the report to Thad a little," he thought to himself.

All would be long gone before the police arrived and there would be no trace of their presence. About an hour later a single police vehicle arrived on the scene and in another fifteen minutes an ambulance arrived to take the woman. The driver was left behind. Watching from a distance he was pleased when Roy’s Towing arrived on the scene—not much of a surprise–they were the only towing company in Sheldon, South Carolina—and he knew that he could work with the owner to finish his task. Within an hour he was sitting in Roy’s office sliding a hundred-dollar-bill across the table for access to the wrecked car.

Roy smiled. Believe it or not the car may not be totaled but no one would know it. We’ll send it to an out-of-state salvage yard. Go ahead–you’ll have about fifteen minutes before anyone else comes in.

Rodney went to the lot and started to open the door but immediately became queasy. The passenger door opened but it was obvious that some body parts and fluids had not been removed. Fighting back the embarrassment of vomiting in the lot, he quickly closed the door. He had seen enough. He knew that he should be going through it to find what he needed but he simply didn’t have the stomach for it and it was starting to rain. Rationalization took over. Might have left it in the house he thought as he wiped the fresh blood from his hands. Even if it’s in the car, no one in a salvage yard would find it and figure out what it is–that’s not going to happen. I’ll go through the house and then tell Thad that it’s over. Giving a thumbs up he returned to his car and drove off. A few months later an old house outside of Sheldon burned down.

Chapter Two

Martin Dougherty lay in bed awakened by the wind howling outside. But now it was only 3 a.m and still in bed he listened to the wind that woke him. It was coming in gusts some stronger than others but all enough to merit recognition. Half awake it was as if he had moved to another world. No point in getting up–no way was he going out to the patio in this! Repeated wooden crashes from the gate outside slamming open and shut; the syncopated calling from the swaying trees that warned of the strength of the approaching gusts; and the occasional slapping of branches against windows and walls. The swaying trees were telling him that this world would not tolerate the comforts of his previous world, and that life would never again be the same. No, the wind would remind him that the status quo had been shaken and that the world would never again be easy.

No rain, just fierce noise and the threat of the unknown. The wind carried with it the unknown and the foreshadowing of change. Its intensity and frequency were codes for the karma it carried. Wind is felt; wind is heard; and wind is experienced. Martin lay in bed feeling the intensity, listening to the sounds and experiencing the mystical yet angry wind, trying to interpret the meaning. The inner shaman in Martin failed to provide solace in his interpretation. What was yet to come was unknown but he knew that it would continue to include memories of what was past. Memories that alternated from precious to heartbreaking and foreshadowing a future that remained terrifying.

The noises Martin was hearing were reminiscent of many nights in mountain tents in mountain campgrounds as diverse as backpacking in wilderness areas to improved campgrounds in Rocky Mountain National Park. Early summer would bring those winds. Night winds that attack down-canyon making tents dance hysterically while being held in place by small metal stakes that no one really believed could possibly be up to the task. Sometimes Martin would camp alone but more often it was with his family. Warm thoughts returned of the nights with twin daughters Kristi and Kim nestled in a sleeping bag exhausted from their day-hike and oblivious to the raging winds. Born on the same day they were so different yet they had a bond that was beyond the conception of an only child like Martin. Younger son Ken, four years younger, snuggled for warmth in between Karen and himself but would not distract from the look that Karen would give him saying, the tent is going to hold up right? He would gush his confident response as he wondered himself. Those winds were different. The mountain winds were fierce and cold. These winds didn’t cool. Instead they merely stole comfort and replaced it with dry, sterile memories.

Their family camping slowed as the girls became teenagers and started lobbying for the beach. Martin thought Kim would have continued but knew that she wouldn’t stand up to Kristi’s clear proclamations that the beach was now preferable. Martin never liked the beach. Ken took up the camping mantle and even now, years later, would cajole Martin into a one or two-night backpack but backpacking was becoming less appealing as the ground was growing harder and less inviting since turning 50. Oh how he wished that Karen was there in bed beside him! He wanted to turn to her and see if the wind had awakened her. He wanted to go back to the mountains with her—she enjoyed it as much as he—but that was not to be. No one deserved to die that young—especially her.

