The slate, p.1
The Slate, page 1
PRAISE FOR MATTHEW FITZSIMMONS
The Slate
“Matthew FitzSimmons breaks out of the pack of DC novels of politics and crime with The Slate, a sobering ticking-clock(s) screen of Washington power beyond mere election fraud—and he does so with strong twenty-first-century kick-ass women. While FitzSimmons spotlights evils like political corruption, human trafficking, and murder, what makes The Slate stand out is its climax core: redemption.”
—James Grady, creator of Condor and author of The Smoke in Our Eyes
Chance
“FitzSimmons hooks readers with the clone angle and then expertly mixes SF and mystery tropes till he’s implicated every party in sight in some sort of crime or cover-up. A seriously playful novel of ideas.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Constance
An Amazon Best Book of the Month: Science Fiction & Fantasy
“Maybe what we need most as this bewildering summer winds down is a diverting story about an interesting futuristic topic that injects no new anxiety into our nervous brains . . . [Constance] shines in its interstitial moments . . . In between the sleuthing and the schemes for world domination and the eluding of people with guns, we are invited to grapple with genuinely thoughtful questions about the philosophical, legal, and ethical implications of cloning and scientific innovation in general . . . The debates around cloning in Constance echo many of our contemporary preoccupations—skepticism of science, radical mistrust of those with opposing views, conspiracy theories.”
—Sarah Lyall, critic, The New York Times
“Full of technological surprises and ethical dilemmas, this inventive thriller hums with the electric excitement of the best 1950s science fiction.”
—Tom Nolan, critic, The Wall Street Journal
“In this timely thriller, tantalizing clues, complex motives, and shifting views of the truth flow around such issues as the relationship between money and power, the right to life, and the definition of self. FitzSimmons has upped his game with this one.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A super-brainy high-concept dystopian tale guaranteed to reward anyone who’s in the mood.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A propulsive sci-fi thriller that questions the very nature of what makes us human.”
—POPSUGAR
“What a book! Like all the best speculative fiction, FitzSimmons’s compelling thriller Constance takes elements of real science and spins them up into a novel and terrifying premise.”
—Blake Crouch, New York Times bestselling author of Dark Matter and Recursion
“Constance is a blistering, balletic read—silky-smooth world-building that effortlessly grounds a wonderful, harrowing tale of mystery, suspense, identity, friendship, and redemption. This is, for all its twists, turns, and tricks, a novel that does what a novel should do: examine what makes us human after all. Genuinely one of the best books I have read in a long, long time.”
—Greg Rucka, New York Times bestselling author and creator of The Old Guard
Origami Man
“FitzSimmons brings Gibson Vaughn and an old enemy full circle in Origami Man—an intricately plotted, rapid-fire thriller guaranteed to hook you from page one. Easily the best Gibson Vaughn installment to date.”
—Steven Konkoly, Wall Street Journal bestselling author
“Matthew FitzSimmons’s rapid-fire novels are loaded with twisted plots, explosive action, and dialogue that crackles with wit and emotion. His bighearted characters keep me coming back, book after book. Grab this thriller with both hands because Origami Man is a total blast.”
—Nick Petrie, bestselling author of The Drifter
Debris Line
“Matthew FitzSimmons writes the kinds of thrillers I love to read: smart, character driven, and brimming with creative action sequences. If you’re not yet a fan of FitzSimmons’s Gibson Vaughn series, strap in, because you soon will be. Debris Line is tense, twisty, and always ten steps ahead. Don’t miss it.”
—Chris Holm, Anthony Award–winning author of The Killing Kind
“Matt FitzSimmons continues his amazing literary feat of creating an ensemble cast of troubled heroes and shooting them through page-turning thrillers with his latest, Debris Line, continuing the fast-paced adventures of Gibson Vaughn and his crew as they battle to stay alive and find some measure of justice in this unforgiving world. The Gibson Vaughn series is on its way to being a classic franchise of thriller fiction, with a unique voice and an unusual approach that keep the stories as appealing as they are entertaining. Highly recommended.”
—James Grady, author of Six Days of the Condor
“Debris Line . . . doesn’t waste a word or miss a twist. It’s always smart, always entertaining, and populated top to bottom with fascinating and unforgettable characters.”
—Lou Berney, author of November Road
Cold Harbor
“In FitzSimmons’s action-packed third Gibson Vaughn thriller . . . fans of deep, dark government conspiracies will keep turning the pages to see how it all turns out.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Cold Harbor interweaves two classic American tropes: the solitary prisoner imprisoned for who knows what and the American loner determined to rectify the injustices perpetrated on him. It’s a page-turner that keeps the reader wondering—and looking forward to Gibson Vaughn number four.”
