Jack Canon's American Destiny

by Greg Sandora

  “The Eulogy you gave was beautiful, Jack. When you read the letter Lisa wrote to you, I balled. There wasn’t a dry eye when you said she was your little angel and that you loved her.”

  Police had found a letter in Sandy’s apartment that Lisa had started writing. She hadn’t finished it, I’d imagine Steve had arrived and she put it down half done. The church was full beyond standing room spilling into the street as I read aloud the last words anyone would ever hear from my precious innocent friend. I read to the packed room, “Dear Jack, words cannot express how grateful I am to you for caring. You have shown me that, even at his busiest time, a man can show me kindness and loving attention. You have helped me to put my best foot forward and inspired me to take action in an area that I had basically given up on. But Jack, it has been so worth it, for the first time in my life I feel pure joy and it is wonderful.” Then I read the final sentence not knowing the effect it would have on Lisa’s mom. “Jack you told me I was beautiful and when I didn’t believe… you shared your heart with me and…”

  “Lisa never finished that sentence.”

  “I know, Jack.”

  “It breaks my heart, Lexi.”

  Lexi spoke softly, “Jack, I’ll see you in Georgia then. Please remember to tell Daphne and Bob to let me on the bus.”

  Bill Mitchell decided to have his son cremated, he would carry his ashes to Nepal and have them brought to the summit and laid to rest.

  He knew that’s what Steve would have liked.

  We had a press conference, which lasted only a few minutes on the day we heard the horrible news. I gave a brief statement telling what we knew. Lisa Pennington, our longtime friend and senior staff member, and Steve Mitchell, son of another senior staff member, were found dead in the Washington apartment of my assistant, Sandy Collins. The press fired out questions about why the two were together in the apartment. I said they were friends helping another friend with her dog while she was away. I wasn’t going to fan the flames.

  Questions were fired out about motive, was Big Oil involved, and was this an attempt to derail our goal of producing American energy. I answered if that was the case the killings would only strengthen our resolve and now national attention would be focused on the issue. I concluded the five-minute session with the words, “We are all devastated by the events, and please know that we have lost two people we dearly loved today.” When I got back on the bus, I told Daphne I wanted no interviews for a while.

  Everyone we had ever met called to offer condolences and to wish us well. The TV was on for a diversion.

  The president called. I answered and put him on speaker so Bud could hear, “Hello Gil, I’m with Bud.”

  “Hello, Mr. President.”

  “Jack, Bud, I wanted to call you myself and tell you how sorry I am. Nobody wants to see something like this. I’m going to issue a statement and inform the country that the vice president will be heading a full investigation. We are going to get these bastards.”

  “Thank you, Gil.”

  “Do you need anything, Jack?”

  I told the president, “We’re worried about the rest of the staff in our Washington offices and family members.”

  “Say no more, I’ll call the director and have extra crew assigned to make sure your people are safe.”

  “We appreciate you help, Gil.”

  “Jack, I know you’d do the same for me.”

  In one gesture of goodwill, Barker was easing our intense anxiety during the aftermath.

  “Jack I will do everything I can to find those responsible and bring them to justice. The eyes of the world are on this.”

  We spoke for a few more minutes and Gil Barker ended with a statement, “You can’t screw with a national election and get away with it.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  It was two days before Super Tuesday and I was just about to go onstage to deliver a speech in Atlanta at the Georgia Dome when Bud and I got the call from Tip. It was our first big break into what had really happened that night.

  Daphne was with us and we were standing just off stage when the call came in to Bud’s Cell. Bud seeing that it was Tip put him on speaker.

  “Hey Tip Jack is just about to go on camera, can this wait? Bud asked.

  I had told Bud to answer Tip’s calls immediately and interrupt me with any news, even if I was speaking to a crowd. I was in anguish waiting for anything Tip might find out about the tragedy.

  “Bud, is Jack there?” Tip asked from the other end of the line.

  “He’s just getting ready to speak to a full house at the Dome, can’t this wait?”

  “No, Jack’s going to want to hear this.”

