The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  He had ignored multiple calls from the Constellation; he was officially on personal leave, after all. He’d listen to the message later. Maybe after some Moons over My Hammy….

  PART III

  Proximity

  “There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.”

  --Albert Einstein

  President Wing Liang sat alone in the wee hours of the morning. He was in his private quarters, which dramatically amplified his solitude. He was certain many, if not all, of his predecessors had occupied this space during these same hours in deep contemplation with heavy hearts or with thoughts too full to succumb to sleep. Most of them, however, would have had the silent, but comforting presence of their sleeping family members while he was utterly alone.

  Wei was present, in a manner of speaking though, as Wing viewed the message in his singular private, personal e-mail account. The account was his only real private space, shared only between his father and himself – one of his few personal demands when he took the office. Although he wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was truly private, he allowed himself the indulgence to think so.

  Now he stared at the message, wondering what it meant – knowing it either meant nothing, or possibly everything.

  After reading the content for at least the thirtieth time, he leaned back with his hands over his face, and he held that position as he fought back the threat of a notion which had plagued him the past few days. When he dropped his hands, they gripped the arms of his chair.

  It was a specific non-real feeling, real only to those who ever thought they might be losing their mind. Almost a separation, within the walls of one’s consciousness, between what they know to be safe and secure...and the glimpse of things unknown and so unacceptable that they are tinged with terror. It nearly felt as if the corner of his awareness was peeling back, and with each centimeter was an emotional reaction...He caught his breath and into the complete silence, he said, “No.”

  Shaking his head, he turned his eyes back to the computer screen. If it were only him, he would have to subordinate his unexplainable desires to the suggestions of his multitude of brilliant advisors; those who only thought inside the box, in this case, a tinder box.

  But...it wasn’t just him, now was it? His father, the strongest and possibly most stable man he knew, a man who should be dead - saw this same strange world of opportunity – as did a well renowned thinker and highly respected entrepreneur, James Cain. And there was Mr. Hoffstedder too; although he hadn’t seen his old teacher in years, the man was a pillar from his childhood, for no other reason than he was a trusted friend; one who was there when there was no one else. That none of them knew the nature of this opportunity he was to seek – or what incredible chance he was to take, was less frightening to Wing than the alternative actions which, in his mind, guaranteed Armageddon.

  Only hours before, he had questioned Wei, nearly desperately, able to reveal his true feelings; his father had a strangely vague, yet confident response. Wei told him that he had never believed humanity was “in it alone,” but until now, had no tangible proof to the contrary.

  “Son, it appears you are being handed a gift – you can’t see it, nor can you see the source; but don’t buy in to the arrogance of all men that we should be able to see and explain anything that counts. I heard once that what we are is God’s gift to us and what we become is our gift to God. Wing – I think this is not only part of what you have become – but what our world is to become, and this could be where the two meet. I didn’t raise a fool. So much has come to you – you need to trust that the rest will come and that it will be in time.”

  He glanced at the clock, knowing sleep was a luxury he’d not enjoy on this day....a day that could define his legacy...or his complete undoing. And, he feared, the undoing of nations.

  Frank Wallace, Toby Crone, David Carver, Donna Pettigrew and himself had an incomprehensible common thread. He would handle that thread today…he would meet her. As he hung onto his father’s words with every fiber of his being and what was left of his sanity, he prayed that his hands would be nimble for the thread and his character worthy of the gift.

  Even as she stumbled to the shower in the pre-light dawn, Johnnie heard movement in other parts of the James’ abode.

  “Do these people ever sleep?” she asked the furry lump in the bed.

  In this case, the answer was no. She was informed after her shower, en-route to the coffeemaker that Sandy had apparently stopped at the wrong place for Indian food the night before and was still on his knees in the bathroom paying the price. Although she felt badly for her friend, she thought this was too much pre-coffee information and without saying much to James, the bearer of the news, she plowed past him, toward the kitchen.

  It was only in the light of the kitchen that she realized that for the first time she could remember, her brother looked fatigued. She stopped, backing away from him with her cup,

  “God, James, are you sick too? Are you sure it was a food thing with him?” Not to be distracted from her true goal, she felt around to her right, securing the coffee pot handle as she spoke. Her hair dripped and she knew she had minimal time to prepare to leave for the airport. She blatantly ignored the events of the last day as well as whatever this day could bring – the acceptance thing a useful tool, but even better with a touch of avoidance.

  “No...I’m fine. I was up getting a few things ready for you and changing the travel plans for your companion. You can’t go alone and Sandy is done for, for at least today. I’ll give what you need to Jeremy -- Whitehouse liaisons have been notified that he will accompany you instead of Sandy.” He was so matter of fact, Johnnie was compelled to act as if this information weren’t the very steamroller necessary to break her self-imposed coolness.

  She held her coffee cup still, willing it to cool enough to gulp and, meanwhile, looked hard at James. She realized the changes for the trip weren’t so bad, although her brother would now be stuck hosting a dog and a very sick man....all the while juggling the elements of her world, and undoubtedly, still managing his empire.