—Criminal Element
“There are so many layers and twists to Cold Harbor . . . FitzSimmons masterfully fits together the myriad pieces of Gibson Vaughn’s past like a high-quality Springbok puzzle.”
—Crimespree Magazine
Poisonfeather
An Amazon Best Book of the Month: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Category
“FitzSimmons’s complicated hero leaps off the page with intensity and good intentions while a byzantine plot hums along, ensnaring characters into a tightening web of greed, betrayal, and violent death.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[FitzSimmons] has knocked it out of the park, as they say. The characters’ layers are being peeled back further and further, allowing readers to really root for the good guys! FitzSimmons has put together a great plot that doesn’t let you rest for even a minute.”
—Suspense Magazine
The Short Drop
“FitzSimmons has come up with a doozy of a sociopath.”
—The Washington Post
“This live-wire debut begins with a promising lead in the long-ago disappearance of the vice president’s daughter, then doubles down with tangled conspiracies, duplicitous politicians, and a disgraced hacker hankering for redemption . . . Hang on and enjoy the ride.”
—People
“Writing with swift efficiency, FitzSimmons shows why the stakes are high, the heroes suitably tarnished, and the bad guys a pleasure to foil.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“With a complex plot layered on top of unexpected emotional depth, The Short Drop is a wonderful surprise on every level . . . This is much more than a solid debut; it’s proof that FitzSimmons has what it takes.”
—Amazon.com, an Amazon Best Book of December 2015
“Beyond exceptional. Matthew FitzSimmons is the real deal.”
—Andrew Peterson, author of the bestselling Nathan McBride series
“The Short Drop is an adrenaline-fueled thriller that has it all: political intrigue, murder, and suspense. Matthew FitzSimmons weaves a clever plot and deftly leads the reader on a rapid ride to an explosive end.”
—Robert Dugoni, bestselling author of My Sister’s Grave
OTHER TITLES BY MATTHEW FITZSIMMONS
The Gibson Vaughn series
The Short Drop
Poisonfeather
Cold Harbor
Debris Line
Origami Man
The Constance series
Constance
Chance
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by Planetarium Station, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542009508 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781542009515 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781542009492 (digital)
Cover design by David Drummond
Cover image: © Hoover Tung / Shutterstock; © jayk7 / Getty
First edition
For Eric
CONTENTS
START READING
Her phone rang . . .
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
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
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Whenever people tell you they are going to wipe the slate clean, it’s your slate they mean to wipe.
—P. J. O’Rourke
July 13, 2001
Her phone rang shortly before midnight, or more accurately, one of them rang. She’d fallen asleep fully clothed, sitting upright in bed beside the stack of Washington Posts she hadn’t gotten around to this week. On the television, David Letterman was interviewing Vince Vaughn about his new movie. Without opening her eyes, she muted the volume with the clicker and reached for the cordless on her nightstand.
“Yeah?” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Agatha,” Paul Paxton stated as if she were an amnesiac needing a reminder. “I wake you?”
She appreciated the congressman’s feigned concern, but it was Friday night, and that was personal. “What do you need, boss?”
“There’s been an incident out at the Grey Horse in Middleburg.”
Middleburg was a quaint little town in Virginia with a scenic main street boasting shops and restaurants where a certain segment of DC went antiquing on weekends. The Grey Horse was a historic inn that had been a fixture there since the eighteenth century. It wasn’t the kind of place that had “incidents.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Clark.”
Agatha’s eyes were open now. “Clark” would be Congressman Harrison Clark of the great state of Illinois. “Is he alone?”
“Of course not.”
Congressman Clark’s wandering eye had always been his Achilles’ heel. That he was having a tryst hardly warranted a midnight phone call.
“So what happened?” she asked.
“There were drugs involved. Apparently they were having a little party. She overdosed.” Paxton sounded almost excited, but it wouldn’t be until much later that she stopped to contemplate what that meant.
“Who’s the girl?” Agatha asked, although she already knew the answer.
“Yes,” he said.
Agatha let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and looked away to Letterman laughing silently, head back like a man possessed. Charlotte Haines was dead. Dead. That was a lot to take in, and Agatha didn’t know how to feel about it.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Paxton asked, mistaking her silence for reticence.
“Just tell me what I need to do.” She swung her feet off the bed and reached for a notepad.
“That’s why you’re my killer.” He meant it as a compliment, but she would always wonder what it said about her that she took it as one.
