A smiling H. Rapp Badde Jr.—wearing sunglasses of Italian design, a white silk shirt, tan linen shorts, and brown leather sandals—had just stepped down to the sunbaked tarmac from the glistening white Gulfstream IV jet aircraft when he heard his Go To Hell cell phone start ringing. He grimaced as he pulled it from an outer pocket of his leather backpack. Badde carried two cell phones, one a smartphone that had what he considered his general use number and the other a more basic folding phone with his closely held private number. The latter he shared with only his small circle of legal and political advisers, and so when it rang, it was not unusual that something was about to go to hell. He looked up at the doorway to the aircraft. A curvy twenty-five-year-old woman with silky light brown skin was stepping through it. Five-foot-six and wearing a low-cut white linen sundress, Janelle Harper was Badde’s executive assistant.
