Facing Thomas's doubts, Leo merely smiled faintly, choosing not to give a direct answer.
After Thomas left, Leo returned to his study. He gently ran his fingers over a small black notebook, filled with names tied either by favors owed or by damning secrets. Inevitably, memories began to surface.
Among all his wartime experiences, the Battle of Okinawa in the Pacific War had left the deepest mark. During that brutal campaign, his special operations squad not only carried out missions behind enemy lines but also served as spearhead shock troops whenever the landing forces encountered insurmountable resistance.
In one such operation, the squad seized a bunker at the cost of fifteen men. Inside, they discovered an entrance to the Japanese underground tunnels. Exploration of tunnels fell squarely within the purview of special forces, and Leo decided to use the temporary advantage of secrecy to quickly probe the enemy's underground system before they realized the bunker had been lost.
Japanese tunnels were intricate and vast. Without a map, Leo had to rely solely on his past experience navigating such labyrinths. He had hoped to find the enemy command center. Instead, by chance, he stumbled upon their interrogation chamber.
It was there that he happened upon a scene of betrayal and illicit trade.
The man under interrogation was Jason Chris, once assistant to the Governor of the Philippines, later a military attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Australia. Officially, Jason was a diplomat. In truth, he was a smuggler of opium.
In the Philippines, Jason had amassed a fortune smuggling high-quality opium from the mysterious East. In fact, during the 1920s, nearly all the opium dens in America's Chinatowns had been supplied by him. When he was finally exposed, he was sent in disgrace to Australia—but after tasting the riches of fast money, Jason could not adapt to a modest life.
Unable to continue selling to the U.S., he turned his eyes toward the Japanese. Particularly as Japan's situation worsened, their military sought drugs to fuel the suicidal bravery of kamikaze pilots and human torpedo operators. Jason provided the supply.
For a year, these transactions went smoothly, with the Japanese always paying in cash on delivery. Jason grew complacent. Against the warnings of his partners, he once again personally traveled to Okinawa for a large deal—blinded by greed.
But by then, Japan's defeat was inevitable, and the desperate Japanese decided to rob him instead. They took the goods, captured Jason, and subjected him to brutal torture, hoping to extract American intelligence.
To ensure transmission of the information, the Japanese not only sent out telegrams but also filmed the interrogations. Jason, though greedy, was still an American attaché, and under torture he revealed everything he knew on camera.
As the Japanese prepared to smuggle the tapes back to Tokyo, Leo and his squad stormed the tunnel like avenging gods. They wiped out the garrison and rescued a trembling, grateful Jason. They also secured the damning film reel.
That reel could easily have doomed Jason for treason. Jason offered Leo money on the spot, but Leo refused, disgusted by the tainted cash. He let Jason go—but recorded his name in the black notebook and stored the reel away.
Years later, when Leo learned that Roscoe of the CIA was one of his chief adversaries, he obtained a roster of CIA operatives. To his surprise, Jason Chris was on it.
Jason had eventually joined the newly formed CIA. Initially valued for his Southeast Asian experience, he quickly proved more valuable in narcotics. Assigned to the U.S.-Mexico border, he organized smuggling routes to raise black funds for the CIA. With the aid of Catholic Church intelligence networks in Central America, Jason built a million-dollar pipeline within a year, becoming one of Roscoe's trusted men.
But when confronted by Leo, and when Leo presented the incriminating reel, Jason's resistance crumbled. With Leo's influence in Washington rivaling Roscoe's, the tape was a sword dangling over his head.
Leo gave Jason a choice: provide evidence for $5 million, or testify as a witness for $10 million and guaranteed protection. Jason, true to form, chose the latter.
With Jason's cooperation, Leo brought in Hoover. Hoover assigned Kent—one of Leo's loyal old subordinates, long sidelined—to lead an FBI anti-narcotics task force. With Jason's help, Kent unearthed the evidence within a week.
Since America had no formal narcotics committee yet, the findings were handed to the Anti-Corruption Committee. The charges were framed as abuse of federal power and corruption to protect drug networks.
Just then, the phone rang, breaking Leo's recollection. It was Walter, reporting on another mission: persuading Justice Douglas, James's handpicked Democratic candidate, to withdraw from the election.
Walter's "persuasion" was backed by leverage. Turner's detective agency had discovered Douglas's darkest secret. Outwardly austere and cautious, Douglas and his wife frequented a church orphanage on the outskirts of Washington.
Turner initially thought they were philanthropists—until one night he followed deeper and saw the grotesque truth. Douglas was preying on a little girl he had often gifted food to, while his sixty-year-old wife abused a young boy nearly to death.
Turner, a man hardly saintly himself, felt like an angel in comparison. He photographed everything with his spy camera.
When Walter presented the evidence to Douglas, the Justice collapsed instantly. The threat of exposure in Leo's powerful newspaper was more than he could withstand. Douglas agreed to withdraw and even publicly endorse Truman.
Walter now called to confirm: Douglas would phone James tomorrow morning and announce his withdrawal in The World News, declaring full support for Truman.
Leo hung up, satisfied, as Evelyn entered the room in sheer silk, eyes smoldering. She invited him wordlessly to bed. Leo glanced out the window into the dark night. He was certain that James, under his multi-pronged assaults, was already on the verge of collapse.
Meanwhile, James was indeed restless, unable to sleep. He tried to save Roscoe before leaving for South Carolina, but his midnight visits to political allies only raised suspicion. Rejections piled up by morning. Drugs were too filthy; Roscoe and his CIA were too unpopular.
Just as James prepared to offer desperate concessions, Douglas himself called. He was withdrawing from the race. James tried to dissuade him—only to hear that Douglas had already published his statement in The World News, pledging support to Truman.
Furious, James realized this was more than a personal betrayal—it was a declaration of Leo's power, a blow to his own authority in the Democratic Party.
Seizing on this, James called Dewey in New York, proposing cooperation against Truman. Dewey, though cautious about Roscoe, saw value in letting James weaken Truman further. He did not commit, but he did not reject either.
Encouraged, James phoned Roscoe:
"Who on the narcotics line betrayed us? Was it Thomas spreading smoke?"
"No," Roscoe replied wearily. "It's Jason. He's been missing seven days. Several routes have collapsed. He's the traitor. No doubt."
James slammed the desk. "Find him, Roscoe. Kill him before the hearing. If he's gone, the evidence dies with him."
"I'm already on it," Roscoe assured.
With that, James packed for South Carolina.
Back in Lynchburg, Leo hung up on Truman, who had scolded him for forcing Douglas's withdrawal too soon. Leo feigned compliance, but privately sneered. Truman couldn't see it—Roscoe, South Carolina, the Roosevelt business empire—all distractions.
Leo's real plan was still hidden. James's trip south would be anything but ordinary.