With Faulk back in the fold, Murray figured he had an opening. He knew it was the calm before the storm and there would be a lot of work to do starting Monday, so Murray decided to go out on a limb and ask off the detail for the day.
Walters sat at the table with his coffee and croissant and looked up at his fellow Virginian. Without hesitation Walters agreed, allowing Murray the day off as he reached for the business section of The Times.
Murray pumped his fist and sat down for breakfast. A thousand thoughts went through his head, the first of which was to call Dottie. He thought about driving out to visit her and Todd at the hospital, but a three hour drive each way was not his definition of relaxation. He also wanted to watch the Redskins game at one. The Giants were on the schedule, and after spending more than enough time in New York and New Jersey surrounded by voters dressed in the blue and red of the Super Bowl champs, Murray was anxious for a win.
He dialed Dottie to ask her how Todd was and to let her know that he would be in Mount Vernon for the day. His call went to voicemail and he left a quick message. He then texted her Election Day details and the address of the Westin in Annapolis where the team would hopefully be celebrating on Tuesday night. Murray hoped she would have a change of heart and be able to make it. But for now, his mind focused on breakfast and the sports section.
Ken Rader said the day before the election was always busy and the men took his words to heart. Everybody was showered and dressed by seven and anxious to get going. For the first time, the founding fathers waited for their boss.
In no time they were out the door and stuck in rush hour traffic as they headed to Arnold, Maryland, to visit Connor. The General was so busy campaigning and touring the country that he had not had the opportunity to get back to Arnold to see his surrogate son. He looked forward to spending some quality time with the grieving young man before a heavy afternoon schedule in DC.
The polling numbers had leveled off and the Republican candidate held a four to five percentage point lead according to Rasmussen and Gallup. Not surprisingly, he trailed in the WNN poll. The cancer rumors had subsided and confidence among the new founders rose once again. This was evident in the jokes and lively conversation among the men in the car. Even the secret service agents broke a smile as Faulk kept them entertained.
Arnold was usually an hour away, but traffic extended the trip. They pulled up to the house a few minutes before nine and were greeted by a couple local television reporters that had staked out the Walters’ residence. Cameras caught the candidate gingerly stepping out of the car; but smooth as always, he gave each a few sound bites while he made his way to the front door.
The embrace between the candidate and son would lead the noon news reports. Connor led the General into the house, followed by Murray, Hahn, and Faulk. One secret service agent stepped in as the other stood guard at the entranceway.
Connor Walters still grieved over his father’s death a few weeks earlier and broke down in tears once the door shut. To maintain the new founders’ secrecy, George quickly ushered Connor into the back bedroom out of earshot from the secret service agents. The new founders stayed in the living room as well, making small talk and looking over family pictures on the bureau. Murray could not help but notice the agent’s particular interest in a more recent photograph of the original Mr. Walters. Always very aware of the current situation, Murray interrupted his glance and invited him to the kitchen for a drink. Faulk and Hahn breathed a sigh of relief as the men departed the room.
Once in the study, the General again embraced Connor with an affectionate hug and delivered a line as only the General could.
“I understand your sadness Mr. Walters. Your father was an extraordinary man. The death of near relations always produces awful and affecting emotions, under whatsoever circumstances it may happen.”
Connor pulled back, somewhat surprised at the formality of the message. He had watched this man every day on television and identified the gradual erosion of eighteenth century dialect in favor of the more common twenty-first century jargon.
Murray and Faulk entered the room, leaving Hahn to tend to the bodyguard. Murray stood to the side while Faulk reached out to young Mr. Walters.
“I condole with you as we have lost a most dear and valuable relation; but it is the will of God and Nature that these immortal bodies be laid aside when the soul is to enter into real life. We are all spirits, Connor. Our bodies are lent to us, but as you know full well, better than most, our spirits never die.” The General smiled, knowing firsthand how true Faulk’s words were. Murray was shocked. He knew the man to be erudite, but Murray was used to a quick-witted storyteller and jokester that kept everybody loose. He realized that Mr. Faulk could deliver a line just as well as the General. He silently accepted Faulk as Ben Franklin.
Murray explained that they wanted to provide their personal condolences and that the General would vote the following day at Arnold’s Severn River Middle School. The men graciously declined Connor’s invitation to stay the night and moved to the screened in porch to talk for the rest of the morning. The young man from Maryland reminisced about his childhood, told stories about his father, and showed them the bronze star he won in Vietnam. Hahn and Faulk had switched places, ensuring that the secret service remained out of earshot.
It may have been morning, but Connor and the General indulged in a couple of brandies, much to the chagrin of his advisors. The day was young and a lot lay ahead, but nobody wanted to intrude on the conversation. At that point, and for the first time since they met, Connor spoke in depth about the premature death of his beloved mother who passed away when he was only nine.
Murray listened as the young man’s true emotions poured out and filled the porch. Murray related to Connor’s lighthearted stories about his father’s reaction to his somewhat domineering mother. The looks and good natured smirks he described in reaction to his mother’s bossy ways hit home for Murray. He felt very comfortable in Arnold, Maryland.
