By Silent Majority

by Robert Buschel

  “No,” Daniel said shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You just need one more issue to play off of this publicity,” Peter said. “We woke up the dormant sixties radicals and stole an issue back. Now you own honor in government. The government can’t lie. We own that now. Government for the people belongs to you, and we have to hang onto it.”

  “The whole theme of government for the people and by the people belongs to me now?” Daniel said.

  “Yes, and everyone else will want to co-opt the theme and make it their own. We have to stop them or force them to see you in order to perpetuate the theme. See, the Right has school prayer and anti-abortion firmly entrenched in its back pocket. From time to time, the issues become hot. When it’s close to an election where the conservative right need to mobilize and energize the Christian right, the smart strategists try to get those issues hot again. You got the radicals that don’t usually vote because they’ve been lulled or frustrated into apathy to want to vote again for a moderate like you. You can be President, Daniel.” Peter smiled.

  Daniel listened at what he thought was Peter’s wishful hyperbole.

  “What do we have to do next then?” Daniel said in an effort to amuse Peter.

  “We need to milk this for what it’s worth, and then we need some real luck. But your enemies list has just grown. They hate you for stealing from them.” There was a collective shaking of heads by powerful members of both political parties. Daniel Carlson was just blessed or charmed. He was untouchable.

  CHAPTER 12

  Days of Reckoning

  Senator Carlson remembered the day quite clearly. It was one of those pivotal days where a decision was placed squarely before him, and that choice changed Daniel Carlson. Throughout his life, Daniel always regretted his decisions after the fact when he listened to that Silent Majority. He had made another’s mistake. He should’ve listened to his own voice. At least if it was a mistake, it would be his, and he could live with that. The frustration of living with the advice of people who claimed to know what’s best for him was an unquenchable knowing inside of him.

  After two terms in the Senate, Senator Carlson was ready to leave. It would be a great and honorable voluntary retirement. In his heart, Senator Carlson always wanted to be Professor Carlson. Senator Carlson was quoted during a personal interview, “I like leading and teaching, and that’s what I would really like to continue doing after I leave the Senate.” Teaching is what Daniel felt he was all about. Daniel called a fellow Senator’s son-in-law, Ted Hand, at the University of Miami. President Hand offered Senator Carlson a position. What University wouldn’t want a two-term Senator and lawyer as at least a distinguished visiting professor? One that was being considered for the Presidency of the United States.

  “You know, Edward, I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I want to accept the professorship. I can’t wait to teach,” Daniel remembered saying.

  “I’m sorry, Senator. My father-in-law says you’re going to be the next President of the United States and a faculty position can wait,” Hand replied.

  “Well, I’d have to run for President—party primaries and then a general election. I’d just as soon pass. This is what’s best for me.”

  “What about the party? With all due respect Senator, don’t you think you owe the party you’re loyalty? The majority of Americans that believe in you?”

  “I owe myself loyalty. I’ve done all the required soul searching, and I’d like to know that I’m going to be a professor at UM before I give the party leaders my rejection.”

  “I think you should decline running for office first, and then we’ll talk.” Daniel, realized that President Hand was withdrawing the offer entirely. Hand wanted nothing to do with making powerful politicos upset with him and UM, for luring a potential President away from the White House. “Check it out with everyone else first, and then get back to me, okay?” Later Senator Carlson learned that one of his biggest contributors, a software company in Simi Valley, promised a five million-dollar trust to the computer-engineering department, if Senator Carlson was not a professor at the University. Senator Carlson didn’t get what he wanted because he wasn’t a better blackmailer. He could’ve gotten another software company to setup a ten million-dollar trust for the school. But instead, Senator Carlson checked it out with everyone else first.

  Agent Brad Lefkel knew he was due for a change in geography when he was assigned to the Washington, D.C. office headquarters. It was a promotion of sorts. He got a pay-grade raise, and would be conducting public corruption investigations. Public corruption investigations were given to career agents. The Bureau didn’t think Lefkel was leaving. Better stated: he didn’t have ambitions outside of the Bureau.

  However, what Agent Lefkel didn’t quite understand was why he had been assigned to watch Senator Carlson. Lefkel remembered Daniel Carlson from Florida. It had been years since the two had seen each other. Carlson was an ambitious Assistant U.S. Attorney from the DOJ, and politics made him a Senator. Lefkel just didn’t believe Carlson was being investigated for corruption. There remain certain consistent truths about every politician, but Daniel Carlson wasn’t a criminal. Lefkel pondered the shades of gray between political corruption and being a criminal. Carlson was well shy of the line.

