by Gordon Ryan
In the well-appointed confines of Strategic Initiatives, Chairman of the Board and CEO John Harford continued to address his congressional visitor.
“Our small success in San Antonio was completely overshadowed by the brazenness of the terrible events in Kansas City and the senseless deaths. I’m sure you agree. Still, the pilot program for Domestic Tranquility has begun to show its merit and you are certainly aware that the press is lauding our success. And they’re right. Imagine if we’d only had a few Predators flying over Kansas City. How many people might be alive this morning?”
Sensing the fervor behind Harford’s monologue, Winchester readily agreed. “John, you’re absolutely correct. How can I help?”
“How long have you been in Congress, Augustus?”
“Four years in the House and nine in the Senate. Halfway through my second senate term.”
Harford clasped his hands together, steepling his fingers in front of his face, thankful he did not have to raise the specter of past financial contributions in a veiled threat. “Augustus, it’s time for you to leave your mark on Congress. You’ve done some excellent work for our nation, but this bill will be your crowning achievement. Something to be a lasting tribute.”
“And what would that be, John?” Winchester asked.
Harford rose from his seat, walked behind his desk, and picked up a slim, spiral bound document, about thirty pages in all. “This, Senator Winchester, is the Domestic Tranquility Act. It has been prepared by the finest legal minds in the country. Once passed and signed by the president, it will supplant The Patriot Act and will become the guiding force for American domestic security for the next decade. The provisions of this bill will assure that law enforcement officers, military national guard, and even privately contracted security forces, such as those on duty in San Antonio this past weekend, will have the necessary authority and resources to combat these terrorists who dare to invade our country. Think of it, Augustus. With the barest minimum of personal intrusion, certainly nothing to bother the law-abiding citizens of our country, we can enact and oversee the measures to protect our people on a daily basis. Why should Americans be in fear of going to Sears and ending up dead? Why should we be afraid to attend a convention in a five-star hotel and worry about being blown to bits? No, sir! Through the effective representation of Senator Augustus Winchester of Connecticut, once again New England will be at the forefront of defending America. With this bill to your credit-and I can line up two opposition party senators to co-sponsor with you-you will likely represent the people of Connecticut, perhaps even the American people nationally, for years to come. Certainly until you’re ready to hoist a jib and spend the remaining days of your life on your beautiful yacht off the coast of Newport. Are you ready for that challenge, Augustus? Are you ready for immortality?”
Unspoken by the chairman, but not unnoticed by Winchester, was the part Harford had played in his campaign financing over the years, especially the last campaign for the Senate when the Republicans had overplayed their hand with a bright, young lieutenant governor whom they had run against him. All in all, Harford had contributed nearly six million dollars to Augustus Winchester in his congressional campaigns. Failing to respond to Harford’s direct appeal was suicidal, politically and financially speaking, since he would surely switch his financial alliance to someone more malleable.
“Of course, as I said, you won’t be alone in this campaign, Augustus. Every congressman or congresswoman I have ever helped to finance, every senator, and every lobbyist who has ever worked for me will get behind this bill completely. Even the normally liberal media will be in support if we play our cards right. It will be a full court press, Augustus. Domestic Tranquility will become the law of the land within sixty days if I have anything to say about it, and I do have something to say about it. Are you ready to lead the charge, Senator Winchester?”
“Do you have the necessary votes on Senator Culpepper’s committee to get the bill on the floor for a vote?” Winchester asked.
“Leave that to me. With the narrow escape Senator McKenzie had on Saturday, I would think she would be leading your supporters to recommend a full Senate vote immediately.”
“John,” Winchester said as he rose from his seat, “the Founding Fathers had it right. I think it’s time that we restored domestic tranquility in America, don’t you?”
“Now you’re talking, Senator. Now you’re talking.”
As Senator Winchester left, Harford sat behind his desk for several minutes until his secretary buzzed his intercom.
“Sir, Mr. Hegarty has arrived, and security called to advise that a Mr. Campbell is downstairs, obtaining clearance to enter the building.”
“Fine. Confirm to security that Campbell may enter, and when he arrives, send both men in.”
Harford stood behind his desk and gazed out the window toward Capital Mall. The two men coming to his office had never met. In fact, Harford had never met Campbell either, but before his disappearance several weeks earlier, Jean Wolff had praised his ability to, how did he put it, “do what was necessary without remorse.” Putting these two men together would complete the liaison between the east and west coast efforts to foment the plan. And if Devlin could find a way to get Wolff out of federal custody, he would be the right man to deal with the western militia units.
Before his untimely death last year, John Henry Franklin had possessed the election resources and Harford had the political connections to make everything work. Or so he had thought. Franklin was gone now, as was the phony election process, but adaptation was a hallmark of Strategic Initiatives, and SI was John Harford.
A small knock on his door broke his reverie, and as his secretary opened the door, both men came into the spacious office.
“Gentlemen, welcome,” Harford said, stepping forward into the room to greet them. “Thank you, Laurie. No calls, please. And let Captain Jenkins know his guests will be at the marina in about forty-five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Campbell stood just under six feet, was casually dressed in slacks and an open-necked shirt, and sported a full beard, with a thick head of unruly hair.
