Despite her best efforts, the young brunette barista broke down a moment later as tears began to stream down her face.
She walked to Jackson's bedside. "I'm so sorry," she stammered weakly. "I'm so sorry," she repeated as she wrapped her arms around Jackson's neck, tears rolling down her face.
Jackson's eyes widened in surprise and his arms weakly returned the hug as he glanced away from the newscast. "Thank you. Thanks for coming."
Julie pulled back from Jackson, collecting herself as best she could as Jimmy Howe handed her a tissue and stepped through the heavy door into the hallway.
"I'm so sorry Jackson." Her speech was soft now. She'd regained her composure. "I can leave if you'd like. Officer Howe thought you could use a visitor."
Jackson wasn't known for his social skills. But this morning, he found himself enjoying the company.
He waved to a chair that sat in the corner of the room near the window. "I appreciate you coming. Have a seat."
He turned weakly towards the television. "You know, they are talking about me." It was a statement of fact.
Julie nodded. "Officer Howe told me. I'm so sorry this happened, Jackson. But at least the men who hurt Leigh and Clementine are dead." Her voice began to crack as she made this final statement.
Jackson shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that, Julie. But one way another I'll make sure everyone involved pays for their crimes."
Julie glanced at Jackson, who propped his head on a too thin hospital pillow and frowned.
Despite his weakened state, the look in his eyes told the entire story. He stared straight ahead, a glint of determination paired with a seething rage that no amount of medication could dampen clouding his deep hazel eyes.
Julie's hands began to shake as she looked from the patient to the television that was mounted on the hospital wall.
"I'm sure you will, Jackson." Her voice was barely a whisper.
The television's volume was low as the news anchors became animated. Jackson shook his head. He knew what was coming.
His hand reached towards the remote and adjusted the volume as the cameras cut to shots of this very hospital. Jackson was about to be famous.
He switched the television off as he turned towards Julie Page, who stared at the television. "I'm sorry. I can't watch this right now."
"That's alright, Jackson. I understand." Julie shook her head. "You know, this story is on every news channel."
Jackson looked down. "I know. It's unbelievable."
Julie paused for a second. "I was listening to NPR on the way to the hospital. The President just nominated you for the Presidential Medal of Freedom."
Jackson blinked heavily. He didn't acknowledge the statement. "Do you," his voice cracked. "Do you know when they are going to bury Leigh and Clementine?"
Julie broke down once again as Jackson's stared straight ahead. A moment later, she regained her composure.
"I'm so sorry, Jackson." She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her face. "I've been told that the funeral is scheduled for Wednesday at 10:00 AM."
Jackson sighed heavily. "Do you think you could drive me?" He pointed to his wounded chest and shoulder. "I don't know if I'll be up to riding my bike by then."
Chapter 52:
09:14 AM- Wednesday, September 13th
Sumner, VA
When her boss had given her an entire week off following Leigh's death, Julie hadn't known what to do.
That had been before Jimmy Howe's phone call.
Since Sunday, she'd visited Jackson every day, watching him regain his strength. Every day, he was awake a little longer. Every day he was a little more alert, a little less medicated.
The doctors were impressed. His recovery had been astounding. He was already able to get up and walk around the room. He'd begun to request physical therapy appointments.
It was truly an amazing sight to see.
Julie shook her head as she stepped down the corridor to Jackson's new room.
Several days ago, the hospital had moved him from intensive care. He was enjoying the change. He was no longer constantly being poked and prodded by the nursing staff.
Even Jackson's police escort had been dismissed a few days ago once the press began to thin out.
The requests for media interviews were still coming in non-stop, but Jackson had refused them outright.
Julie pushed through the door into Jackson's room, holding it open with her thigh as she backed through the door, two hot cups of coffee from the cafeteria in her hands. Jackson stood upright, his left arm in a sling but looking the best she'd seen him since his admission.
He was wearing a dark suit that Julie had brought him from home. His hazel eyes had regained some of their intensity as he stared into the mirror at his popped collar, trying in vain to get his tie on with one hand.
Despite herself, Julie laughed.
Jackson turned towards her, his face a mask of frustration.
"Thanks for coming, Julie. It really means a lot. Now, do you think you can help me with this?" She set the coffee cups on the bedside table and he tossed her the tie, which she wrapped around her own neck and began to tie the only knot she knew, a simple four-in-hand.
Jackson sat heavily in his wheelchair as Julie finished the knot and slipped the tie over Jackson's head, tucking it beneath his collar, careful not to rub against his injured chest and shoulder.
"You look good." She said simply.
"I know," said Jackson as he cracked the first smile she'd seen since he'd been wounded. It soon faded, however, and Jackson commented, "Let's go."
Julie took up her position behind Jackson's wheelchair and handed him his cup of coffee.
She pushed him through the door and into the pristine marble hallway beyond, where she pushed the metal and leather device to the service elevator and out the rear entrance to her waiting car.
The ride to the graveyard was silent.
