by Bobby Akart
The compound was surrounded by a ten-foot block wall topped by barbed wire. At each of the four corners, an elevated platform must’ve existed, because an armed guard stood where he could see over the top of the wall. Inside the compound, large halogen lights illuminated the yard.
“This place is lit up like a shopping mall on Christmas Eve,” said Drew as Tai pulled to a stop a block away. “These guys are dressed like gardeners in their green coveralls, but those Chinese QBZ-95s are a dead giveaway.” The QBZ-95 and its updated variant was a Chinese-made version of the American M4. Its standard rounds were NATO 5.56.
“Flying Dragons?” asked Spidey.
“Damn straight,” replied Drew. “Look at the guy closest to us. He’s leaning on the wall, smoking a cigarette, looking toward the compound.”
“He’s bored, maybe?” asked Tai.
“Yeah, or he’s got a false sense of security that they wouldn’t be located,” replied Drew. “It’s almost as if he’s more concerned with what’s happening inside the compound than he is outside those walls.”
“Big mistake,” quipped Spidey.
“I agree, bud.”
Drew’s earpiece came to life with Santa’s voice. “Alpha One, got something for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Eighteen hours after the abduction, a man emerged from under the group of trees onto the sidewalk. He seemed to come out of nowhere. He walked down the street and got into a mid-size sedan. As he drove down the street to make a U-ey, another guy shows up on the sidewalk, helping someone walk. It looked like the third guy was drunk or something. They got in the car and headed north in your direction.”
“Did they come here?” asked Drew.
“Can’t tell ’cause they were outside the bird’s peripheral vision.”
Drew paused for a moment. He wanted to study their surroundings before they conducted an assault on the compound. From the lackadaisical approach of the guards, there didn’t appear to be a sense of urgency other than daylight would be coming and he wanted to secure Ambassador McBride’s safety before then.
He turned to Spidey and Tai. “Let’s get back to the other compound and put an assault plan together. If these guys want to chill and smoke a cigarette while on duty, then I have no problem puttin’ them on ice so we can get our ambassador back.”
Chapter 71
11:00 a.m.
The Blue Room
The White House
Washington, DC
The first colonists fled England seeking religious freedom. Few sailed into the unknown out of a sense of adventure. They sought a better life that would allow them freedom of expression without fear of government retribution, and the ability to worship God in the manner they sought appropriate for their family.
In the early settlements, it was part of their everyday life to set aside days of thanksgiving, prayer, and fasting in response to significant events. While American history traditionally recognizes the first Thanksgiving as having taken place at Plymouth colony in the fall of 1621, it wasn’t until 1789 that President George Washington issued a formal proclamation designating November 26 as a national day of Thanksgiving to recognize the nation’s accomplishments in creating the new United States and the Constitution.
During the American Revolution, Thanksgiving was declared at various times in the fall to recognize military victories. But the war brought alterations to the traditional menu. Raisins were unavailable, not for love or money, as they said back in the day. Beef had been completely absent from the colonists’ tables since the beginning of the war, as one historian from the time wrote—it all must go to the Army & too little they get, poor fellows.
But the Thanksgiving tables were heavily laden nonetheless. The tradition of the colonists was to invite friends and family over for a Thanksgiving celebration, which included storytelling for the children, prayers of thanks, and potluck dishes contributed by each of the guests to the meal.
Venison, pork roasts, turkey and goose were accompanied by great amounts of vegetables from the harvests particular to the colony’s locale. Desserts included pumpkin pies, apple tarts, and a variety of cookies.
During Sarge’s first year in office, he was asked about the theme he’d like to adopt for Thanksgiving. He was not interested in flaunting an extravagant menu at the White House when so many Americans were suffering just fifteen months after the collapse. Instead, holding true to his revolutionary roots, Sarge declared during his years as president, the White House would celebrate as the Founding Fathers did, with a potluck-style Thanksgiving meal.
The guests were encouraged to bring dishes served during the American Revolution. Beginning with the Sargents’ first Thanksgiving in the White House, their guests, which included the Loyal Nine, the Boston Brahmin and their families, brought dishes such as venison, pork, baked beans and Johnnycakes, french beans, potato soup, molasses graham bread, and Indian pudding. Sarge always committed to making some form of dessert, and this year, he baked gingersnaps.
The size of their annual Thanksgiving dinner at the White House grew over the years with the additions of two new children to Sarge and Julia, as well as grandchildren born into the Boston Brahmin families.
The Blue Room, which doubled as a diplomatic reception room, was used for the Thanksgiving dinners. It was perfectly suited for smaller gatherings than the State Room warranted, and its proximity to the South Portico lent incredible views across the South Lawn for attendees.
As their guests arrived, Sarge and Julia greeted each one of them. Their names were synonymous with New England gentry and would be familiar to anyone who had studied American history in high school—Cabot, Lowell, Hancock, Tudor, Bradlee, Crowninshield, Winthrop, Endicott, Peabody, Adams, Sargent, and Morgan.