Faulk had reappeared on the porch at the tail end of the story, sending the agent outside to ready the car for their next stop. Always with humor to spare, Faulk injected a Ben Franklin saying to lighten the conversation:
“Ill thrives that hapless family that shows, a cock that’s silent and a hen that crows; I know not which lives more unnatural lives, obeying husbands or commanding wives.”
Hahn applauded the rhyme, noting it was very apropos.
The General, who never had a child of his own, was taken by the young Connor. As the men left the house, the General reached into his front pocket and removed a badly damaged brass button wrapped in the red queue that had tied his ponytail when he first appeared in Philadelphia.
The General unwrapped the button, returned the queue to his pocket and, out of view of any onlookers, placed the barely recognizable relic in Connor’s palm.
“Take this, young man. I have carried it since the Indian Wars of 1755 when Providence interceded and stopped a musket ball on my behalf. I have cherished it as a giver of life and so I give it to you to remember your father who quite literally gave me his life.”
Murray was choked up as he watched young Walters and the General embrace again and offer their teary goodbyes.
Sure enough, the lead story on local and cable news outlets was of candidate Frank Walters going home to see his son. The iconic vision of the embrace at the Walters’ door did not disappoint an already energized conservative base. As the images shone bright, one man threw up his hands in disgust.
“I could get to Arnold in less than thirty minutes. But he must be gone by now.”
William Fredericks was talking out loud to nobody. But the voices in his head were answering.
He said if Walters was in DC, he had to go to the capital to settle his score with him. But the voices intervened, telling him to be patient. They told Fredericks that he would go where they directed him to go and it was not yet the proper time.
“I have to do it before it’s too
late. I have to seek him out.”
Fredericks swilled from the bottle, spilling alcohol on the sweat stained t-shirt he wore. He was adamant about going, but the forces in his head kept him at bay. The voices reminded him that he would be directed to the right place and the right time, where the final confrontation would take place. A sullen Fredericks raised his head and looked to the heavens.
“He will come to me? He will seek me out? Okay, I will wait.”
While Fredericks waited, the Walters team descended on Washington DC. The afternoon was a blur as the campaign moved from neighborhood to neighborhood. Rader thought the trip futile as the candidate could never take a traditionally liberal city from the incumbent; and for what, a lousy three electoral votes?
Nevertheless, Walters felt he had to finish strong but did not want to stray too far from his home base in the day before the election. Besides, the Anders boys had done their job down south and the feedback from their eleventh hour visit was all positive.
The last stop of the day was the Willard Hotel, the site where the whole plan was originally hatched. The candidate had made a point to return for a final dinner before the Election Day marathon and the men gladly approved. They pulled to the lobby only to be greeted by more television cameras. Behind the media stood Josh and Steve Anders, campaign manager Rader and RNC chairman Dudek. The new founders in the car mentioned to Walters they were surprised to see that men who were not in on the original plot would join them for dinner at the now historic spot. Walters would hear none of it and responded with a very modern line.
“These men busted their hump for us and left their blood across the whole country. The least we could do is treat them to a first class dinner.”
Before exiting the car, the leader reminded the group not to reminisce about the original meeting in front of Rader and Dudek as there would be time for that later. Just then a livery car pulled next to them and out popped Tim Jenson. He had flown to DC after his show to join the campaign team. He was scheduled to broadcast live from the Westin Hotel the following day and wanted to reunite with his colonial brethren.
His appearance enflamed some hurt feelings within Murray. While the original rumors of extramarital affairs had subsided, the thought of Jenson and Dottie together still gnawed at him. He buried the hurt for the moment as he received a big hug and kiss on the cheek from the new national talk show host.
“You son of a bitch, you look great! We have to catch up over dinner. I have a lot to tell you!”
Murray’s first reaction was to think “I bet you do.” But he quickly realized that anybody who would greet him in that manner could never betray him. The group waved to the cameras as they entered the lobby.
Election Day had finally come and the press was entrenched, waiting for Frank Walters at the middle school. Due to the crowds and ominous threat of a severe thunder storm, the candidate and his team pulled up as close to the gymnasium doors as possible. Walters exited the black limousine slowly and deliberately. He looked uncharacteristically feeble as he limped into the school. His ankle was throbbing from constantly being on his feet the day before and the impending storm just made it worse.
In all his wars and battles, Walters could not recall ever spraining his ankle.
Walters made his way past the reporters and cameras thrust in his face. The bright lights blinded him and he stumbled, only to be propped by Murray. A hush fell over the big room as he walked slowly toward the “W – Z” table. He eyed the volunteers manning the registration and leaned into Murray’s ear.
“I didn’t know my mother’s sisters were hired to man the booths.”
The candidate stood before the voter ledgers and put both hands on the table, holding himself up.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Walters. It’s good to see you again, but you do not seem well. Are you yourself today?”
Murray marveled while Walters kept his composure.
