The Candidate

"You're going to stop with the BS common man nonsense. You're a billionaire! You're going to act like a billionaire and the voters are going to eat it up with a spoon."

And they did.

+++

KC's first act was to relaunch his campaign using TV reporters instead of the mostly print reporters who had been there for his first announcement. This time, he wore a $5,000 Tom Ford suit paired with his Ferragamo loafers, instead of the ridiculous overalls he had worn on Announcement 1.0. He had tried over-sized shoes with inserts and it was like walking in clown shoes. Sachs had immediately fallen on his face while walking across the room. So bigger shoes were ruled out.

She also was not sure what to do about his undersized hands. She had looked at hundreds of photographs of previous presidents. Nixon? Big hands. LBJ? Huge hands. Even Bush 41 had big hands. Clinton's hands weren't huge, but Jesus Christ on a pogo stick...13D shoe size! That was even bigger than Obama's size 12. Sachs' size 8 was barely bigger than Rutherford B. Hayes' size 7! Christ, Nancy Pelosi's size 10 meant she was swinging more than Sachs.

So, Sachs' small feet and small hands were a huge (KC snickered) issue because...well, everyone knew why.

As it turned out, they didn't have to do anything about Sachs' little feet or little hands. Because a big wallet compensated for a lot of things, as older men with younger hotter, wives had known for years. Every time Sachs' little hands and little feet were brought up, the conversation was turned towards a discussion about his oversized net worth.

+++

"Are you going to tap that ass?" Sachs asked Jerry Kowalski.

Kowalski looked in the direction in which his boss was looking.

KC.

"I've been trying. I've worked every angle I could on the bitch. Nothing. She looks at me like I farted in church. Cunt."

Sachs chuckled. "You want me to show you how it's done? Maybe you can learn from the master. She's a little older than what I usually go for, but there's something about her..."

"I hear you. I want to take her into my office, break her down like a shotgun, and piledrive her until she forgets her own name."

"I want to piss in her mouth and watch her swallow," Sachs said.

Kowalski grimaced at that. He and the boss shared a lot of the same sexual peccadilloes, but water sports and golden showers were not one of them.

"Tell you what," Sachs said, "Let's make a bet on who nails her first."

"You mean like with Breezy?" Albert and Jerry had made a bet with each other as to which of the two would have sex with porn star Breezy Davis first. Albert had won and gotten into her pants first. Jerry suspected that it took a combination of roofies and molly to win the bet, but Albert was the boss, so what are you going to do? Jerry paid Albert his thousand dollars and the way Albert gloated and carried on; you would have thought that he had won a hundred million on lotto instead of a grand by banging a chick that was one daddy issue away from being a streetwalker. Ungracious fucker.

"Let's go two thousand for KC. I don't think blow's going to her rev up like it did Breezy so getting her to rail a few lines isn't going to work. We're going to have to work the bitch."

"We've done it before, boss. Maybe Eiffel Tower her ass..."

+++

Presidential Suite

Sachs Hotel Central Park

New York City, NY

The key members of Albert Sachs' campaign committee were gathered around the twelve-person dining table in the ornate hotel suite. Heavy on gold plating and baroque styling, the room would not have been out of place in an 18^th-century French palace. While most people would have considered the ornate furnishings tacky and gaudy, Sachs considered them to be the epitome of culture and refinement. As KC Carnahan looked around the table, she wondered (not for the first time) what had possessed her to take on this job.

Jerry Kowalski, Sachs' campaign manager, was a creep of the first order. Every time that he glanced her way, she felt she needed a shower. Good looks but totally lacking in character; she knew that he had married the widow of a Navy Seal who had been killed in Afghanistan and that they had four children together. She also knew that he seldom saw either his wife or his kids and that he had been rumored to have had many affairs. It was rumored that his current affair partner was the married governor of a Great Plains state whose husband had moved out of the governor's mansion because of the affair.

Sachs' driver and general factotum, Willie Malva was also seated at the table for some unknown reason. KC could not figure out the relationship between Sachs and his driver. Willie seemed to be totally devoted to Sachs but Sachs treated Willie with indifference bordering on disdain. Willie had been vetted by the FB I and was present in many high-level meetings.