Sarge greeted them all heartily and with genuine respect. They were more than his wealthy, powerful friends and associates. They were members of an exclusive group of patriotic Americans dating back to the War for Independence. The members of these families were lineal descendants of the Sons of Liberty—the Founding Fathers.
They were the Boston Brahmin, and as they entered the White House with their families, Sarge could sense the walls saying Welcome Home!
Chapter 72
11:30 a.m.
The Blue Room
The White House
Washington, DC
The group had settled into the Blue Room and the adjacent Red Room with Estelle Peabody, Julia’s aunt. As befitting the literary heritage of the Peabodys and Hawthornes, Aunt Stella was holding court around the fire, telling the children a story.
“Today is Thanksgiving and I want to tell you a story about some wonderful family gatherings over two hundred fifty years ago. That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
“Yeah!” they replied in unison.
“Rose, dear, how old are you?”
“Five.”
“So, if you’re five, and we’re going to tell a story from two hundred fifty years ago, how many Roses does that make?”
“Fifty times five. Fifty Roses!” proclaimed Win.
“That’s right, Win. That’s a long time. Now, I want you all to gather close by and close your eyes.”
The kids scooted along the floor in front of the fire.
“Close your eyes and feel the warm fire on your faces. I’m going to start telling the story of our Founding Fathers and their Thanksgiving dinners. When you open your eyes, all of us will be watching them enjoy their dinner, okay?”
“Okay!” they replied gleefully as they formed a tight-knit group around Aunt Stella.
Julia joined Sarge’s side and wrapped her arms through his. They enjoyed a moment of quiet solitude as Aunt Stella told the story, which was made up as she continued. The children’s faces were locked on her words, enjoying the tale she told.
Sarge spoke to Julia in a low tone of voice so he didn’t disrupt the story. “I remember the day I met Art and Stella at their home. I was there to pick them up and bring them back to s
afety at 100 Beacon. They treated me like family from the moment we met. It was as if Aunt Stella knew you and I were destined to be together.”
“I believe in fate,” said Julia. “The Hawthornes and Peabodys have been intertwined in their lineage for a couple of centuries. As it turns out, there was a Sargent in the mix back in the early nineteenth century.”
“Shhh,” Sarge playfully admonished Julia. “We might be kissin’ cousins. Think of the scandal!”
“Oh yes, people will most certainly talk,” said Julia with a laugh. She turned her head to notice Walter Cabot hovering nearby. “Speaking of talk, Mr. Cabot has followed you around since he arrived. It’s as if he’s waiting for his opportunity to pounce on you.”
“I know. I’ve avoided him since yesterday. Well, for a couple of weeks, really. He wants to address this statehood issue, and to be honest, my mind is in Taiwan. Retrieving our ambassador and keeping Drew out of harm’s way is tantamount to the pressure Walter and the Boston Brahmin want to place on my shoulders.”
“Well, he’s headed your way, my darling Mr. President, and I see that Abbie just arrived. Good luck.”
Julia kissed him on the cheek and darted back into the Blue Room. Sarge stood and watched Stella continue with the story, pretending to be oblivious of Cabot’s advance.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. President,” started Cabot with a jovial tone. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a difficult conversation after all. “May I have a moment to speak with you?”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you as well, Walter. You’re looking good.”
“Thank you, Henry, if I may be informal?” Cabot, like his dearly departed friends Lawrence Lowell and John Morgan, always referred to Sarge as Henry. The three eldest members of the Boston Brahmin, whom Sarge had known most of his life, were friends of his father and had known Sarge by his given name—Henry.
“Of course, Walter,” said Sarge. Let’s step over here by the window and talk for a moment.”
“Henry, you’ve been difficult to speak with lately. Other than the usual trials and tribulations of the presidency, is there anything else wrong?”
“No, Walter, I’m fine. I have been preoccupied as my administration winds down. I have a lot to accomplish in these last two months. Now, I have this crisis in Taiwan to deal with.”
“Completely unexpected, I take it,” interrupted Cabot. “Any word on the missing ambassador?”
“Not yet, but I expect something will surface today.”
Cabot abruptly shifted gears to discussing the election. Sarge could sense he was leading up to something and this small talk was intended to set the table for a long-overdue conversation with the oldest member of the Boston Brahmin’s executive council.
“We were very pleased with the election results, as always,” he began. “Our track record with electing presidents has been quite incredible, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course,” replied Sarge. Here’s the part where Walter reminds me of how I got into office.
“I must say, installing one of our own to the highest office in the land was a great accomplishment.”
Sarge hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Yes, Walter, and naturally, I appreciate everyone’s support.”
Cabot continued. “The process of electing candidates to any level of office can be excruciating. Placing a candidate into the White House is elegant as hell, but there’s no elegance in modern politics, only hell.”
Sarge nodded and looked past Cabot into the Blue Room, where his guests seemed to be making their way toward their seats. Aunt Stella had finished up her story and the children were being escorted to the Red Room, where the Quinn daughters, the oldest of the children in attendance, were hosting a children’s version of Thanksgiving, which included traditional favorites like chicken nuggets with mac-and-cheese.
