When Rome Stumbles

by David Kershner

  Rayburn didn’t stop there. He continued laying into the Prime Minister citing issues, standing complaints, long running grievances, and shady espionage work. The United States had their Vietnam, twice. It was time for the U.K. to have theirs. They were going to have to exchange their shares of the U.S debt on the open market, just like everyone else. As a result of the resounding refusal, the English stood to lose more than $90B due to the early withdrawal.

  Prime Minister Goodspeed entered the room to see the Ambassadors from each of the former Oil Exporting nations and various dignitaries from a handful of western and northern European nations. A last minute invite was extended to Russia as well.

  “Gentlemen, Ladies, thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he started as he began stepping towards his assigned seat at the head of the table. “Given the sensitive nature of the topic I’d like to discuss, would each of you be kind enough to dismiss your staff members? This is for your ears only.”

  * * *

  Josh and Dallas were sitting outside the Au Bon Pain deli underneath L’Enfant Plaza choking down their first piece of processed anything since they didn’t know when. The constant bombardment of commercialism emanating from the dozens of TV screens lining the walls to the Metro was giving him a screaming headache. Each screen displayed the latest headlines from the world of sports, stocks, entertainment, politics, and news. The pair had arrived Sunday evening and tried to find the most out of the way spot they could and still be close to the USDA Headquarters. The only thing his childhood friend wanted to do was make the delivery and get back to the survival school.

  Josh remembered a unique characteristic about the location from a family vacation before Amanda’s treachery, L’Enfant Plaza Hotel sat atop a D.C. Metro station. This would come in handy in case Edward Tomason didn’t appreciate the gift of Donald Toombs’ bullet riddled corpse.

  Dallas glanced down at his watch and saw that it was coming up on ten o’clock. He grunted at his friend as a sign that it was time to start heading over to deliver the transcripts. Josh grabbed his plastic tray and basket and began walking toward the trashcan when he noticed the scroll across the bottom of the screen.

  Actress Jessica White killed in automobile accident Saturday night. Private service to be held Wednesday in Santa Monica.

  He stopped and just stared at the ticker as it repeated before changing to the next topic. Memories and flashes of people and places invaded his mind’s eye. Images and sounds of gunfire and masked men kicking in his barracks room door. His conscious mind was being bombarded with long suppressed demons. Faint outlines of someone being shoved into a wall locker were the most prevalent.

  The person in the tall storage unit he knew was Jessica. She had been on a USO tour of Bosnia during Josh’s time there. The two had been thrust together from the moment the actress stepped off of the transport. He was tasked by his CO, Jessica’s father, to protect her while she was in country. He had basically been assigned a baby-sitting detail. Josh’s orders were to keep her out of harm’s way and safe from herself. Emotion had clouded the mission, the assignment. She was a helpless wounded lost soul in need of direction. Unknowingly, Josh provided that purpose and that outlet when he gave her a child, Heather.

  He had to get to the service. He needed to find his daughter.

  * * *

  Before boarding the next available flight to Los Angeles, Josh wrote out a quick note to Samantha. It was the only thing he could think of. She hadn’t spoken to him since their interaction on the porch. He did care for her and truly enjoyed her company, but he couldn’t allow that to distract from the objective of getting her to Congress. The only words that seemed appropriate to write were, ‘I’m sorry’. He asked Dallas to give her the message and to explain why he was leaving.

  When he landed at LAX on Monday evening, he had the cabbie drive him around before heading to The Fairmont Miramar Hotel in Santa Monica. He figured if the service was being held in Jessica’s adoptive hometown, the establishment would provide a close proximity.

  As he rode in the cab, Josh was amazed at how little the city had changed over the years. After the nation came out of the housing induced recession, many of the markets across the country had readjusted. Los Angeles never seemed to take much of a hit. The concentration of wealth located around LA protected it and made it somewhat immune. Even when gas availability fluctuated, and prices spiked several times, the southern California region just kept chugging away.