Retired Lieutenant General Jonathan Bryant was Sachs' national security advisor. Bryant's entire military career was a perfect example of someone always being in the right place at the right time. A mediocre commander who knew how to play the political game, Bryant was seen as a bit of a weasel by other flag officers.

Senator Jack Mathers from Alabama was acting as Sachs' foreign policy advisor. Mathers had jumped on the Sachs bandwagon in the early days of the campaign and had been a vocal supporter of Sachs from day one. His simplistic foreign policy platform could be summed up as "America in front, everyone else can kiss our ass."

'And then there's me,' KC thought somewhat sardonically. The more time she spent with the Sachs campaign, the more progressive her own political feelings became. Ironically, Sachs had been embraced by not just the political right, but by the religious right as well. "We're not voting for him for Sunday school teacher," pastors frequently shouted from their pulpits while trying to justify their backing of Sachs' candidacy.

He claimed to be pro-life and that was good enough for them. Being a good Catholic, KC was also pro-life. But, since joining the Sachs' campaign, she had heard persistent rumors that his personal doctor was also an accomplished abortionist.

KC knew that her days of working on Sachs' presidential campaign were numbered. The more that she was around him and his staff, the dirtier she felt. From being required to wear a stupid green RAVE hat to issuing press releases denying allegations of sexual impropriety, her days had become one long fire drill. She missed her husband and she was about done.

"That brings us to the topic of our friends in Russia," General Bryant said. "KC, you'll need to leave the room for this part."

"Why can't she stay," Sachs whined. He liked being surrounded by his loyal staff. Even if that loyalty was bought and paid for.

"She has been cleared for Confidential files, but what we are about to discuss is classified Top Secret. Until she is fully vetted, she cannot be here for these discussions."

Truthfully, KC didn't mind, although she did find irony in the fact that Willie, the guy who picked up Sachs' laundry was authorized to sit in on these meetings but she was not. She glanced at her watch. Her husband should be in his office at this time of day so she would place a quick call to Texas.

+++

"What's the hold up on her security clearance?" Sachs asked his security advisor after KC had exited the suite.

"It's her husband. We're having a hard time with his background check. There's really very little known about him before he immigrated to the US," Bryant said.

"When was that?"

"1981," Bryant replied.

"What!" Sachs exploded in anger. "What was he...like thirteen? You're holding up her Top-Secret clearance because you can't background him to when he was a fucking kid? Un-fucking-believable. Get with the FBI. Get with Treasury. Get with whoever the fuck you have to get with, but I her expect to have her top-secret clearance by the end of the week!"

+++

Office of Sir Keith McCall,

Director General, MI5

Thames House, London

The American entered the DG's office escorted by Lois, the DG's longtime secretary who introduced him as FBI Special Agent Robert Riley. Riley was ushered to the one empty chair in front of the DG's desk; the other chair being occupied by an older man in a sharply tailored, Saville-row suit. The DG sat at his desk. Sir Keith was young for his position, being the first person to hold the position of Director General who was not of age during "the Troubles."

"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Sir Keith. I am surprised that a simple request for background information was brought to your attention and requires DG intervention."

The DG sipped his tea and studied Agent Punic. Younger than the DG by a dozen or so years, he had the looks and manner of an up-and-comer. This was not the second string sent to trudge through files.

"This is a matter of some delicacy and it predates the beginning of my time with either SIS or MI5."

The director nodded his head in the direction of the occupant of the other chair. "This is James Mahoney. Mr. Mahoney was with MI5 during the seventies and is much more aware of activities in Northern Ireland during that time than I am. I have cleared him to answer all your questions."

The American nodded. This obviously ran much deeper than anyone in the Secret Service or the FBI knew. He could not imagine what the Irish Troubles in the 1970s had to do with Cameron Carnahan. Carnahan was born in 1969 which would have made him ten years old when the 70s came to an end.

"So, Cameron Carnahan...What can you tell me about him?"

"What do you know about him so far?" Mahoney asked.