“I was fortunate that the people certainly approved of my candidacy and the platform I ran on,” said Sarge as he chose to subtly remind Cabot that he could’ve won his two election campaigns on his own merit without the usual Boston Brahmin manipulations.
“The new man, Rawling, shares your passion for bringing the wayward four, as I like to call the secessionists, back into the fold. Undoubtedly, he would support the bill just passed by—”
The White House butler had entered the room and announced that dinner was served, cutting off Cabot in mid-sentence.
Saved by the bell.
“I’m sorry, Walter. Why don’t we take up our conversation after dinner? Perhaps cigars in the Sunroom upstairs would be a good idea.”
Cabot frowned as he’d been stymied by the timing of dinner. “I suppose that would be best.”
“Good. Let’s join the others. I understand they have located an extraordinary treat for this final Thanksgiving in office.”
Chapter 73
Noon
The Blue Room
The White House
Washington, DC
Everyone took a seat around the elegantly set table in the Blue Room. After everyone was seated, Sarge said a few words before leading them in prayer.
“Happy Thanksgiving to everyone and thank you for joining us in our final Thanksgiving dinner at the White House.
“This special day invites us to reflect on the blessings we enjoy and the freedoms we cherish. As we gather with family and friends to take part in this uniquely American celebration, we give thanks for the extraordinary opportunities we have in a nation of limitless possibilities, and we pay tribute to all those who defend America as members of our armed forces.
“This holiday reminds us to show compassion and concern for people we’ve never met and deep gratitude toward those who have sacrificed to help build the most prosperous nation on earth. Our traditions honor the rich history of our country and hold us together as one American family.
“Nearly four hundred years ago, a group of Pilgrims left their homeland and sailed across an ocean in pursuit of liberty and prosperity. With the friendship and kindness of the Indians who lived here, they learned to harvest the rich bounty of a new world. Together, they shared a successful crop, celebrating bonds of community during a time of great hardship. During the American Revolution, days of thanksgiving drew Americans together in prayer and in the spirit that guides us to better days, and in each year since, America has paused to show our gratitude for our families, communities, and country.
“With God’s grace, we carry forward the legacy of our forebearers. In the company of our loved ones, we give thanks for the people we care about and the joy we share, and we remember those who are less fortunate. During the aftermath of the collapse, after a brief period of tribulation, Americans gave meaning to the simple truth that binds us together—we are our brother’s and our sister’s keepers. Today, let’s remember how a determined people set out for a better world, how through faith and the charity of others, they forged a new life built on freedom and opportunity and made us into the great, caring nation we are today.
“The spirit of Thanksgiving is universal. It is found in small moments between strangers, reunions shared with friends and loved ones, and in quiet prayers for others. This Thanksgiving, let us recall the values that unite our country, and let us promise to strengthen these lasting ties.”
Sarge paused and smiled to his guests. “I’d like us to pray together, so please bow your heads.” The entire room of twenty-four adults took each other’s hands and bowed their heads in reverence.
“Our Heavenly Father, every year at Thanksgiving, we bow our heads to offer thanks for the blessings you’ve bestowed upon us. My family thanks you for providing us health and well-being. As our friends and their families gather around, we ask that you look kindly upon us and receive our heartfelt gratitude in this time of giving thanks.
“Thank you for all the graces and blessings of food, shelter, health and the love we have for one another, our family and friends. Dear Father, in Your infinite generosity, please grant us, your humble servants, continued graces and b
lessing throughout the coming year.
“We ask that you pray for our men and women overseas who have devoted their lives, precious lives which they risk daily, to protect our great nation and the freedoms to which we’ve grown accustomed.
“Father, we ask that you protect Ambassador McBride, as he has been placed in danger in a foreign land, far away from his family, who love and cherish him. We ask that you protect our brave men who seek to secure his safety and that you’ll show those responsible for stealing him from his family the error of their ways.
“This we ask in the name of your son, Christ Jesus, Amen.”
The room responded amen and then provided Sarge accolades for his prayer. Julia squeezed his hand and gave him a congratulatory smile. Then she stood to address the group, clasping her hands in front of her.
“I would just like to add and say thanks to all of you who’ve joined us each year while we’ve been in the White House. This has been an incredible journey for our family, which will soon come to an end. We couldn’t think of a better way to say a formal farewell to the White House than to share it with all of you.”
“Thank you, Julia, and you, Mr. President!” said Art Peabody.
“Now, I’m extremely excited to start our special meal with a surprise. Recently, historians were in the process of renovating the Liberty Hall Museum, and the team found three cases of Madeira wine dating back to the eighteenth century. At the time, it was the most popular wine in America, as it was consumed by sailors traveling to the new land from Europe. As part of their renovation efforts, they also located forty-two casks of the vintage red, and one was proudly donated to the White House just for this special occasion.”
Several of the White House staff began to go around the long, rectangular table and poured the red wine into the guests’ glasses. When everyone had been served, Sarge stood to propose a toast.