“I am sure, madam, that I am no longer myself anymore. I belong to others. For when a man assumes a public trust, he should consider himself as public property.”
Hahn turned to Murray and mouthed the word “Jefferson,” correctly noting that their boss had just quoted the third president. Not wanting to press his luck any further, the candidate entered the booth, closed the curtain and voted. As quickly as he could, Walters exited the gym, moving deliberately past the reporters and ambled into the stretch Lincoln without further comment.
“Damn media, I’m glad that’s over with. Let us head back to Mount Vernon to feast on mutton and potatoes.”
“Okay, General.”
Murray’s reply reeked of sarcasm. He thought to himself that the father of their country had to be kidding with him. “Just get me through this day,” Murray said to himself. “Just one more day and I can go home.”
“Where the hell am I going to find mutton around here?” Murray said aloud.
Walters, picking up on Murray’s tone, suggested in a very modern fashion that the GPS may have the answer. Less than an hour later, Murray couldn’t help but laugh when instead of heading directly to their headquarter mansion, they pulled into the parking lot of a Giant Supermarket to pick up the ingredients for Walters’ supper.
William Fredericks was having a different kind of supper that evening. He had just polished off his last bottle of Beefeater as he somehow pulled his car into the lot at the WNN studio on First Street NE. He was originally told to be in the office by eight o’clock and sober and ready to go by ten for the special election night coverage.
He forgot that he had hung up on his producer, who immediately withdrew the offer. Management was not amused as Fredericks barged through security at ten minutes after seven and began babbling nonsense about George Washington winning the election. The producer anticipated the scene and had guards set up to escort Fredericks out.
The president of the network walked out of his office to observe the chaotic scene. He announced that he had had enough and, in front of his staff, engineer and crew, fired his top on-air personality, asking him to leave the premises immediately. As the security team approached him, Fredericks flew into a wild rage, physically attacking an older producer and verbally abusing the staff.
For all his years of instability, no one had seen Fredericks this out of control. His Election Night actions made his diatribe at Federal Hall seem tame by comparison. A guard physically carried him out of the building and happily dropped William in a heap on the asphalt of the parking lot.
The rain poured down. Fredericks lifted himself up and fumbled for his keys as he made his way to his car. Once inside, he realized he did not know what to do or where to go. A thunderclap above brought him a moment of clarity, as if the storm had delivered the answers.
“Fredericks, go! Go to where he goes to die! Go! Now!”
Supper at the Mount Vernon estate was concluding. Walters had insisted on an intimate dinner with just the new founders as his secret service agents sat down the hall watching the initial election returns on television.
He held court over the dining room table, preaching political parables as if it was a scene from the Last Supper with the men as his disciples. They hung on every word and remained silent for better part of the meal.
Jenson was the first to excuse himself, noting that he had a show to do and needed to get to the hotel in Annapolis. Walters rose with right hand extended and, in one motion, shook Jenson’s hand and hugged him tight. He wished him a good broadcast and best of luck in the coming weeks, momentarily confusing the men in the room. Jenson bid adieu to the rest of the team and exited the house.
Josh and Steve Anders were the next to leave. They told the group that they had to get to Annapolis to address the media from the lobby of the Westin. Washington’s reaction to their exit was the same as with Jenson and the men started out. Faulk rose quickly and told the remaining men that he would hitch a ride with Josh as he had promised to help Pepper and Rader in the ballroom. He motioned to Murray to make sure he did not forget W
alters’ victory speech for later that night. Jack nodded and Faulk raced out to get his ride.
Three men were left in the dining room. Hahn looked at Murray. “We’re staying with Walters, right?”
Murray said yes, and looked to Walters for approval. He agreed and suggested they move to the den to join the agents before they left for the victory party. Hahn joked that he never thought he would live to see a concession speech from the current president and mentioned that he would believe it when he saw it. Murray excused himself for a minute and speed dialed Dottie’s cell phone.
He got her voicemail once again and decided not to leave a message.
“Tonight is the boss’s night. Tomorrow, I’m Dottie’s husband again.”
A couple hours passed and Hahn and Murray were getting fidgety. Walters seemed to be settling in on the couch as he watched the eastern states post their results. They knew they should have been at the hotel already. Their cell phones rang incessantly. Text after text poured in, asking where the trio was and when they should be expected. Anders was relentless, calling about every thirty seconds.
The candidate had clammed up. He ignored the pleas from his advisors as he watched Fox News call Ohio and Pennsylvania in his favor. Walters stood and addressed the agents.
“Gentlemen, excuse us for a second.”
His security detail waved their hands as if to say no problem. Like the new founders, the secret service agents wondered what they were still doing at the mansion. Murray and Hahn looked as though they were about to fall asleep when Walters motioned for the two founders to follow him.
The men went out the kitchen door and around the house to the back dirt road. A black BMW sat in the driveway, out of view of the television crews camped at the entrance to the estate. Walters told the men to get in as he produced a set of keys and jumped into the driver seat.
The New Founders Page 30