  Lefkel also knew he had to be especially careful at his surveillance because Carlson knew him. This increased the chances of being detected, or made, in Bureau parlance. What are the chances Lefkel could come up with a story about why he was in a parking garage at the precise moment Carlson was getting into a car? It was delicate. The Bureau administration was highly secretive about this assignment. If it was helpful the surveillance agent know his target, why didn’t they explain why? If it was helpful, then Lefkel needed to know why it was helpful. It didn’t take long before Lefkel knew that Carlson had political enemies in the Bureau. Who and why was a chess game of a different level than Lefkel was ever interested in comprehending.

  Another reason this was fishy was because Lefkel wasn’t with another agent, although this was a low-risk surveillance. What if Carlson walked right up to Lefkel’s window and said, “Hey, what the hell are you following me for?” It’s not like Carlson would get violent. What operation would be exposed is another question. But why Lefkel was alone, in Georgetown at 5:00 pm waiting for Carlson to come out of Georgetown Park mall and walk into the neighboring garage was a mystery.

  This couldn’t be protective surveillance either. The Senate had its own police force. The Bureau has rules regarding protective surveillance, like your protectee has to know he’s under protection. Another rule is that the agent protecting the protectee has to know he’s on a protective detail. In addition, if there are death threats, the Bureau has an obligation to tell the target the Bureau believes the target is the focus of death threats, and should take precautions, or allow the Bureau to protect him.

  The surveillance logs Lefkel had to fill out were target logs, not protectee logs. This made no sense. Why wasn’t Lefkel being trusted with any information about the investigation? Was this investigation even legitimate? The Bureau is bureaucratic, but rogue investigations? That’s not conceivable.

  In a moment of lost thoughts, Lefkel thought Chinese. Definitely Chinese. Wide-face, moved like the wind. Lefkel instinctively snapped two pictures with a zoom lens camera. Lefkel got out of the car and just began running across the parking lot. It was just a feeling. An urgent feeling like he was missing a bell’s deadline. This guy didn’t belong. He was too close to Carlson. He was dressed like he was trying to blend, but he looked like a tourist trying to not look like a tourist. Carlson didn’t acknowledge the man. In that moment, Lefkel noticed a moon-like tattoo on the man’s left hand. Carlson wasn’t there to meet this Chinaman. Flashes of incomplete theories flashed through the agent’s mind as he bolted into a full sprint. It was something about the Chinaman and Carlson.

 
A solid cylindrical pointed weapon, a sleeve arrow, slid out of the cuff of the Chinaman’s shirt. His hand had a decorated moon-shaped tattoo. Daniel Carlson didn’t even feel this guy behind him. Nothing. He was just that slight. Nothing abrupt about any of the man’s movements. He was inches away from Carlson. He pulled back ready to thrust as Carlson began to unlock his car door. Carlson didn’t bring a driver. He was alone. This was shoot or don’t shoot situation. Lefkel didn’t know anything except his surveillance target was about to be shanked from behind. A target that he knew but didn’t know why he was following—for a reason he didn’t understand why he was following him. What the hell! A Senator was about to be killed and the FBI knew it—that would be the story in two weeks when the dust settled. Inadequate information, inadequate time to think, that’s shoot, don’t shoot. Lefkel was not as slight as the Chinaman. Bang! Lefkel shot his snub nose revolver. He crouched down in a good Weaver shooting stance. Lefkel hit the Chinaman right in the mouth, and the bullet when through the back of his head. Splat the bits and fragments of blood, skull, and brain, sprayed behind on the concrete wall of the garage. No one stood behind the Chinaman. The bullet lodged in the concrete wall behind him. The man fell funny as he dropped to the ground. This wasn’t a movie western’s drop to the floor. It was a sick and morbid death drop. Both he and Carlson knew the guy was dead on the way to the ground. The sleeve arrow slid out of the Chinaman’s hand. Lefkel said, “FBI” in a quiet, low tone, left over from the prior split second decision not to shoot before he shot. Lefkel was in shock.

  Lefkel then looked at Daniel Carlson. Carlson noticed it was a face he knew. He heard Lefkel say, “FBI.” In that moment, Carlson saw Lefkel’s younger face in his mind, and then recognized him. Senator Carlson was sweating. He realized what just happened, what was about to happen, and he was dumbfounded. Carlson then asked Lefkel, “Brad? What were you doing here?”

  Peter learned of the assassination attempt, and after he was relieved that Daniel was not hurt, he loved it. Senator Carlson was a hero because a Chinaman wanted to kill him, and Daniel survived. Carlson was now an authority on international relations. It was better than being able to see Cuba from his backyard. Any perceived weakness in foreign policy was gone. Senator Carlson was Presidential material. He could win. Peter Spark knew how to ensure a win, if Daniel got past the primary.

