Capitol Punishment. Andrew Welsh-Huggins
Prologue
I had to bend over to catch my breath when I finally reached the top of the stairs, which is why the bullet missed me and splintered the wall just above my head. I didn’t wait for a second shot. I lunged to my right and started counterclockwise around the curved room, away from the origin of the gunfire. A moment later, exhausted by the climb, I stumbled and fell, dropping what I’d been holding and hitting my head on the worn, century-old wooden bench hugging the inner wall. Staggering to my feet, I touched my forehead with my right hand and felt something warm and sticky. I took a breath and listened. The layout of the room, an enclosed circular walkway, made it impossible to see more than a few feet in either direction. Was I being followed from behind or approached from ahead? I was like a knight in a drained moat trying to escape an oncoming dragon. Except that my armor wasn’t very shiny and the dragon was more of a snake. The ringing in my ears from the gunshot made it hard to hear above the rock anthem pumping up the crowd outside and far below, and I nearly missed the sound of footsteps. I glanced behind me, reached down, picked up what I’d dropped and, ignoring the popping in my knees, limped away from the noise as fast as possible. I just hoped I’d guessed the right way to go.
“You don’t want to do this,” I said, trying to make myself heard over the music. “It’s over.”
“You’re right about that,” came the reply, in an unnervingly calm voice.
I paused, trying to figure out how far behind me the words were coming from. I heard another voice echoing outside. Authoritative, confident and assuring, the tone of a man who has gazed into your eyes and knows your heart and wants nothing more than to help you.
“That’s Governor Hubbard,” I said. “The introduction’s about to start. You’re wasting time.”
“I’ve got plenty.”
“I don’t think so. We both know you’re on deadline.”
“Dead is right.”
I took another breath and used my left hand to wipe away the blood dripping into my eyes. I put my hand back on the wall to steady myself; the bloody palm print would be a new kind of signature for the room. Outside, the governor’s plummy voice rose and fell in the practiced rhythms that had served him well in numerous elections and would again, many hoped, but this time in the biggest contest of all. “The person I’m about to present to you is no stranger to the great state of Ohio . . .” the governor said, but stopped, immediately drowned out by another chorus of cheers.
“Almost time,” I said.
“Shut up.”
“Pick or choose.”
“Shut up.”
“The best person I know to lead this wonderful country which I love so much . . .” the governor said, even louder now, and was once again interrupted by yells and applause.
“It’s over,” I repeated.
I waited in vain for a reply. The only noise came from outside. Maybe I was too late: maybe it really was finished. Just not the way I’d hoped. Then I heard a new sound, of footsteps hitting the wooden floor hard: the sound of someone running toward me, fast, with nothing left to lose.
1
“YOU EXPECTING SOMEONE?” ANNE SAID, looking up from the table at the sound of the doorbell. Memorial Day, almost three weeks earlier.
“Not if they know what’s good for them,” I said.
I let the spoon I was holding sink into the bowl of pancake batter on the counter and stumped down the hall. To say it was rare to have a morning together with my two sons, my girlfriend, and my girlfriend’s daughter was the understatement of the year, and I wasn’t in the mood to miss a second of it.
I opened my front door and eyed the man standing before me.
“Yeah?”
“Well, heck, you’re not nearly as ugly in person,” he said, grinning.
“I gave at the office,” I said, and started to close the door in his face. He wouldn’t be the first person to track me down at home and attempt a debate over my two-decade-old college football career. I had no interest in entertaining the latest incarnation, especially so early on a holiday.
“Hang