by Leon Uris
“Maybe I could have picked a more appropriate time, but Ms. Crowder convinced me it would be disastrous to hold on to this information ... so I came.”
Ben related the rest of his odyssey. All the principals were dead, and Alexander had disappeared as if into thin air. Ben had vague memories of Monsignor Gallico’s visits, but these stopped.
“When Dad died,” Ben said, “I was his main survivor. I was there with the family lawyer when we emptied the safe deposit box. There were a few things of value, some stocks, jewelry, certificates of ownership, insurance policies. What I did not know was that Dad had sent a sealed envelope to Monsignor Gallico and his successors. The front read: Not to Be Opened Until the Year of 2000 by Benjamin Horawitz or His Immediate Heirs. Here are the contents.”
Quinn looked at photos of Marina and David and a birth certificate for a “Baby” Horowitz.
“I tried to play the Catholic card but didn’t even get as far as the convent door. It’s a deep, dark, mystical world in there, with an understanding of God that is strange and different.”
“God sure has a weird sense of humor,” Mal grunted.
“It became a matter of numbers: matching footprints on the birth certificate. The FBI had hundreds of millions of prints, but computer clarification had not caught up to them. Footprints of a newborn infant can change, so I went by probable birth dates. Well, everyone gives up a print sooner or later. When yours popped up, it was a very close match to the one on the birth certificate.”
“My footprint? How the hell did anyone get my footprint?”
“I didn’t, but a certificate told me your name, the time you were born and where. Then I researched Catholic adoption records covering a five-year period. A single line said, “Baby Patrick, parents unknown.
Adopted by Daniel and Siobhan O’Connell, Troublesome, Colorado,
February 17, 1953.” The rest of it? Baby Patrick grew to be Governor Quinn Patrick O’Connell.”
“But how did you confirm your connection with Quinn?” Rita asked.
“Quinn has given innumerable pints of blood to the Red Cross to be used as a bank for a family emergency, and otherwise, he is a regular donor. I was able to get a hold of a pint and run a DNA on it, then one on myself. To make utterly certain, I had Father’s body exhumed and took enough to test him as well. The three of us are a match.”
“We don’t need DNA results,” Rita said, lifting off Ben’s glasses.
“Just look at the two of them.”
They drifted down from the tale of fantasia back into Mal’s studio.
“Thank God, Ben reached us when he did. If the public learned after the election, it would be a prelude to a national nightmare,” Greer said.
“Am I privy to this?” Mal wanted to know.
“Of course you are,” Quinn answered.
“All right, then. We must put this before the American people at once,” Mal said. “But no matter what approach you make, you’ve entered a mine field.”
“He’ll tell the truth,” Rita cried.
“Truth is in the heart of the beholder. Them that wants the truth will believe him. No truth can penetrate them who can’t comprehend the truth. They will cry wolf about a Zionist conspiracy. In ten minutes I can find someone in the media down in Troublesome and tip him off that a left-wing Catholic priest planted a Jewish child as part of a Zionist plot. You think that’s crazy? Nothing among the haters will be too farfetched.”
Mal looked at the brothers and shook his head. The resemblance was
remarkable. “The problem is, Jew hating has always been close to the
surface throughout the last two millennia. It’s the perfect system of
bigotry, time-tested—the Roman sacking of the nation, the divorce of Jesus from the Jews in order to make a new religion, Islam, the ankle-deep blood of Jews by the Crusaders on the Rhine, the Inquisition, Martin Luther, the pogroms of Eastern Europe, and lest we forget, the Holocaust.”
“Is the human race forever in a prison of bigotry?” Quinn whispered.
“Quinn, I don’t want you or Rita or the kids to have to walk into a blizzard of hate. Withdraw from the race,” Mal said.
Ben once again berated himself for his bounty-hunter zeal. Greer answered him that he had to do what he did. Neither Quinn nor Rita spoke of the terror they had endured before and after the AMERIGUN convention.