Karen and Martin had grown up oblivious to each other in small towns in the thumb of Michigan—they always used their left hand to show people where that was located. They had moved to Colorado at about the same time, Karen to go to the University of Colorado for undergrad and Martin, following an undergraduate economics degree at Michigan State, to the University of Denver Law School. Karen was attracted to the proximity to the ski slopes; Martin to the distance from Michigan. The thumb of Michigan is about as flat as flat. Occasional school excursions to the small Michigan ski hills had caught Karen’s interest and when her family took a vacation to Colorado in her teens she was hooked. Martin as a teen was flat out bored. An only child he was top of his class but felt that was a low bar. His parents were older, had worked the family farm all of their lives and he simply saw no future in sticking around. His four years of college had convinced him that farm-life simply wasn’t for him. Despite knowing that the farm was supposed to become his, he knew he was going to disappoint his parents by declining–and he suspected they knew so too. Karen got a teaching certificate, Martin admission to the bar. They met shortly after Karen was hired for a teaching job just south of Denver and as Martin was hired in Downtown Denver with a labor relations firm obtaining the moniker, MD JD. Shortly thereafter they married and started a family, settling in South Denver half-way in between the two. Karen was committed to her teaching and Martin to his thriving career as a labor lawyer. With their three children, they cultivated a close-knit family and quickly bought a larger home in the area that they never considered leaving.

It was now nearly 5:00. Martin’s mind continued wandering as the clock played games, skipping fifteen and twenty minutes at a time as he alternated between dreams and memories. His thoughts were oblivious to the occasional interjection of a thud or a bang outside. A level of satisfaction warmed him with the knowledge that just like the diligent precautions he would always take when camping there was no present danger tonight. Just as in life, Martin was cautious and cognizant of possible threats and prepared for them. He understood that conservative trait and attributed it to his upbringing on the farm. He could remember his father making contingency plans for everything. There might be some things to clean up once the sun rose but there was nothing to really worry about. He made sure tree limbs were away from the new house and that everything was secure outside. It was a simile of Martin’s life—storms could rage but he would feel insulated due to his preparation and calm demeanor. The outside could be in turmoil but within himself Martin had a safe haven. The only anomaly was the accident that took Karen two years prior. He wasn’t over it and he never would be. A day didn’t pass without wanting to tell her something and hear her response. The pain would never stop but neither did life, despite his efforts to slow it down. Martin didn’t really want either the pain to pass nor the morning to start.

Karen was tall, thin and outgoing, making Martin an easy mark. She would push her long straight brown hair back, smile at him with a surprisingly devilish smile that she knew he couldn’t resist. Despite her dark complexion her strong blue eyes penetrated his soul. They brought out the best in her and people noticed. Some women are high-maintenance, Karen was low-maintenance. She liked to pull her hair back, wear little make-up, and dress in jeans but what Martin saw was a beauty queen and as time went on the years were good to her. She turned his head every morning as he tried to figure out just what she saw in him. Martin was always surprised that she had even been attracted to him to begin with and for over twenty years he did his best to make sure that never changed. She had little competition as Martin had basically been dating only his law books for years. Also tall, about six-foot two, he was strong and sturdy but even more attractive to Karen was Martin’s strong streak of empathy–his first concern in all situations was the feelings of others. As serious as Martin seemed to his peers, she saw a playful side too. He would often repeat a line from an old song by the Eagles: "Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy." His black hair which was now salt and pepper and blue eyes were off-set by very light skin–he was constantly afraid of the sun. When pulled into social encounters by Karen, Martin was most comfortable in his coat and tie out of fear that he would embarrass her. He saw in her the ability to pull him outside his comfort zone and enjoy a life that he knew he never could have had on the farm.

Karen’s only fault was her complete lack of interest in cooking. She just didn’t care. To her, cooking simply made a mess that would have to be cleaned up. That was probably how she stayed so thin all her life and it forced Martin into becoming the family cook. At first he was lost in the kitchen but within a few months he was planning the menus, doing the shopping and preparing the meals. He found that he actually enjoyed it and soon became proficient enough to cook for guests without fear. He left behind the bland farm-fare of his youth and expanded his tastes to most any fare other than Indian–he and curry just didn’t agree. Karen would challenge him with recipe ideas that he seemed to consistently master. They would regularly invite friends over to try out recipes, confident that Martin could pull it off. She also made him do his own wash–a skill that is absent in farm-raised men. He was