"We know his parents were killed in the mid-70s and he lived a few years with his maternal uncle, Gary O'Neil. At the time, O'Neil was one of the leaders of Sinn Fein and went on to be elected to Parliament. After living with his uncle for a few years, he was shipped off to the United States to live with his maternal uncle in Austin, Texas. His uncle and his wife adopted Cam and he attended high school in Austin where he competed in long-distance running on the track team. He finished second in the state finals in his division. He then went to the University of Texas on a track scholarship. He majored in literary studies while also being in Army ROTC.

After graduation, he entered Army service, where he stayed for six, unremarkable years. He was in Iraq during Desert Storm and shortly after that ended, so did his army career. He left the army as a Captain and returned to the University of Texas where he received both his MA and PhD in literary studies.

He began teaching at Central Texas State University, married, had a couple of kids, and has lived a boring life as a literature professor. The only thing of note is his wife. She became immensely popular on NikNak by posting videos analyzing public relations fiascos of celebrities, athletes, and politicians. The popularity of her videos increased her profile which brought her to the attention of Albert Sachs. He hired her for his campaign and she seems to have turned the campaign around for him and he has gone from a long-shot candidate to a contender.

"The FBI will not sign off on KC Carnahan's Top-Secret clearance until we can nail down every detail of her husband's life. The first twelve years of his life are pretty much a mystery. Hence my request for information."

Mahoney nodded his head. He had expected as much.

"What I am going to tell you is not for public dissemination. This information is still classified as Enhanced Developed Vetting."

"Good Lord," Riley exclaimed. "The file carries an eDV security after nearly fifty years? For a twelve-year-old?"

Mahoney nodded grimly. "And therein lies the tale."

+++

04 August 1979

Village of Mullaghmore

County Sligo

Northern Ireland

"Oi! You, boy! What are you doing there?" The sergeant shouted at the schoolboy as the young man walked around the Rolls Royce parked on the street in front of the solicitor's office. The young man looked to be between ten and eleven years of age. He wore a school uniform and although empty-handed, he wore a black book bag over his shoulder. He looked like a typical school student in year six; blonde and tall for his age, his mannerisms and posture suggested good breeding.

"Nothing sir!" The young man stepped back and raised his hands. "Honest! I was just admiring his lordship's automobile."

"Well step away, lad. Lord Mountbatten doesn't take kindly to grubby fingerprints on his Rolls Royce."

The young man nodded his head and began to walk away. He turned his head once as he took a small step away from the Rolls. The sergeant had already turned away from the boy, dismissing him as a threat. The schoolboy let the book bag slide down his arm to the ground and gave the bag a quick kick under the rear passenger seat. He nodded his head to himself, as if satisfied at a job well done and then continued down the sidewalk. The maneuver had only taken a second and had gone unnoticed by the soldiers. The boy had done his job perfectly. They would have to see if Thomas McMahon had done his job.

International Herald-Tribune

05 August 1979

Failed Assassination Attempt!

An assassination attempt on Lord Mountbatten has failed. An explosive device planted

beneath Lord Mountbatten's automobile exploded with Lord Mountbatten in the vehicle.

Lord Mountbatten had changed his usual seat in the Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. "If

he had kept to his usual arrangements, without any doubt, he would be dead," stated a police official with knowledge of the assassination attempt. Although no one has been charged in the act, or acknowledged responsibility it is presumed to be the work of the Irish Republican Army. There were no witnesses, although a schoolboy was seen in the vicinity of Lord Mountbatten's automobile and is wanted for questioning.

27 August 1979

O'Callaghan's Fish & Chips

Belfast, Northern Ireland

The three British soldiers sat around the small table in the chip shop. The greasy newspapers on the table in front of them were the only evidence of the meal that they had eaten. Each of the soldiers had a pint glass of beer in front of them while empty glasses cluttered the table. O'Callaghan, the owner, was a member of the Ulster Defense Regiment and welcomed British soldiers to his establishment. He leaned over the counter reading a newspaper. Faded movie posters mixed with framed photos of Irish football players. Several ceiling lights were out and combined with cigarette smoking hanging thickly in the air, the shop was dim and would probably not pass a health inspection.

The bell over the door rang as a young boy dressed in a school uniform entered the shop. The boy was blonde and tall for his age and his mannerisms implied the good breeding of someone possibly to the manor born. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper as he approached the soldier's table.