  He found it odd that no one batted an eye when he strode into The Fairmont wearing blue jeans and work boots. If anyone looked out of place, he did. Carrying a well-worn military issue duffle he grabbed out of the back of the truck, he walked confidently to the front desk. He asked for a room and the receptionist informed him that the only availability they had was a suite at twelve hundred dollars a night. Josh nearly choked.

  Screw it. I might as well spend some of Amanda’s money.

  Josh swallowed hard, smiled, and said, “That’ll be fine.”

  On Tuesday morning, before he ordered his breakfast from room service, he called the Concierge and asked him to procure him a car. He asked for something nice with a little get up and go. He should have known better when the man asked if there was a budget. He foolishly said ‘no’. When Josh made his way to the lobby, he was handed the keys to a jet black Ferrari.

  Josh looked it over and said, “I don’t want to know how much this cost, do I?”

  The little man gave him an odd look and replied, “Sir, you have a little fun. Let your accountant have the heartburn.”

  Josh smiled a devilish grin, climbed in, and headed toward Camp Pendleton. He needed a new uniform for the funeral. Once his military ID and vehicle were inspected at the gate, the guard said, “Major, sir?”

  “Yes, Private?” he replied.

  “I’d recommend a haircut as well, sir. The barber is located one block down from the PX.”

  Glancing in the rear view mirror, Josh took stock of his shaggy mane and several days of facial growth and said, “Damn. I really let it go, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” the enlisted man replied and promptly snapped-to and saluted Josh. Josh returned the salute, put the Ferrari in gear, and drove to the PX.

  As he entered the storefront, Josh asked the only person working if he could help locate some Blue Dress A’s as he would be attending a funeral. The manager directed Josh to the Dress B’s and informed Josh that the Marines had disallowed the use of the iconic military outfit, with its dangling medals, for funerals. It didn’t want the lasting image associated with death.

  Josh spent over an hour trying on bits and pieces while the young man located all of the various ribbons Josh had acquired during his time in the service. He even assembled Josh’s boards for him. When he was done at the PX, Josh walked into the barbershop.

  The crusty old barber took one look at him and remarked, “Sir, you are most definitely out of uniform.”

  “That I am. That I am,” Josh said as his hung up his ball cap and took his seat in the barber’s chair. As the man swung the cape around and began fastening the snaps, Josh quipped, “Can I get a little off the top and sides, but leave the length.”

  “High and tight it is,” he replied and switched on the clippers and went to work.

  Upon returning to The Fairmont, Josh turned heads with his new haircut. It was amazing to him that something as simple as a haircut could change how a man carried himself. He felt himself walking taller and more confidently. Just wait until they see me walk out of here in my Dress Blues. He threw the keys to the parking attendant as he neared the door to the hotel lobby.

  Josh strode straight to the Concierge desk and said, “Thanks for the Ferrari, but I’ll need something a little more subdued for tomorrow.”

  What’s with the odd look? What’s this guy’s problem?

  The young man with his perfect skin and flawless smile stumbled with his thoughts before answering, “I’m gl
ad you enjoyed it, sir. Do you mind if I come to your suite later to discuss tomorrow’s selection? I’m currently embroiled in an issue between an actress, her ex, and her new beau.”

  Josh chuckled and said, “That’ll be fine.”

  While he waited, Josh ordered room service and ate dinner. Afterward, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to take a shower and remove all of the latent hair from his sheering. While toweling off, he heard a knock at his door. Josh put on the hotel bathrobe as he walked toward the door. He peered through the peephole to see the Concierge. As was his custom, he turned his head from left and right and tried to get a better view of the hallway through the lens. He didn’t see anyone else with the man so he cautiously opened the door.

  “Good evening, Mr. Simmons. May I come in?”

  “Certainly,” Josh replied as he pushed it open wider ready to drill an unsuspecting second or third party trailing behind, but no one followed.