“Mr. Campbell, I’ve not had the pleasure,” Harford said, extending his hand, “but Jean Wolff had nothing but praise for your dedication to America. I’m pleased to meet you. And Devlin,” he said, turning toward the slightly older man, “good to see you again. Dev, this is Angus Campbell, commander of the burgeoning American Brigade Command, a western patriot movement. Mr. Campbell, allow me to introduce Devlin Hegarty. Devlin is director of field operations for Strategic Initiatives. Please, take a seat.”
Both men took seats in plush, chocolate-brown leather chairs in front of the burnished oak desk and Harford returned to his swivel chair. With a full view of the United States Capitol Building in the background, the office was designed to exude power and project an inference of access to U.S. government officials, sufficient to make visiting foreign dignitaries sign on the dotted line to obtain SI services.
“Now, let’s get the show on the road. No time for pleasantries. Mr. Campbell, are you geared up for the western campaign? Subordinate unit resources in place, the Brigade ready to act?”
Campbell glanced briefly at Hegarty, who had maintained a stoic expression and, thus far, had not said a word. Looking back at Harford, Campbell nodded slightly, but seemed hesitant to speak openly.
“Mr. Campbell, have no concerns about security of information in this office. Mr. Hegarty is aware of the overall scope of the plan. The takedown of the terrorists in San Antonio was his operational plan and has proven to U.S. government officials that SI can deliver. We need your group to further our aims out west. So, again I ask, is the Brigade ready to find and kill these terrorists and protect our nation?”
“We are, Mr. Harford. We don’t have the equipment or resources at our disposal that SI offers, but we have the manpower and zeal necessary to get the job done.”
/> “That’s all we ask. Mr. Hegarty will provide everything else you need. Your Brigade is critical out west. We both know what will happen if law enforcement catches these guys. They’ll spend decades costing us fifty grand a year, then another few million to provide them lawyers and color television. Your brand of justice will see that never happens. And not underserved, I might add.”
“As I said, we’ll get the job done.”
“Excellent. Now Devlin, I’ve arranged for you and Mr. Campbell to have a lunch cruise on the Potomac to discuss our mutual objectives. You’ll have total privacy out on the water. Mr. Campbell understands his role in the western theater of operations. You can fill him in on the rest.”
Harford stood up, smiling as he did so. “I trust you gentlemen will find ample amenities on the Rosewood. Just let Captain Jenkins know if you need anything further,” he said. “Oh, Mr. Campbell, give me a private moment with Devlin before he leaves. You can wait momentarily in the foyer. Nice to have met you.”
Campbell stepped out of the office and Harford waited just a moment as the door closed. “Dev, remember the limitations of Campbell’s role. He has to believe that SI is chasing these terrorists and that’s all. He can bring a lot of manpower to bear, but more importantly, these guys will do most anything we ask of them. Their involvement will serve to further inflame law enforcement and our military, so convince him how he can be of service. I don’t expect you’ll get any resistance to a suggestion that he find and kill these roving shooters. If he kills a few innocent, non-European people along the way, so much the better for our needs.”
“I understand, John. I’ll handle it.”
“And one more thing, Dev,” Harford continued, “when you sort things out with Campbell, it’s becoming forest fire season in the northwest. Direct one of your rover teams to a forested area in Montana with orders to start a fire. But after you do, give Campbell a heads up intelligence briefing about where to locate and ambush them. Tell him to make a public example of them. Display the bodies so law enforcement will find them. But at the same time, direct a half-dozen or more of your teams to start forest fires throughout the northwest, of their own choosing. Don’t tell Campbell about them.”
“Consider it done, John.”
“And last, in about a week-I’ll confirm the timing later-I want you to go to Copenhagen and supervise a container shipment to the states.”
“More weapons?” Hegarty asked.
“A small nuclear package, being delivered from another source in Chechnya.”
“ Nuclear?” Hegarty said, his face betraying his shock.
Harford nodded, but grinned. “We’re not going to use it, Dev, SI troopers are going to find it and once again, save America. That will absolutely confirm our dependability and insure the growth of support forces for Domestic Tranquility.” He paused for several moments and added, “But if we have to use it to show Americans the dangers we face
… well, we’ll face that prospect later. Just see that it gets here in one piece. The gentleman who set this up is the one who’s now in federal custody in Illinois, but I have the Danish contact information you can use. The shipping arrangements have already been made. It’s machinery for a new plant in Ohio. Then you’re going to find a way to get Mr. Wolff out of federal prison. Can you accomplish that assignment, Devlin?”
“I can damn sure try.”
“I’ll give you further details next week. Now go have a pleasant lunch with your new team member. Don’t think I’d enjoy a lunch with Campbell. These hard core militiamen are interesting, aren’t they?”
“Not my kind of life,” Hegarty responded. “We did some rough stuff in my day, but we always stayed in top hotels when not on operations. These guys like to sleep in the mud.”