"Excuse me, sirs," he said politely. "Might anyone have change for a five-pound note?"

The oldest soldier wore sergeant's chevrons on his tunic. He held out his hand for the note. The schoolboy passed the sergeant the five-pound note and waited for his change.

"I can change the fiver from your hands to mine," the sergeant chortled. The other two British soldiers laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

"Now run along, sonny. Go tell your mommy you lost your allowance." The sergeant laughed as he tucked the five-pound note into his tunic pocket.

The schoolboy shook his head sadly. "My mum's dead. She was killed by UDR scum disguised as British Army scum."

As the soldiers swore and started to rise, the schoolboy reached into his shoulder bag and took out a Walther PPK. The soldier's eyes opened wide, but that was as far as the sergeant got before a bullet entered his forehead, killing him instantly. Headshots to the other two soldiers quickly followed. As O'Callaghan scrambled to come up with a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun hidden below the counter, the schoolboy casually, almost nonchalantly, shot him in the head once and then once again. The schoolboy walked behind the counter where the deep fryer was bubbling away. He dropped the pistol in the fryer, turned, and exited the shop.

+++

Agent Riley looked at the Mahoney in open-mouthed shock.

"You're telling me that a twelve-year-old schoolboy was an IRA assassin?"

"Not exactly," Mahoney said before taking a sip of tea. "He was twelve when he moved across the pond. He was eight when he started killing for the IRA. By the time he was twelve, he was their most proficient and prolific assassin."

The American shook his head. He had never heard of such a thing. Sure, it was common for third-world kids to be taught to shoot and kill in the name of some warlord. But they weren't taught to be cold-blooded assassins.

"So, this was his uncle teaching him to kill? The same uncle that's now in Parliament?"

Sir Keith nodded his head yes. "Sinn Fein is now a legitimate political party. And it wasn't all his uncle. The lad had many teachers. Thomas McMahon gave him instruction on explosives."

"Who is Thomas McMahon?" The American asked.

"He's the IRA toe rag that built the bomb that killed Mountbatten."

"And when was Mountbatten actually killed?" the American said.

"August 27 of 1979; the same year as your man Carnahan's failed attempt. It was a bomb blast on his boat. His lordship not only lost his life, he lost a grandson, a crew member, and his son-in-law's mother."

"Did Carnahan have anything to do with that?"

"It doesn't appear that he did since he was in Belfast that night at a fish and chip shop whittling down the British Army. It was, however, the same bomb maker in both instances. Thomas McMahon. He was sentenced to life in prison but paroled after twenty years. He's still alive and living in Carrickmacross, County Monaghan, but good luck on getting him to talk. He refuses to talk to anyone."

Riley sat in shock. "How many people did Cameron Carnahan kill?"

Mahone shrugged his shoulders at the question. "A dozen. Two dozen. Three dozen. A hundred. We have no idea. Over the course of about twenty years, the Ulster Defense Regiment killed about 400 people. For a time, the IRA was trying to match them, body for body. As I said, proficient and prolific."

"He had to know it was wrong to kill. Why did he take to it so easily?"

"His parents were entertainers. Singers. They were part of a group called the Miami Showband. Are you familiar?"

The American shook his head. "No. Never heard of them."

Mahoney nodded as if he expected that answer. "In the 60s and 70s, no band with the possible exception of the Beatles was more successful in Ireland than the Miami Showband. They had several number-one hits in Ireland. They even sang Ireland's entry into the Eurovision Song Contest one year. Gary O'Neil's sister Niamh, and her husband Colin, were both singers in the band and quite successful."

In 1975, they were returning to Ireland from a performance in Northern Ireland. In the Village of Buskhill, they were stopped at a checkpoint by British soldiers. Only they were not British soldiers. They were Ulster Defense Regiment goons dressed in borrowed uniforms. A couple of UDR idiots tried to use a bomb, but the bomb went off killing themselves and throwing one of the band members into a ditch. The rest of the UDR members started shooting at the band members with automatic rifles and pistols. They killed five members of the band. The only survivor was the band member who had been thrown into a ditch. He played dead. If you Google Miami Showband Massacre you can find out as much about the killings as I can tell you."