“We Jews are the most outstanding example of a patriotic minority,” Ben said. “At only two percent of the population, we’ve created great industries and writers and musicians and doctors. As I teach my students, there are over seventy Jewish American Nobel prize winners. Godammit, we deserve the respect of our countrymen!”
“There has been no crime ... no conspiracy,” Quinn said.
“Depends on who is telling the story and who is listening,” Mal said.
“They’re all in place, waiting for the news.”
“And if I quit, the Second Amendment will never be tested.”
“Remember what was done to the Clintons,” Rita said. “Destruction, sheer destruction.” Her quavering words were her first. She knew what lay ahead if he went on. Quinn was deeply jarred by her less than enthusiastic support. His strong allies in life were becoming his reluctant allies. Greer? What about Greer? She’d be too clever to slip one way or another at this point.
“It’s your call, boss,” Greer said.
“Like my old commander Jeremiah Duncan said, “If blood bothers you, don’t go on this mission.” Greer, buy some network and cable time. I’ll read a statement from here to the American people at one o’clock,” and then he laughed, “Rocky Mountain time.”
“Call me if you need me,” Mal said, and left the studio.
Rita hedged. She’d give no further resistance. She would come to his side. Only, it was shaky knowing what was ahead. Greer saw through it. She took Rita’s arm and spun her around.
“Here’s truth,” Greer snapped. “Quinn Patrick O’Connell cannot and will not walk away from this fight. Never has, never will.”
“I know,” Rita said with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I know.”
“What will you say to the voters, Quinn?” Greer asked.
“Straight up and down, I think. I won’t plead or defend. I won’t grovel. It’s going to be up to the people.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Greer sighed. “Ben, come with me. We have to sequence your story correctly for the press.”
“My nieces and nephews, Duncan and Rae?” Ben asked excitedly. “Isn’t Duncan’s wife due?”
“Their dad will tell them. You’ll be able to meet them in an hour. Excuse me, we’ve got work to do,” Greer said. She and Rita exchanged hard glances.
breaking news breaking news breaking news “This is Lou Luenberger, MS NBC Denver. We are in Troublesome, Colorado, the home of Democratic candidate, Governor O’Connell. The air around his traveling headquarters has been rife with rumors. The O’Connell people have kept a lid on things, skipping the daily afternoon press briefing. The center of this appears to be a new player on the stage, who flew in from New York this morning. He has been tentatively identified as Detective Lieutenant Ben Horowitz, also a professor of criminology. The governor will make a statement at eleven Eastern, two Pacific Coast time.”
Quinn sat, naked to the world. No notes, open collar, no flags, no mantel filled with photographs, no busts of Lincoln or statues by Remington.
“My fellow Americans,” Quinn said, “today I experienced one of the most joyous events of my life. As you are aware, I was orphaned at about the age of one year and was raised in a convent until I was three. I do not remember the names of any of the nuns, and I do not know the name of the convent or its location.
“At the age of three I was adopted by my mother and father, Dan and Siobhan O’Connell, ranchers near Troublesome, Colorado.
“My family and I were no more or no less dysfunctional than the average American family. Being Irish, we got into our Eugene O’Neill mode from
time to time. In the end, we came back to a most loving relationship. Dan is gone. Siobhan is very ill. I am the most fortunate person in the world to have been their son.
“Yet for every orphan there is a dual life of fantasy. You cannot separate the orphan from this dream. The need to know your biological parents is a need to know yourself. Who am I, really? Where did I come from? God puts you on a relentless search. You are never a complete person if you do not find your roots.
“Today, I met my brother, Ben Horowitz, who has been searching for me for nearly half a century.”
Quinn briefly told the tale of David Horowitz, Marina Geller, and Yuri Sokolov.
“Herein lies the rub,” Quinn said. “I believe the American
civilization has reached a challenging moral plateau. We have made a
powerful attempt to rid ourselves of bigotry. We still have a long way
to go to rid our nation of racism. If I had been Alexander Horowitz, I
believe I would have been elected governor of Colorado. I also believe
that Governor Alexander Horowitz could have won the Democratic Party
nomination. And I also believe that Alexander Horowitz could win the presidency.