Chapter 33
Senator Rachel McKenzie’s Residence
McLean, Virginia
July
The following Thursday evening, Pug drove to Rachel’s home. She had arrived the previous evening and spent all day Thursday in her senatorial office, preparing responses to constituents calling for immediate passage of the new bill submitted only 48 hours before by Senator Augustus Winchester, Democrat from Connecticut. She also sent several letters of sympathy to families that had lost relatives in the Overland Park Mall shooting. She spent the rest of the afternoon reading the text of the draft Domestic Tranquility Act in preparation for the sub-committee hearings scheduled for Monday morning.
Pug had called that morning to ask her to dinner, and she was ready when he rang the doorbell. They stepped out onto the terrace where they both paused for several moments, gazing out over the Potomac River.
“You look tired, Rachel,” he said.
“I’m exhausted, Pug. Bone weary. It’s emotional fatigue, I know, since I’ve not had any time to exercise, jog, or do anything physical. I’m just physically drained.”
“Why don’t we just sit here for a bit before we leave? I think you need some time to unwind.”
Rachel nodded her agreement. “That sounds wonderful. Let me get us a couple of glasses of iced tea.”
“Sit down, Rachel.” Pug said. “With your permission, I’ll get them.”
“There’s a pitcher in the fridge, with glasses in the second cupboard to the right of the stove,” she said.
When Pug returned, Rachel had moved the deck umbrella to shield them from the setting sun and placed two chairs near the small table. Pug placed both glasses on the table and slid his chair next to hers, both facing the river.
“I could get used to being served,” Rachel said.
Pug smiled. “Living alone can become rather selfish,” he admitted, “but one has to fend for one’s self. Serving each other is part of the human contract, isn’t it?”
“Are you selfish, Pug?” she asked, a softer tone appearing in her voice.
“Sometimes, I probably am. No one to answer to, time commitments only to myself. Yes, I suppose I am.”
“That’s why I try to convince my daughters to come home as often as possible. The ‘mom’ takes over and I become the servant, rather than selfish.”
“I could drop by occasionally if you need someone to cook for, or to serve.”
Rachel looked at Pug, her eyes bright and suddenly cheerful. “You are good for me, Pug, but I meant what I said before. That road is full of potholes.”
“I beg your pardon, madam. Are you calling me a pothole?”
Rachel laughed out loud, the first time in over a week. “What’s the old country music expression, five miles of bad road?”
Pug reached for Rachel’s hand, pulling it closer to his lips and kissing it. “Why don’t we just consider me a ‘detour’ road for awhile? Maybe we’ll find out that you can get where you’re going without dropping into one of those pot-holes.”
“Why don’t we just finish our tea, watch the sunset over the river, and drive to the restaurant? I’ve had too many potholes already this week.”
They sat silently for nearly five minutes, sipping their drinks before Rachel spoke again. “I think I’ve let my sorrow overwhelm me. Three of the people in the mall attack, two women with whom I’d served when my girls were in Brownies, were killed. The father and one son who had gone to a basketball game that Saturday were devastated. I attended church with Mom on Sunday, the day after the attack, and the pastor asked me, and Mom, since she’s in the women’s organization, to go with him that evening to visit the family. I knew this woman, Pug. I loved her and her family. These people were not constituents, they were like sisters. So very close to my heart. My mother’s strength pulled me through it. I could see that even the pastor admired my mother for her strength. Joan’s — that’s her name, by the way, the woman who was killed — husband was virtually speechless. The boy, he’s about fifteen, was in tears the whole time, but silent too. I’m not a psychologist, but he seemed to be in shock. They couldn’t understand how this could happen in America. I can’t either, Pug. On the flight back, I even asked myself how Go
d could let this happen.”
“That’s understandable, Rachel. You’ve already had more than your share of tragedy in your own life. It’s too close to the surface every time you see someone else struck by tragedy. When I was young and something terrible would happen, and I would question why, the answer my father always gave me was that we all had to remember the basic premise of free choice. We choose, not God. He gave us that right. And good people often suffer the consequences of the evil decisions of others. We can only see this life, but if someone believes in an afterlife, then the eternities will hold the answers for us. We may eventually see our mortality as but a weekend with respect to eternity. A tough weekend sometimes, but comparatively short. It’s not pleasant to contemplate, Rachel, but life comes with many types of potholes.”
Again they were silent for several minutes before Rachel broke the silence. “I’m hungry. Are you ready to go?”
Pug gathered up the glasses, walked into the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink, placed them in the dishwasher, then returned to find Rachel standing on the front steps. As he closed the front door, they descended several steps off the porch and walked toward Pug’s car, and once inside, Rachel pressed a Speed Dial number on her cell phone.”
“Activating the security system in your house?” he said, remembering the first night he had driven her home.
“You learn fast. No wonder they made you a general,” she said.
Three hours later, as they arrived at Rachel’s home, it was nearly midnight. Pug walked her to the front door, where they paused near the railing on the porch to view the moon reflecting off the Potomac.