by Roddy Wix
The afternoon’s weather had gone to hell, but the robust squall line hadn’t diminished the good humor of the three men on board the luxurious yacht, Une Belle Femme. Riding out the storms in the safe harbor of a private fishing club they entertained themselves drinking single malt whiskey and playing cards. As usual, Billy “Billfish” Sawyer won nearly every hand. The amiable Bahamian had been Frank’s boat captain and friend for more than twenty years and during that time he’d rarely lost at poker.
“Gentlemen, I've got some conch chowder simmering down in the galley and I need to check on it,” Billy said rising from his comfortable club chair.
”Good timing, Billy. Leave the table when you've taken all Frank’s money.” Harry chuckled and Frank gave a mock frown.
“Senator, I learned a long time ago that timing really is everything. I’d also bet you two wouldn’t say ‘no’ to some of my homemade chowder for lunch, either.”
“That’s no bet, it’s a plain fact.” Harry Brooke laughed and cuffed Billy amiably on the shoulder. A Stanford educated attorney, he’d surprised his constituents by retiring from the senate in 1980 to return to practicing law in an anonymous little suburban Virginia office. Though his clientele remained something of a mystery, he spent most of his time following in the philanthropic footsteps of his wealthy family. In his case the public spin wasn't entirely untrue.
As soon as Billy had gone below the Senator’s mood grew more serious.
“Frank, times are changing at a faster pace than I thought I’d live to see and I’m not quite a dinosaur yet.”
“You’re right, but I wonder if the mission I signed on for is coming to a close.”
“The mission will never end. The way we execute it is something else.”
“Well, surgical killings don’t seem to be working. Nobody’s been able to eliminate bin Laden. Not even me.”
“How hard did you try?”
“Not hard enough.” Frank said forthrightly.
“No matter. Killing him probably wouldn't have made a difference and might have elevated him to martyr status. That sure as hell would have backfired on us.”
“True. That’s what happens when you get sucked into declaring war against an ideology; you kill one man and another takes his place. His death means nothing and changes nothing.”
Harry took a swig of single malt and gave Frank a solemn smile.
“The battlefield changes, but the war goes on.”
“It already has changed, Frank. We spend billions on so called “security” because the people have been made afraid by the media and by politicians. While they’re all fixated on someone blowing something up they miss the bigger point. I’m worried that the next big strike will be invisible, but its impact could be devastating.”
“Cyber-space?”
“True. Look at what happened yesterday.”
“You’re telling me the crash was contrived and not just a mechanical glitch?”
Frank pulled a couple of Cuban cigars from a leather case and motioned toward the sliding glass doors leading out to the broad aft fishing cockpit. The senator willingly followed him out on deck where the rain had cooled the air and a gentle breeze washed over the basin as the boat rode at anchor. The men lit their cigars and watched the smoke drift silently away.
“I'm not certain, but I plan to find out. Imagine the consequences if someone had the ability to manipulate or totally disrupt our markets.”
“Is your boss aware?”
Frank was referring to the President of the United States, the man he knew to be Harry Brooke’s only client. Harry chuckled as he answered.
“He’s smart and I’m sure he suspects, but to answer your question, “no”. I'm empowered to investigate on my own, and I won’t involve him until there's more reliable information.”
“How’s he dealing with the whole concept of the Legacy Counsel?”
The wise old lawyer laughed again. “Let’s just say his perception of Washington and Jefferson is permanently altered. People and history tend to forget how desperate those men were. If the Revolution or the Republic failed early on the gallows awaited them. In fact, if not for Washington’s skillful handling of John Honeyman the worst may have happened in December of 1776. He personally ran the secret agent who, at enormous personal risk, teed the Hessian mercenaries up for defeat at Trenton. That gave the Continental Army a desperately needed shot in the arm."
“Washington was never recognized for the clever way he used a clandestine crew to accomplish his goals."
“True, and Jefferson didn’t need to be sold on the idea, either. Jefferson and Franklin both acted as master manipulators on the world stage. While they partied their way across Paris they traded information and misinformation at every opportunity. They were positioned to act with broad latitude and no oversight. Oversight is supposed to make our system work, but sometimes a president is hamstrung without the unilateral authority of a monarch."
"Seems like they found a way around that."
'And Woodrow Wilson refined the mechanism by institutionalizing the role and requiring the Legacy Counsel to be a licensed lawyer."
“Wilson was a wise and clever man."
“Being a lawyer himself must have colored his thinking when it came to how he structured the job. The whole concept isn't much of a leap from the theory allowing the president to respond to a “clear and present danger’ ” Frank blew a jet of cigar smoke toward the sky.
“Except, when he deals through his Legacy Counsel, the President doesn’t have to tell anyone what he’s doing. Frank, you’re a soldier and a good one. You view your mission with simplicity and clarity which is a luxury politicians don't often have.”
“I’m getting to be an old soldier, Harry.”
“And I’m already an old lawyer who would love to retire. My son would have been my first choice as my successor. I was just laying the groundwork when Harrison died.”
Harrison Carter Brooke, IV had a freak skiing accident as he and his wife, Olivia, vacationed at Vale. The senator’s relationship with his only other child was strained. Despite her marriage to a patrician philanthropist and public servant Charlotte remained randy, headstrong, and absent from his life as did her daughter. So, Harry came to fill the void by focusing his fatherly attention on his son’s widow. During the elder Brooke’s bereavement Frank hosted him on what they called “recuperative” fishing expeditions. They grew close and Harry then revealed the true nature of his work and, by extension, Frank’s.
“Those were dark days, Harry. Had any further thoughts on a successor?”
“If I had to decide I'd choose Olivia.”
“I couldn’t argue.” Frank shook his head in agreement. He didn’t know the woman well, but he liked what he had seen. A compact, copper haired forty year old, Olivia Brooke was a popular professor at Georgetown Law and sometime “talking head” on news shows where she always seemed to give voice to the sort of unbiased, rational thinking now so rare in the media.
“Good. I’m thinking of moving in that direction soon. Just remember, you’re the only one in your position who has ever known as much about my work as you do. I told you in a moment of personal need and I sincerely believe our friendship kept me going. By extension you helped keep this job alive. I know I can trust to your discretion.”
“Of course. Besides, 'President’s Assassin' isn’t the sort of title I thought about putting on my business card.”
“I suppose not.”
The two men laughed dryly and Frank said, “Well, I’m starting to think it might be a good time for me to retire, too, Harry.”
“That would be a first, Frank. None of your predecessors has ever retired in the conventional sense of the word.”
Frank grew somber and said, “Yeah. Some days I doubt I’ll be the first, Harry, but I can hope.”
“Here’s to ‘hope’. Many days that’s all we've got, my friend.”
They stood on
the damp teak deck blowing smoke into the soft breeze and staring at the brightening sky.
The wide glass salon doors opened and Billfish Sawyer stepped out.
“Soup’s on, gentlemen.”
5.