  The man bound into the room with great aplomb and placed a number of car service brochures on the counter.

  “I didn’t know what occasion you might be attending tomorrow so I took the liberty of bringing several agency pamphlets for you to choose from,” he said.

  “Oh, I guess I didn’t say, did I? Thanks.”

  “Sir, if I may, but I couldn’t help but notice your new coif,” he remarked with great flair as he motioned to Josh’s haircut.

  “Yeah, I went for a spin down the 405 to Pendleton and picked up a uniform and got a haircut. And please, call me Josh,” he replied and extended his hand.

  There’s that weird look again.

  “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Dwight.”

  “Uh, Dwight. Is there a problem? You keep looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost,” Josh said.

  The squirrely young man looked in either direction like he was trying to avoid being overheard. Satisfied, he thrust his hands up with great flamboyance and declared, “Let me first just say that I’m not a stalker. Okay?”

  “I’m sorry?” Josh asked.

  The Concierge stepped forward and handed Josh a People magazine from May 1995. On the cover was a picture of Heather’s mother being escorted off of a military transport with a caption that read Marine Saves Actress.

  “What is this Dwight? I’ve never seen this,” he said astounded. “Where did this come from?”

  “I’m a huge Jessica White fan. Huge! I’ve watched everything she’s done like a hundred times. I’m so traumatized by her death, it amazes me that I can even at work,” he concluded exacerbated.

  Jessica was returning from a late night shoot on the set of her latest movie and had fallen asleep at the wheel. All she wanted to do was get home to see her daughter and her father who was in town visiting.

  Josh must have had some odd expression on his face because Dwight said, “Please don’t look at me like I’m crazy.”

  “Sorry,” Josh answered sheepishly. “I didn’t realize I was. Why are you handing this to me?”

  “You’re here for her funeral, right? I just knew it as soon as you pulled in this afternoon –”

  “Dwight,” Josh said cutting him off and trying to get the Concierge to focus.

  “Oh, turn to page thirty-seven,” Dwight answered.

  Josh opened the well-worn magazine and began flipping the pages. He stopped when he reached something he hadn’t seen in decades, his Naval Academy graduation photo.

  “What the hell?” Josh said aloud. “This was published? I was never told about this.”

  “Nobody ever bothered to follow-up?” Dwight asked. “I assumed you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t know. A group of us were abducted from the CP and we spent the next three months as POW’s in a Serbian hellhole. After that, I was in and out of the VA for a couple of years doing physical therapy and talking to head doctors. I don’t imagine that they got very far with the Commandant of the Marine Corps if they did try to follow-up though.”

  “First, I don’t know what any of that means. What’s a CP? And second, how could you not know? She was all the paparazzi talked about for months when she got back,” Dwight replied.

  “I was in a coma for weeks. When I woke up, there was no TV, no magazines other than Mother Earth News and National Geographic,” Josh answered.

  “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. I should go. I’m sorry,” Dwight said as he started backing toward the door.

  “Wait, Dwight?”

  “Yes?”

  “I meant to ask you, when I returned the car earlier I mean, was whether or not you... you don’t happen to know where the funeral is being held do you?”

  “Of course, silly. First Presbyterian Church. It’s right around the corner. It’s bound to have security and paparazzi crawling all over the place. You’ll never get in there,” the Concierge replied.

  “Maybe you can help with that. Did Jessica, or her daughter, Heather, ever frequent this hotel?” Josh asked in a leading way.

  “Oh, those two were straight as an arrow. No hanky panky, drugs, binge drinking... nothing. They would come in each Sunday afternoon together when they were both in town and get massages, mani pedi’s, you know. Mother-daughter bonding stuff.”

  “Tell me about her mother.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t know any of this. There’s like, a tribute every five minutes on TV!” Dwight said very exacerbated. “The press is trying to pressure the family in to some kind of audio/video feed since they are keeping this a private ceremony.”