A light rain fell on the windshield which caused Julie to occasionally use the nearly worn out wiper blades. Their squeal against the glass of the cracked windshield of Julie's Honda Civic was the only sound as Jackson stared out of the passenger window and the vehicle bumped down the cobblestone streets of town.
The graveyard stood on a small hill which overlooked the Sumner River on the other side of town.
The gray Honda drove through the wrought iron gate. As Julie and Jackson had expected, news crews were in attendance, their large vans with associated satellite dishes clearly marking the site where Leigh and Clementine would be laid to rest.
Jackson sighed. He had hoped they would keep their distance.
Julie pulled the car to a stop in the handicapped spots of the small chapel where the memorial service would be held.
She stepped around the vehicle and offered Jackson a hand, which he gladly accepted. She guided him by the arm as the two stepped slowly up the wet marble stairs of the chapel.
At the top of the stairs, Jackson paused. His face was a confusing mix of sadness and pain. He glanced at the door of the chapel and back at Julie.
"That is Leigh's mom." It was a simple statement, dripping with pain.
Julie grasped Jackson's right arm and gave it a light squeeze as she guided him towards the heavy wooden doors of the chapel and Leigh's waiting parents.
Leigh's mother spotted Jackson a moment later and turned towards her husband, whispering something in his ear as Jackson approached, his slow gait clearly evidencing the severity of his injuries.
As he approached Leigh's mother, who bore a striking resemblance to her late daughter and granddaughter, tears welled up in Jackson's eyes and he blinked heavily, the salty liquid flowing freely down his face.
Leigh's mother reached out hesitantly before pulling Jackson heavily towards herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to cry with him, tears blurring her mascara as her husband placed his thick palm on Jackson's right shoulder.
Between quiet sobs and the sharp intake of b
reath, Jackson's voice murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm so sorry." He repeated.
Words evaded Leigh's parents, but they both gave Jackson a final reassuring squeeze before turning towards Julie.
Leigh's mother extended her hand and offered a simple greeting. "I'm Jane, and this is my husband Bill. We're Leigh's parents."
Julie cleared her throat and rubbed the tears from her eyes. "I'm Julie. I worked at the coffee shop with Leigh."
Jane nodded and the group stepped into the Chapel. They walked to the front row, near the two caskets that stood before the altar.
Jackson paused before the caskets, both of which were covered in flowers and photos of the two victims.
His legs grew weak as he stared at the photographs of his former wife and daughter. But it wasn't until he looked directly at Clementine's tiny casket that he collapsed to the floor in tears.
Jackson's guttural roar was like that of an animal. No discernible words were present in Jackson's howl as the pain and loneliness of his loss coursed through Jackson's very soul.
Chapter 53:
09:56 AM- Tuesday, May 29th
Norfolk, VA
Mike Jones leaned heavily against the worn wood of the bar at Al's Tavern. He sipped on a Bloody Mary as he stared at the flat screen television across the bar.
Al's wasn't a classy place, but it was the kind of place where nobody asked any questions. It was Mike's kind of place.
He leaned back in the heavily padded bar stool and drained what remained of his extra spicy Bloody Mary, before setting the glass on the dark worn wood of the counter and waving towards the bartender.
"Can I get a refill?" he asked politely before pointing towards the television, "and can you turn on the news?"
The bartender nodded, noting the lack of other patrons with a quick look around the bar before switching the large flat screen television to Fox News. "Another double?" he asked before beginning to pour the well vodka into a tall clear glass.
Mike nodded, the award ceremony was about to begin. He might as well have a double.
The bartender added several drops of Tabasco Sauce and pepper to the top of the glass before sliding it across the bar to Mike. "I don't know how you can drink them that spicy, Mike. That'll be 7.50."
Mike leaned forward and slid a crisp ten across the bar and smiled. "I like them that way, Tom."
He settled back in his padded leather chair and glanced towards the television once more.
The camera began to pan over the National Mall, in what Mike could only assume was stock footage, before the commentators began and the cameras switched to a live feed from the White House.
A packed audience sat before a tall podium bearing the Presidential Seal.
Mike smiled.
On the stage sat Jackson Pike. He was stoic in a dark blue suit. He'd clearly recovered now from the gunshot wound that had nearly cost him his life.
Alongside Jackson Pike sat luminaries from all walks of American life. Famous scientists, artists, poets and politicians were seated alongside Jackson, awaiting their turn to be awarded the nation's highest civilian honor: The Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Mike glanced at his drink before taking another deep draught of the blood red liquid. On the television, the reporters who flooded the White House East Room clamored to their feet as the dignitaries seated on the stage stood.
There was silence as the room awaited the arrival of the President of the United States.
This would be the newly elected President's first time presenting the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and there was a regal feeling to the event. The gold curtains in the corner of the East Room shone brightly in the early Spring morning light as the announcement began.