  I grabbed the phone, “Tip, it’s Jack. Have you found anything?”

  “Jack, Bud’s right. We shouldn’t get into this right now, but just know there is news.”

  “News…Tip, have you found the killer?”

  Just beyond the stage curtain, the audience was chanting Canon...Canon... in a deafening roar—seventy-five thousand strong. There were no pop stars to open the show and no celebrities. The double murder of our staff members had brought record numbers out.

  I think that life is so hard sometimes that people are drawn to witness other’s pain, in hopes that it might relieve some of their own. I felt that the real reason the crowds were so large is that people found it cathartic to hear about the loss. No one would ever admit it, but the tragic end of something so precious by comparison makes their life seem bearable. People were watching on television and coming to our events to experience emotion in the telling and relief that it hadn’t happened to them. It was almost sick but we still had to deliver our message. I hated it but we had no choice. Lisa would have wanted us to carry on. At least, that’s how I rationalized it. I turned and looked directly into Daphne’s eyes and told her firmly.

  “Daphne, go out and tell the people that there has been a delay and I will be arriving shortly.”

  Daphne was beautiful as she blithely stepped into the night and glow of the stage lights to greet the crowd. In an all black mini over pink platform heels she walked out as though she hadn’t a care in the world…I turned toward the phone.

  “Tip, Listen to me, the fucking audience is just here to get a fix, tell me now.”

  In the background with Daphne speaking, “Jack Canon is on his way to the stadium and we expect he will be arriving in…”

  I focused so entirely on what Tip was saying that I could no longer hear her.

  “Jack, I went to see the pawn shop guy and bugged his place. I told him I was with the FBI investigating the sale of the murder weapon.”

  “What did you get, Tip?”

  “Well, I asked him about the gun and he started giving me this bullshit story, way to thought out for a guy like that. I wanted to drop him right there, but I knew that if I did he wouldn’t lead us to the killers. So I spread the word through some local stoolies that he had given up the whole story. Then I just waited and watched the shop. Jack within a couple of days two thugs show up and go inside, one puts the closed sign out like he knows exactly what he doing and then pulls the blinds. I’m listening as they abuse this guy accusing him of giving up some local hood I’ve never heard of. I’m making notes thinking I’m getting a great lead when out of the blue I hear this. Let me play it for you, Jack. It would be better if you heard it for yourself.”

  “Tip, why don’t you just tell….”

  Before I could finish, Tip played the tape.

  “You don’t know who you’re screwin’ with asshole…” Then I heard the first guy mutter under his breath to the other, “Tommy ain't gonna like this…,” and two shots are fired from a gun with a silencer.

  I couldn’t believe my ears, “Tip, Tommy Santoro?”

  “It has to be, Jack.”

  “What would he have to gain from hurting us... he’s got dealings with Gene?”

  “That’s what I thought, so for the last few days I’ve been going over all the tapes I�
��d made from Gene’s since Lisa and Steve. Our only link to Tommy is through Gene; I wanted to hear something more to be sure it was Santoro.”

  “Oh my God, Tip...”

  “Jack brace yourself… it’s the president… I’ve got him saying to Gene, ‘get Tommy to take care of this.’”

  “Take care of what, Tip. That could mean anything. They must be into all kinds of shit.”

  “Wait, Jack. Listen.”

  Tip played the words that chilled me to my core.

  “Gene, ya botched this, and you turned this fuckin’ guy into a national hero in the process.” Then with the dispassion as though he were ordering lunch he said, “Clean up your mess.”

  Bud was silent as Daphne was making her way over to us. In what had been only seconds long enough for her to walk out and deliver a message, we had heard something so unbelievable that it strained our minds.

  “Bud, the president?”

  Tip was still on speaker, “Jack I’m heading back to Georgia to be with you. I’ve got hundreds of hours of tape since the fundraiser that I haven’t listened to.”

  “Okay get here as soon as you can. We’ll help you with it. What about Bill?”

  “I couldn’t tell him, Jack.”

