Free A Triple Thriller Fest by Michael Wallace, Philip Chen, Gordon Ryan Page B

coastal mountain range. With its proximity to the route followed by California gray whales heading north to Alaska from Baja, the northern California coastline was a favorite gathering place for whale watchers, Greenpeace supporters, rabid environmentalists, and assorted tourists. Providing public access to the beaches across his land and a healthy contribution to ocean environmentalist causes was a concession Franklin made to placate those who might otherwise resent the size of his holdings. Access to the developed area of Franklin’s retreat and to his elaborate estate, however, was electronically restricted.
    Launching his campaign for reelection, Senator Turner had put out the word, and the usual corporate sponsors had responded. But in his three previous senatorial election campaigns, he had not been contacted by John Henry Franklin, nor, to his knowledge, had he received any contributions from the Franklin Foundation. So, this unexpected invitation to Sea Ranch was as intriguing as the messenger was beautiful and alluring. Delivered at that time and in that manner made it an invitation Turner could hardly decline.
    Amelia Erickson, Franklin’s personal assistant and the woman who had visited the Senator’s office to extend the invitation, came out of the mansion as Turner’s limousine came to a stop.
    She extended her hand. “Senator Turner, how kind of you to come.”
    “Thank you, Ms. Erickson,” Turner replied, flashing his warmest campaign smile.
    She linked her arm in his and turned toward the monstrous stone house. “Let me introduce you to the other guests.”
    Three men stood near the veranda railing where they had been watching the sunset gather over the ocean. As Amelia and Turner approached, the younger of the men stepped forward to greet him.
    “Welcome, Senator Turner. Please, join us.”
    Turner recognized him as Paul Spackman, the evening news anchor for CBS Television’s San Francisco affiliate. He didn’t recognize the other two men, both Hispanic. Spackman made the introductions.
    “General Emiliano Estaban Valdez, deputy chief of staff of the Mexican Armed Forces, and General Rodrigo Cordoba, retired. General Cordoba now serves as the Chief of Federal Police in Mexico.”
    Turner shook hands then accepted a drink brought to him by a uniformed servant. “Gentlemen.” He raised his glass. “To your health.”
    “ Gracias, Señor . It is an honor to meet you, Senator,” General Valdez replied.
    “The pleasure is mine, General.”
    “I’ve just spoken with Mr. Franklin,” Amelia said, once introductions had been accomplished. “His helicopter is about ten minutes out. Please, make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll alert the staff to prepare for his arrival.”
    The massive stone fireplace was fully ablaze, and the liquor sideboard in use as John Henry Franklin entered the room. Muscular, about five-feet-ten, Franklin exuded power as much from his physical presence as from his well-earned reputation for being able to resuscitate a business deal others had written off as moribund. While his outward presentation was always pleasant and courteous, Franklin had found it useful to carefully cultivate a questionable business reputation that his friends and enemies had come to call “Frankevelian.”
    Though he never had been formally charged, a feeling prevailed that those who stood in the way of his interests frequently met with misfortune. On the other hand, his business interests seemed always to be blessed by the fortunate oversight of Providence.
    Over the years, Franklin had acquired controlling interests in many companies, but it wasn’t until he cornered the market in communications—specifically cable TV and telecommunications systems—that he really became a major player, elevating himself to a position of near absolute power. By linking home shopping networks and cable television systems, he had gained direct-dial accessibility to millions of homes across the nation. Through