  “Dwight! What can you offer me after this photo was taken,” Josh said as he handed the magazine back to Dwight and pointed to the cover.

  “Well,” Dwight began with great passion, and a lot of hand gestures. “When you last saw her she was in her mid to late twenties.”

  “Twenty-four,” Josh corrected.

  “Right, well her dad was a Colonel over there in Bosnia, I think he’s a General now. Anyway, she was part of some USO tour and they stopped in his area or theatre or whatever you call it.”

  “I know all of that Dwight. What happened after?” Josh said, clearly becoming annoyed.

  “Well, when she came back and got off that plane, she dropped out of sight. Wouldn’t do interviews, nothing. The rumor was that she was spirited away to her parent’s house in some backwater in the southeast. When she did emerge, she was pushing thirty, which is ancient in this town, let me tell you. She was doing bit parts at first. Then she did a movie called ‘Let’s Play’. She was the female lead and her star took off again. During a press junket for the movie she let it slip that she had a daughter. Boy did the paparazzi go nuts with that.”

  “So you don’t know where she was?”

  “Nope. No one does. But here’s the odd thing, I mean odd even for this town. She had a standard interview rule and it was well publicized too. She said, ‘you can ask me anything you want, but if you ask about my daughter the Q&A is over. I’ll never do another one with the reporter or the reporter’s employer again.’ Boy, and did she meant it.”

  “Really?” Josh asked.

  “Oh yeah! She walked right out on Barbara Walters. Barbara Walters! Can you imagine?!”

  “So, she never got into that ‘look at me I’m a movie star’ thing? She never did the club scene or anything like that? Did she ever marry?”

  “Nah, there was rumors about her younger years though. Once that baby was born, she didn’t do any of that stuff. I remember some reporter asked her about getting married maybe ten years ago. She just had some far off look and they had to stop rolling tape for her to compose herself. When they began taping again, she answered with a flat, ‘No’, and asked for the next question. Something happened to her over there, that’s for sure.”

  “And her daughter?”

  “Oh, Heather? She’s a dream. She started in the biz singing bubble gum pop. She was pretty good too. She eventually followed her mother into acting though.”

  “Did she ever answer questions about where she was?”

  �
�Nope, all she ever said was that she was raised in a loving home and that she would sometimes visit her mom on set when she wasn’t in school. Once her singing career took off, she had tutors and stuff on the road and her grandmother went with her too. She died about two years ago though. Heart attack,” Dwight answered solemnly.

  “So she never got into all that Hollywood BS either?”

  “No way. I’m telling you, those two were straight arrows. If they were guys, you’d call ‘em Boy Scouts. They never had a bad piece of press.”

  “Heather’s how old now?” Josh asked.

  “Oh, I’d say, mid to late twenties. No one knows for sure because Jessica never said when she had her, and they won’t tell either.”

  “Did she marry? Her daughter, I mean,” Josh said inquisitively.

  “No. Neither of them did. The rumor on Heather was she had a fling with a co-star that got somewhat serious, but they split shortly after filming completed.”

  “Thanks, Dwight,” Josh said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

  “Do you want to meet her?”

  * * *

  Samantha walked into the U.S. Attorney General’s office with James at her side and said, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

  “Ms. Jameson, yes, please come in,” Attorney Ryers said. “Your bodyguard can have a seat in the receptionist area.”

  Sam turned to her large protector, “I’ll be out shortly.”

  The big man headed back the way they came and closed the door behind him as he exited the room.

  “So, Secretary McInerney has provided transcripts of conversations allegedly between yourself, several members of Congress, and the heads of Tomason Industries, Ruhr Chemical, and NFCC. Do you have the original audio?”

  “I’m sorry, allegedly?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I say that because, until I can verify that the audio is authentic, it’s your word against theirs. I won’t even consider the convening of a grand jury until that step is done. Are we understood?”