“I am the same man I was yesterday. I have not changed. I will carry on with the same issues I had yesterday. Along with my other commitments, I will fight for the repeal of the Second Amendment.
“I was raised as a Catholic. I will remain in the Church. Yet I cannot help but inquire into my Jewish heritage. Where this will take me, I cannot predict.
“The human race has had a checkered existence, from the beginning unto this very day, of blood and evil. Yet we come to moral imperatives, like slavery, where we must rise and create a new norm. The issue of guns, I believe, is such a moral imperative. I also believe that the crushing of anti-Semitism is such an imperative.
“I have come to you speaking the truth. If you believe me, if you want what I want for the American civilization, for American decency, then we will carry the day.
“Good day, God bless you, and God bless America.”
Balancing a bucket of ice and a bottle of vodka and glasses, Rita backed her way into the guest room and closed the door behind her with her foot.
Greer sat on the bed, back against the headboard, watching another gathering of pundits on TV. Her face bore a rivulet of tears dripping off her nose and chin and carrying down the colors of her makeup. On the nightstand, a dead pint of vodka.
“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer wept.
“Mal told me he is plugged into Denver. They’ve called for volunteers to man the switchboards.”
((/^ s. r
Quinn?
“He’s with Mal fixing a plan for the balance of the day. No press conference till tomorrow.”
Rita set the tray down, poured another for Greer and a double for herself. She left and came back from the bathroom with wet and dry towels, sat on the edge of the bed, and wiped Greer’s face as one might a kindergarten pupil.
“What about Duncan and Rae and Lisa?” Greer said, still weeping.
“We saw them before Quinn spoke to the nation. They’re with their Uncle Ben now. He’s a really nice man.”
“I’d better get my shit together,” Greer slurred. “Lemme see.
Too late to get back to Denver. Then ... I better be here in the morning. You and Mal pissed at me?”
“I knew Quinn wasn’t going to quit,” Rita said, “but I just got damned frightened for a moment. I’d better get my attitude straightened out. I’ll not live in fear.” “I, uh, got to work out some damage control..
. this can run out of control like a wildfire,” Greer said.
“Take a deep breath, Greer, and let’s get drunk.”
“Hey, two shiker sikasl”
“The first reports from Denver and DNC are not that bad.”
“Well, now,” Greer said, “we have thirty channels of talking head experts taken out of cold storage and given electric shocks to get their batteries surging. Frankly, I get my in-depth news from E! Channel and Comedy Central. Oh, that goddamn Quinn is a bastard.”
“How well I know.”
“He’s so wonderful,” Greer wept. “I called Warren and told him to shag ass and get the yacht up from Florida. I’m going to spend five million dollars on myself in Paris. Son of a bitch .. . we came so close. Now, I’ve got to leave pretty soon ... I mean, for all time.” Rita dabbed a new downpour of tears from Greer.
“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer repeated.
“I want you to know what a courageous thing you have done, Greer. It was the work of a genius. And it was overflowing with love. I think I know how much you love him.”
“I love you, too, Rita. Only a very secure woman would have left me alone with Quinn Patrick O’Connell. As I grew to love you more and more, it made things bearable for me.”
This was followed by another slug from the bottle, which Greer scarcely needed. The women embraced and hung onto each other. Greer was feather-light. Rita rocked her back and forth and let her blurt.
Rita fluffed some pillows and stretched Greer out and lay beside her so that she held Greer as her baby, and she stroked Greer’s head and whispered a Mexican lullaby.
“I love you both,” Greer managed.
A moment later there was a knock and the door was opened. There stood Quinn. Rita held her finger to her lips for him to be quiet.
“Some rioting has started,” Quinn said. “Birmingham. Chicago is simmering.”
“Hadn’t you better try to reach the President?” Rita asked.
“He knows what happened and how to reach me.”
“Quinn, I’m with you, man.”
WASHINGTON
Marine Corps Helicopter Number One swayed from its Camp David pod and swished urgently for Washington. The President tried his earphones and switched on his mike.