  “Bring him with you; I’ll have Bud send the jet.”

  Daphne had made it within earshot as I said to Bud, “I can’t go out there and speak.”

  “Jack, we can’t tell seventy thousand people to just go home, get out there and make it real quick, but get out there, you gotta do this.”

  ”Fucking president.” I walked headlong onto the stage.

  The last thing I remember hearing is Daphne asking Bud what I meant. I know I spoke for thirty or so minutes and incited the crowd to a near riot railing on everything that was wrong with this country and how we were going to set it right.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I couldn’t remember for the life of me what I said at the Georgia Dome, but apparently the press was hungry for more. There were at least forty news crews setup outside our bus the next morning, but all I cared about was seeing Tip.

  When Tip and Bill arrived, we all sat down and broke the news to Bill that we believed the president was involved. We all agreed that we needed to listen to the tapes to get the details and find out if the screw up the president was speaking of was about us. I had to eliminate any doubt from my mind, so the four of us spent the next few days on the bus listening to the tapes. We laid down wherever we could wearing head phones with the shades pulled. Most of the tape consisted of Gene’s staff preparing meals or talking about Mrs. Hobbs. Apparently, she was quite a bitch in her own right—at least the staff thought so. We filtered through so many trivial conversations it was mind numbing. Occasionally, we’d hear something and interrupt if it was interesting.

  The morning of Super Tuesday, Sandy showed up and surprised us all. It was about 9:30 in the morning when the door opened. Seeing it was dark, she stepped carefully over to the big windshield and opened the shade…the light flooded in. Standing before me framed in a bright sun, Sandy looked like an angel. We'd been holed up like moles searching for evidence linking Hobbs and Barker to the killings.

  “What are you guys doing just sitting here in the dark?”

  “Sandy?” Squinting my eyes against the light, “What a surprise.”

  “This place looks like a frat house - you boys are living in a mess. I had to come down here to find out what’s going on. The press has this place staked out and they’re wondering what you guys are doing in here. I wanted to see it for myself, now I wished I’d just called.”

  Sandy started picking up fast food wrappers. Picking up a half drunk cup with two fingers, “Ewww!”

  She was right, the bus was a disaster, bags and wrappers and drink cups all over the place. None of us was used to picking up after ourselves and we had Daphne running back and forth like a gopher just bringing us fast food for the last couple of days.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Sandy. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Everyone else echoed the sentiment. “We’ve been hanging out in here.”

  “I can see that, what pray tell are you boys up to?”

  “Sandy, stop cleaning and sit down, I’ve got news.” I motioned to Tip. “Tip, can you queue up the first tape you gave us.”

  “Sure,” Tip nodded and spoke very softly.

  Sandy listened intently, just shaking her head. I explained what we had been up to and then played her the second tape of Hobbs and the president.

  “Are you sure Jack?” Sandy didn’t want to let herself believe.

  “That’s what we’ve been doing we’re listening for proof.”

  “Do you have an extra set of headphones? I want to help. “I went over to the front windshield and pulled the shade to halfway and then settled in to finish listening to my tape. Tip handed Sandy a small player and set of ear buds and she took a spot next to me on the couch.

  About an hour after Sandy showed up, I was hearing a conversation between what sounded like two maids cleaning when I heard a phone ring. A woman answered and walks the phone over saying 'excuse me Mr. Hobbs, it’s the president.' My ears perked up and my heart started racing, I was straining to hear the voice. It sounded like Gene had taken the phone and walked across the room.

  I could only make out bits and pieces, “I know... but it’s Tommy that fucked this up; he’s the idiot that got the wrong girl…”

  Then there was a very long pause, “This is the last you’ll hear of it. We’ll get it done.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “Aren’t you fearful that you’ll be caught?” Bud was asking Tip.

  It was just three weeks before the Democratic National Convention. The last few months had been a whirlwind of back to back campaigning. With the nomination locked, we had set our sights on the president. Fueled by our hatred we launched an all out negative assault that set new bounds. The economy hadn’t improved, and Iran was threatening to launch a test missile into Israel. Earlier in the summer, the president had locked them out of International Commerce and the situation had reached the boiling point. Barker’s approval ratings were at an all time low at just forty one percent.