“Why didn’t Clark call his own people?”
“You know his chief of staff. The man’s a damn Boy Scout. He overlooks the infidelities, but this falls too far outside his comfort zone.”
Paxton carried on, laying it all out, while Agatha wrote everything down in her neat, economical script, making notes to herself as she went. In the top left corner, she wrote “COFFEE” in all caps and underlined it three times.
“So what’s our play?” she asked.
“Be a knight in shining armor. Clean up his mess.”
Neither said anything for a long moment, as if both knew a bright, uncrossable line was being crossed. They played plenty dirty but always just this side of legal. Helping Clark with his predicament was a whole other proposition. Right now, no crime had been committed. A young Hill staffer overdosing in a congressman’s hotel room wasn’t great, but it was only a career-ending scandal. What they were discussing now was a criminal conspiracy.
“Speak your mind,” he said.
“Are we sure we want to do this?”
“I don’t like it any more than you do. But this town is built on quid pro quo, and this is the mother of all favors. We do this for Clark, and I’m on the fast track. That much closer to accomplishing everything we came to Washington to do.”
He wasn’t wrong. Clark was the party’s whip in the House, and his opinion carried weight. That was why Paxton had targeted him in the first place. If Agatha did this, the congressman would be in their back pocket. What might have taken years of networking and maneuvering could be done in the blink of an eye. Paul would jump to the front of the freshman class. Choice of committee assignments, a voice in the party—Paxton could write his own ticket. She told herself it was worth the risk.
“I’ll get it done.”
“I knew I could count on you,” he said. “And Agatha? Get pictures. You understand?”
“On it.”
“Good. How soon can you be there? I need to let the congressman know. He’s understandably anxious.”
“At least an hour. Probably two. I’ll have to round up Darius.”
“Is it wise bringing someone else into this?”
“I can’t move a body and take pictures.”
“Right. Right. Okay.”
“Is there anything else?” she asked, itching to get moving. She had a little more than six hours of darkness remaining, and sunrise would not be her friend today.
“No. Call me when it’s done.”
“It’ll be late.”
“I won’t be asleep,” he said and hung up.
Agatha set aside the cordless and reached into the bag at her feet for one of the three Nokia cell phones she carried everywhere. She’d need to destroy it after tonight.
“What up, A?” Darius said when he finally answered on the fifth ring. It was loud wherever he was, and the music all but drowned him out.
She felt a little jealous. There was a time in her life when she would have been the one out on a Friday night.
“I’ve got a job. You want it?” she asked, kneeling to slip on her shoes.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Does it?”
“Oh, it’s like that?”
“It’s definitely like that.”
It was past 2:00 a.m. when they pulled into Middleburg. The town was dead, and that was a concern. A bored cop might get curious what a white woman and a Black man were doing cruising around his rustic hamlet in the middle of the night. They weren’t breaking the law, not yet anyway, but this was still the South, and she didn’t want their names in a deputy’s log. When the press tried to reconstruct the events of tonight, and they would, there couldn’t be anything placing them here.
She was happy to see so many DC plates in the parking lot of the Grey Horse Inn—guests who’d fled the city for the weekend. Easier to blend in. She found a spot around back and killed the engine.
“Clear on the plan?” she asked, handing Darius her keys.
“Wait here. Keep a lookout. Take pictures of Mr. Congressman with the girl when you bring her out.”
“He can’t see you.”
“Nobody sees Darius till I let them,” he answered with the characteristic swagger that had made him a legend at Saint John’s College High School. Everyone had known Darius McDaniel back then, a five-star recruit at free safety and the starting point guard on the basketball team. His nickname had been Ninja for his uncanny ability to materialize out of nowhere at exactly the right time. He’d had a bright future ahead of him. No one doubted that.
He and Agatha had met in a photography class and had been friends for a spell. That had ended abruptly the first and only time she’d been invited to his house in Trinidad. Mrs. McDaniel had taken one look at the white girl with green hair and recognized trouble when she saw it. Her baby had a full ride to Auburn, and nothing and no one would stand in the way of it. That was until the Gonzaga game his senior year. Not even Mrs. McDaniel could protect her son from the 260-pound pulling guard who bent Darius’s knee backward like a folding chair. There wasn’t a soul in the stands that night who would ever forget his unholy screams. The injury put a pin in his scholarship, permanently, and after graduation he’d enlisted, serving two tours as an army photographer. Agatha ran into him at a reunion event after his discharge. He’d moved back in with his mom and was trying to catch on as a press stringer without much luck. He’d been working off the books for her ever since.