  “I don’t know if I ever said thank you – I have no idea how you are doing all this, but I guess I don’t really know what you do anyway. But thank you.”

  He smiled entirely too brightly for a guy that was under that kind of pressure, and mussed her wet hair. After planting a kiss on her forehead, he said, “I do what I claim to do...I believe...” He face became less jovial as he bent closer to her.

  “And I suggest you consider the same. And for the record, you are handling things pretty well yourself. Oh...that’s probably Jeremy...” He gave her a slap on the back, as she balanced her cup with surge of panic and he left to answer the buzz at the door.

  Jeremy was here – back already? She realized, with a little guilt, that she had to be the only one in this crew that had gotten any sleep at all. As she hurried to her room, it never entered her mind that of them all, she was the one who, by far, would most need the rest by the end of the day.

  Within an hour, she and Jeremy were headed to the airport; this time her brother was the chauffeur.

  James had intentionally booked flights out of La Guardia Airport in an attempt to avoid any issues at JFK, although Johnnie’s identity was still largely unknown and, to her chagrin, she wore dark glasses and a stylish scarf Sandy had picked out for her.

  “Very Liz Taylor,” He’d said the night before as he laid out her clothing for the next day. Although she’d replied, with her most serious face, “You got me, Sandy. I live to be Liz Taylor. It’s my dream.” Although her comment was sarcastic, she’d actually approved of the outfit, in general. It was a dark, conservative suit and he may have saved his own life by selecting slacks instead of a skirt. And everything fit, including the shoes; it was remarkable how well this guy knew her. She had to admit, she was grateful, in spite of the Liz Taylor-Mata Hari touch.

  They checked in at the a
irport without event, and as they moved toward the departure gate Johnnie was too preoccupied to notice her companion’s extreme alertness as he scanned their every surrounding and never let her out of his sight. Because they were in first class, they boarded almost immediately.

  Once settled in the plane, Johnnie was a little uneasy about where to go with the conversation. Despite her well depressed “ignore button,” past and upcoming events loomed around her psyche – not to mention, she was still dealing with her reaction when in close proximity to this guy. Although it appeared they’d come to a favorable impasse the night before, her inexperience with a less than casual boy-girl relationship left her unbalanced.

  He, of course, had it covered. It was a short flight, and he spent the first half laying out the upcoming events so she would know what to expect. He showed her the faxed White House itinerary, explaining each section, leaving no stone unturned. She found his professional ease as appealing as his personal demeanor and her trust increased in notable increments.

  “Now, remember...the entire premise of this visit is that he and his extended family know you from years ago, and he wants to thank you for your ‘extraordinary’ efforts at JFK.” Although neither said it, it was baffling that the dramatic event had just taken place two days prior and they had both moved on as if it had been a mere bump in the road.

  They would be met upon arrival and transported by White House staff, and after initial security measures and a brief “comfort break” (she stifled a laugh when she noted official written itinerary’s term for a bathroom stop), they would be whisked away for her private meeting with the President; an asterisk noted that delays were possible.

  Immediately after meeting with the big guy (Jeremy’s words, not Johnnie’s), he would bring in key staff to meet her. Although the event would never play for the press, Jeremy offered his opinion that the ‘meet and greet’ was strictly a formality to add legitimacy to the otherwise unexpected and probably unprecedented visit requested by the President, particularly during such turbulent times.

  As he placed the itinerary and attachments back in his briefcase, he picked up a slightly bulky envelope and instructed her to take it with her to the meeting. James had prepared the correspondence the night before, with specific guidance that she give it only to President Liang. It wasn’t sealed, but was closed with a clip. Jeremy explained it wasn’t sealed because security personnel would insist on checking the contents.

  “What is it?” She asked, staring at the plain brown envelope; reality was sinking in and she suddenly felt as though she were being rushed, unprepared, to battle.

  “All I know is there are some old pictures of you that he got from Mary last night, something to do with calls from Wei Liang and Hoffstedder. He told me just before I left last night that he was going to send them and notes with you today.” She didn’t reply, but stared at the contents of his valise as if she expected them to come alive.

  Jeremy looked at the young woman next to him. Sandy had done well on the clothing, although she had removed the scarf and glasses the second they were on the plane– and her own grooming efforts were well noted. She looked sharp, attractive – and if one didn’t know her, they may have mistaken her for a confident professional. What he saw and sensed, however, was well controlled fear.

  Although his role here was defined by necessity, he knew he had another part to play as he leaned closer – brow lifted. He left it up to her, if she wanted to talk.

  “Jeremy. I’m scared shitless.” She twisted her lips to add emphasis and looked at him. He wondered if she had any idea how tough she really was. He smiled as reassuringly as he could and she asked, hoarsely, “What do you think he wants?”