  Tip asked Bud, Bill and I to meet with him to hear the plan. Against Bud’s strongest warnings, I invited Sandy to join us. Gathered in my office at Campaign Headquarters we all listened intently as Tip spoke.

  “The president has a State dinner scheduled with the British Prime Minister on the night before the Republican Convention.”

  We had planned a three-day Woodstock like event with live music and a festival to happen leading into their convention. The press will probably say to steal their thunder. Nineteen acts had signed on and some of America’s largest corporations were sponsoring the event. We expected several hundred thousand people to show up. The event would be in Texas on Anne Griffins home turf on a one thousand acre ranch owned by the Hobbs Family. The Governor’s staff would handle the organization and logistics.

  Bud pleaded, “Jack I can’t go along with this, the fucking president?” Then turning to Tip, “You’re either the bravest guy I’ve ever known or the stupidest. Have any of you thought of the consequences if he gets caught?”

  Then to me, “Jack, you’ll go from the most popular politician of your generation to...”

  Sandy put two fingers up to Bud’s mouth and I waived him off. “Are you done, Bud?”

  Bill spoke, “Bud, if you don’t have the stomach for this just shut up and listen. This fucker killed my son.”

  Bud pushed Sandy’s hand, “Jack, please at least wait until after the election. At least then you’ll be untouchable.”

  “No, Bud. Tip has this well thought out, and I think it will work.”

  Tip answered coldly, “The plan is simple, Bud. It boils down to putting this bullet into Barker’s head.”

  Tip held out a long brass colored shell shaped like a miniature missile.

  I knew that Tip had been part of an elite sniper
team called Cobra. The group was trained in lead-time, arc, and wind, anything that affects a projectile on delivery. Tip could hit a moving target one thousand yards away with a one-second viewing time. He described how everything had to be taken into account, his breathing, the slight movement from the squeezing of the trigger, the lead of the target. He used gradated scopes to sight and was expert with high-powered rifles.

  “Jack, I object. You’re a father. What will your girls think if we get caught? We’ll go down in history as the guys that killed the president. You're gonna be president…”

  “Bud, what kind of father would I be if I just let people get away with something like this? I have thought about it, and I couldn’t live with that. Listen to what Tip has in mind.”

  “Well it’s basically just like when Bill and I went up to New York and got Hobbs.”

  Bud’s face went cold. He breathed out all his breath in one big sigh and then tried to say, “That was you guys?” Catching his breath back in a gasp, “When were you gonna tell me”?

  “Bud, I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be a wreck.”

  “Jack, you spoke at Hobbs’ funeral, the president was there. That was over two months ago and you never let on. You people must have nerves of steel. So the night Bill was up there asking for cash and the ranch to have the festival, Tip was the one that shot him?”

  “Yup,” Tip said.

  Bill said, “I have been working with Betty Hobbs on the thing ever since. Part of the festival will be in Gene’s honor. She’s gonna come down to Texas and speak. We’re pretty friendly, actually; she’s in love with Jack.”

  Bud said, "You were the only one with him when he got shot through the window in his library."

  “It was pretty straight forward, Bud. I made an appointment with Gene, told him we needed another fifteen mil, and mentioned that I wanted to talk about a festival. He agreed to see me; he didn’t want us to have any inkling that there was anything unusual, and he played it cool. We figured he was probably planning to shut us off from any more cash, but he didn’t suspect a thing. The guards were expecting us because we had an appointment, when we got close to the house, we slowed briefly, and Tip slipped out of the car about a hundred yards before the driveway. My part was easy; I only had two things I needed to do. The first was to ask to see the library that Hobbs had shown Jack. I told Gene I was a British history buff. Hobbs had all those King Henry artifacts, and he loved showing them off. The second was to get Hobbs near the window. That was easy. I just told him I needed a little air. I said to just open it a crack.