“It’s a miracle, Darnell,” Thornton said. “I’ve never believed in divine intervention because it doesn’t have a website or a printout. Can we get the election turned around?”
“A lot is going to take place in the next seventy-two hours. You’ll have to play it statesman and big daddy.”
“Darnell! The man has left us an opening!”
“You’ve walked into his openings before. Don’t even think nasty.””
The President picked up his White House phone. “Martha, this is the President. I want Jacob Turnquist and Hugh Mendenhall in the Oval Office, pronto. Better run down Lucas de Forest,” he said of the FBI director. “I want to meet with them in my study alongside the Oval Office.”
“Don’t you think we’d better have Pucky attend this meeting?”
“Do you know where she is?” Tomtree asked.
“Unless she’s away on a campaign speech, she pretty much locks herself in her suite at the White House,” Darnell said.
“As a matter of fact,” Thornton said, “keep her at the White House. I think it would be wise if she and I made several campaign appearances together.”
He looked away from Darnell, lifting the White House phone again.
Darnell became awed for trie thousandth time at how the Capitol rose from the dark and dazzled with white, blaring focus on the dome and the monuments. There, the White House ahead. A crowd was gathering in Lafayette Park over the street. What would they chant this night?
Marine Corps One touched down silkily. With neither dog nor wife to greet him, Tomtree stretched his long legs over the lawn toward the portico. “Here they come!”
“Mr. President.. .”
“Mr. President.. . will you tell us .. .”
He turned at the door and held up both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, as soon as I’m fully briefed, I’ll have a statement for you.”
“Has Governor O’Connell tried to reach you?”
“How is this going to affect the outcome .. .”
“Mr. President, were you aware .. .”
Thornton disappeared inside. Darnell glan
ced down the driveway, where TV trucks and the cars of correspondents were hurtling themselves onto the grounds.
Jacob Turnquist was in place as Mendenhall, shirttail askew, entered the Oval Office with a stack of late data.
“Martha! Where the hell is Lucas de Forest?”
“Just got a cell call. He’ll be here in ten minutes.” $
Thornton nodded for her to leave and shut out the world.; He pointed at Mendenhall.
“The buzz words,” Hugh Mendenhall said, “are general confusion and
disbelief. Too early for any kind of reliable polls, bufcj the cable
stations are filled with constitutional experts, yottj know, the
musical-chair crowd. The only piece of hard information is that
O’Connell is not playing in Birmingham. The KKK is? burning a cross
before a Jewish-owned department store. One}
synagogue trashed in Atlanta and inner-city rumblings all over: Watts, Oakland, Harlem, Detroit, East Saint Louis.”
“All black?”
“Yes, sir, seems like the Muslim preachers are really trying to get them stirred up. While the new data is pouring in, I’m trying to canvas tomorrow’s newsprint editorials.”
“Are any in yet?”
“Yes, sir,” Mendenhall answered, and reluctantly passed a special edition of the New York Times.
IS GOVERNOR o’CONNELL TO BE BELIEVED?
“There is nothing in O’Connell’s ancient past or recent candidacy to even hint he has ever lied or deliberately deceived the public. The New York Times finds no reason to withdraw our endorsement of him for president.”
“Jesus Christ!” Thornton said, hitting the desk.
“Mr. President,” Jacob Turnquist said, “don’t read in too much. The New York Times is a Jewish newspaper catering to an enormous Jewish population. We can expect a number of his endorsers to defect to us.”
“Mr. President, Director de Forest is here,” Martha said over the intercom.
Lucas de Forest, the nation’s first black FBI director, was Tomtree’s showpiece nominee. He had returned the New Orleans Police Department to a position of respect and then done the same in Philadelphia. Only thing about him, he was too damned assertive and at times played a bit loose with citizens’ rights. He and Thornton had bucked heads on Internet issues. The FBI wanted to be able to break into lines such as the Bulldog Network. One of the reasons Thornton was in the White House was to keep that from happening, and do nothing to fog up business transactions.