  So many balls had been in the air the day before, that when calls commenced from the White house, individual speculations were lost in the rush to plan the short notice trip... as well as to allow Johnnie as much space as possible to deal with the increasing orbits about her world. Ironically, no one openly discussed why Wing Liang really wanted, urgently, to see Johnnie Carter; it went without saying that everyone doubted the official reason for the invitation. She saw it less as an invitation than a demand, but hadn’t said as much. If the events of the past days had taught her anything, it was that her vote didn’t count and her compliance was mandatory.

  Jeremy closed the briefcase and laced his fingers on top, although he never moved his head which was still inches from hers. Knowing she was working to keep it together, he looked past her, rather than at her, when he replied.

  “I don’t know...if he’s on the same boat as the rest of us...maybe he doesn’t know either; maybe he’s working on a feeling. Ever think of that?” He had actually only thought of it himself as he said it, and the concept was obviously new to her too...and oddly comforting.

  But only for a moment.

  “Jeremy...do you think it’s wise for me to be alone with him?” Her voice nearly cracked as she lowered it with, “What if something happens?”

  He had a frightening revelation, which left his lips before he thought better of it.

  His haunting reply hung between them.

  “Maybe he’s counting on it...”

  __________________________________________________________________

  Although a full death toll was not available, at least thousands were dead and dying in India; Pakistan, still convinced their rival, not Israel, was responsible for the attacks on their border with Iran and launched a series of tactical nuclear warheads into densely populated Indian cities. This news came to U.S. officials on the heels of clear communication from China defining a forty eight hour window for the United States and the United Nations to handle Israel and India’s recent aggressions against Chinese-Pakistani interests; repayment of all US debt to China was inclusive in the short-fused demand. While the massive republic did not specify what they would do if their demands were not met, for the U.S., at a minimum, there was a warship of U.S. personnel on the line.

  All U.S. forces in Southeast Asia were on high alert and in the most secret of military communication, well trained and practiced sea and land-based nuclear forces were targeted and posed. In truth, the U.S. had enough nuclear might to destroy the world, but ironically, the might, amassed during the cold war was intended for deterrence, not destruction. The scales were tipping and the balance seemed out of control.

  The mood among the highest decision makers in the country was grave and tense – but absolutely ready for a positive engagement; the United States of America was bound by history and reputation to take a firm stand in the face of international tyranny. Even with a world war at stake, the members of the National Security Council were not willing to take to the bench on these affairs; the only member on the fence was the Chairman – who also happened to be the President.

  When Wing stood to follow a staffer out of the situation room, the look on the faces around him was incredulous. He was impervious to the balking stares; he had made his mind up before walking in this room earlier to shoot for the moon today, to make not a last-ditch effort, but to focus on his one-ditch effort. She should be on the premises and he would be on time for their meeting.

  Not willing to engage in a debate, he opted for one-way communication; a rare tactic for a man like himself.

  “They gave us forty eight hours, of which we have forty six left. I give us forty, max, to respond and act, if necessary. Right now, I’m taking ninety minutes, then Wallace and Chrone will meet me with Pettigrew and Carver. Unless this building is smoldering, be there.” He directed his last comments to the two whom were present as he exited.

  Fourteen minutes later, and one floor above the Situation Room, the President was in the Oval Office, he stood behind his desk with his arms crossed, gazing out the window. Although the view was worthy, he was unseeing as he heard the door open behind him. He turned to face the guest.

  There she was... and for just a moment, he wondered what had possessed him to put all of his eggs in this very small, no
rmal looking, human basket.

  Hands in pockets, he looked at her as the door closed behind her. His preoccupation held his tongue as he studied her. She clasped a large brown envelope against her chest and after seconds of silence, she released one hand in a partial wave.

  “Uh – hello, Mr. President?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter, please come in.” They met in front of his desk and he took her hand in both of his, studying her face. He’d seen more current photos, of course, in the past two days, but he compared her only to his memory from his childhood home, during the most challenging days of his life; the most challenging until now anyway.

  Although he knew it was the same person, and he wasn’t sure what he expected or if he’d get it; he’d forced her presence at what was likely a difficult time in her life, and he owed her the time. Even now, facing the small, very average woman – not at all Joan of Ark-ish, he harbored a spark of hope.

  Gesturing toward the cream colored couch closest to them, he waited till she was seated then perched on the twin sofa opposite the highly polished coffee table.

  He needed to broach the real reason for this meeting, but the justification triggering her official “invitation” was certainly valid – and a great way to start.

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees and smiled.

  She was transfixed by the fact that the President of the United States was only a few feet away from her; her reaction was perfectly typical – she was in awe of where she was, but equally amazed how he was a regular human being.

  “Johnnie...may I call you Johnnie?” It was a rhetorical question, but her nerves drove her tongue into action.

  “Oh sure...but I don’t think I’ll call you ‘Wing,’ if that’s OK...” Her look of horror when she heard her own words made him laugh. And that was good.

  “You call me whatever you want...and thank you for that. But I also need to thank you for what you did at the airport – you saved a lot of lives.”