The White House Press Secretary walked to the podium, his dark suit in stark contrast to the gilded décor of the room. He cleared his throat, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States. President Colgan"
The balding press secretary stepped from the podium as the President of the United States stepped authoritatively through the side entrance of the East Room, Secret Service closely in trail. The agents stopped short of the stage as the President nodded to the press before walking up the three steps to the stage.
The President walked to the center of the stage and stood tall behind the wooden podium. His American flag pin reflected the morning light as he stepped to the microphone, adjusting his bright red tie.
Mike sipped his drink, waiting on the President's speech to begin, the buzz from his third Bloody Mary cocktail beginning to provide a familiar tingle in the former Navy SEAL's extremities.
The President cleared his throat as he began, the deep cadence of his voice booming through the crowded room. He could have made this presentation without a microphone.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to The White House." He turned towards the luminaries who sat behind him on the stage, "Today we have the privilege of honoring some of the greatest Americans of our time. In fields as diverse as science, art and politics, the men and women who sit behind me, and those who could not be here have distinguished themselves and honored their country. Let me begin with a few of their stories."
Mike downed the rest of his Bloody Mary cocktail as the President began recounting the achievements of the men and women who sat behind him.
But the President's speech was drowned out by a surprised din from the press corps. Behind the president, one of the honorees had stood up and was stepping from the stage.
It was Jackson.
Mike opened his jaw in shock as Jackson glared at the President and stepped from the stage. He stepped heavily down the three carpeted stairs as the Press Secretary ran to his side and began to speak.
That's when all hell broke loose.
Leave it to Jackson to make the most mundane of award ceremonies an exciting event.
Jackson shoved the press secretary roughly, knocking him into the first row of reporters as he stormed from the room.
Seconds later, two Secret Service agents grabbed both of his arms and led him down the nearby hallway.
Mike's jaw hung open as he quit stirring the remnants of ice and olives at the bottom of his Bloody Mary glass. He set the glass heavily on the worn wood of the bar and pushed it towards the bartender. "Thanks Tom."
He walked from the bar and into the cool morning air towards his newly repainted Cadillac. He climbed in the driver's seat and shook his head.
It seemed Jackson would need to be bailed out.
Chapter 54:
10:13 AM- Tuesday, May 29th
The White House- Washington, D.C.
If felt odd to be handcuffed and manhandled through the halls of the White House. The plush décor, crown molding and wainscoting of the Presidential mansion that surrounded him were in stark contrast to the reality of his situation.
He'd assaulted the White House Press Secretary in front of a worldwide audience.
Scratch that. He'd shoved the White House Press Secretary.
That would carry a charge of battery.
Jackson shook his head sadly as he tried not to collapse in the arms of the Secret Service agents that led him down the hall. Eventually they made it to a small anteroom where the two agents guided him to a soft leather chair. Jackson sat down with a grunt as the men radioed the local police.
Jackson looked around the room. He felt certain that in this same room, Presidents had likely conferred with senior political and military leadership. In this same room, world altering decisions had been made.
Jackson wondered whether Colgan had ordered the murder of his family from this room.
The silence of the room didn't last.
"Mr. Pike," began one of the agents, "you are being detained for assault and battery. Do you wish to make a statement?"
The other agent shook his head, his professionalism lapsing. "What the hell was that?"
Jackson continued to sit silently. He knew his rights, but they would be obliged to read them t
o him anyway.
Two uniformed Metropolitan Police Officers appeared in the doorway after a few seconds.
The taller of the Secret Service agents turned to the Officers, "You two can take it from here. We've got him on assault and battery. There'll be plenty of witnesses. It's the damndest thing. He just went nuts. The President was about to pin a medal to his chest."
The two Police Officers nodded. It was the older of the two that first recognized Jackson from the news. "Is that Jackson Pike?"
The lead Secret Service agent nodded, his face stoic.
The cop pursed his lips and blew as the other officer took up a position to Jackson's side and pulled him to his feet.
"Mr. Pike, you have the right to remain silent."
Jackson nodded.
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you free of charge. If you choose to speak to us without an attorney present, anything you do and say can be held against you in a court of law. Do you understand these rights?"
Jackson nodded again and mumbled a quiet affirmation as the two officers escorted him down the hall to a waiting police cruiser.
Jackson chose to remain silent for the entire ride as the vehicle cruised to the nearby precinct.
That night, Jackson couldn't sleep.
He tossed and turned in his holding cell. He just couldn't believe it. The corruption extended all the way to the President of the United States. In a sick way, it made perfect sense.
Colgan was, after all the former CEO of Carmike Industries and the current CEO's father. He and his family had the most to gain from an extended conflict in the Middle East and a perpetuation of the global war on terror.
Jackson could hear the President's voice over and over in his mind as he tossed and turned relentlessly on the itchy gray sheets of his holding cell's bed.
The night seemed like it would last forever. To Jackson, the dark of night seemed to pervade his very soul.
When the sun finally rose, it illuminated more than just the holding cell. It cast light on everything.
Jackson knew what he needed to do. He knew that there was only one way to make things right in the world.
Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) Page 19