  Senator Daniel Carlson went to his office at the Rayburn building after a sleepless night. His body felt the strain of pressure that welled up inside of him. His chest was tight. While in bed, the night before, Daniel had an extreme case of heartburn, he thought it even might be a heart attack. In time, the burning pain in his chest subsided, and he opted not to wake June to tell her. It was the dream again. The Silent Majority speaking to Daniel in his dreams. Daniel knows there is no real way out. He was a hero. America wants a hero as President. He survived his own personal attack. The fact Daniel didn’t serve in the Army will be an attack that would fall flat. Daniel was a leader worth killing by America’s new enemy. The Silent Majority likes getting behind a hero that America’s enemy wants to kill.

  In the morning, Daniel skipped drinking even decaffeinated coffee, he felt wired enough. Daniel kept analyzing himself. He always felt he was his own psychologist. He didn’t have to ask what’s the matter. Today, he couldn’t defuse the neurotic thoughts that were causing his anxiety. His secretary Lynn had the morning paper already on his desk. There he viewed a picture of himself on the front page. Seeing his picture in the newspaper always triggered a surreal episode in Daniel’s mind. Today’s picture was large. The caption: The Day of Reckoning is Near—Senator Carlson of Florida expected to announce whether he will throw his hat into the ring as the fourth candidate for the Republican Party’s nomination. The accompanying article suggested that he would be the front-runner if he entered. However, many Republicans already declaring support for other candidates defensively stated that “D.C.’s” candidacy would make little difference to the race as a whole. Both sides referred to Daniel Carlson as a RINO—Republican in name only. Both sides were secretly nervous that Daniel’s positions on immigration, education, and social services were downright compassionate and middle. Now, some foreign agent had wanted to kill him. It almost seemed like Peter Spark had planned it.

  Daniel resented people who called him D.C., especially people who didn’t know him. It was a cute nickname for very close friends to use. His mother called him that when Daniel was a little boy. Where did these people get off being so familiar? They did it only to show disrespect—as if he were a pesky little boy who needs to be shown attention. Peter told him that in politics he would have to get over the fact that people called him D.C.

  His resentment wasn’t enough of a reason to run for the highest office in the land. One doesn’t win the Presidency out of spite. After all, if he won, he would still have to lead the country. Daniel was never that ambitious. It always appeared to him that the Presidents-elect, Democrat or Republican, go into office with idealism and a plan. Then the real powers that exist take the new President into a sealed room and tell him how it really is. “We’re in charge, you’re the pawn. Do what we say and you won’t get hurt.” Daniel never wanted to lose that idealism. The vocal minority must not be silenced. He tried to maintain the spark of optimism through every season.

  The power of a President is awesome. He is head of state and domestic policy. He controls the foreign policy of the country. He can veto any bill that the Congress brings to him and call a press conference with ten minutes notice. He can and would be on television every day of the week. The privacy in life is all gone. The world would know his whereabouts every day of the week. In the next four to eight years, every word that he said would be scrutinized and construed toward the negative at every opportunity.

  The children, they were becoming mature adults. Connie just graduated from Syracuse with a degree in communication. Alan would be finishing in a couple of years at Daniel’s alma mater, Yale. He wanted to spend more time with them. As President, he would be lucky to spend any quality time with them once a month. The Secret Service would have to be assigned for the children; they would hate it.

  Daniel then fantasized about being an active President. He would want his hand in just about everything, at least everything that interested him. He would be busy. He believed the children could handle the routine. Time with June wasn’t a consideration; he knew how she felt about being the First Lady. She would love it.

  Campaigning. That’s a different story altogether. The days would be from five in the morning to near midnight nonstop. He would hire Peter again as chair of his committee to elect. He did the job for the past eighteen years. Peter wanted Daniel to run since the day Daniel Carlson became a Senator. Peter always wanted to be President himself. Daniel could do it for Peter instead.

  The thing about campaigning that scared Daniel was the digging—the investigations. Everything was so personal. Everyone tries to get something damaging about your past.

  “Show me a man who has never failed and I’ll show you a man who hasn’t done anything.”

  Daniel had a political corollary: “Show me a man with a clean background and I’ll show you a man who hasn’t done anything.” Daniel wasn’t worried about the pot smoking or something like money to the contras. He just didn’t like reporters and investigators poking their noses into his business. These personal investigations led to attacks. Then the candidate had to defend himself against these attacks. So he counter-attacks. Pretty soon the election is about imaging and not about substance. What does this candidate stand for? The toothpaste literature doesn’t help much. So when the debates turn into image warfare, the country loses because we have a President who never defined any real course for his administration, only a better image.

  This was the time for Daniel to run for the Presidency. He had enough experience and wasn’t too old. The American people need someone to look up to. He was a true leader. He led
by example and pushed policies of good merit through the Congress. His personal life was exemplary. He just feared the probing.

  After completing that thought, June was escorted into Daniel’s office.

  “Guess who I just bumped into at breakfast?”

  “Who?” Daniel asked, but already knew.

  “The chairman of the party, Norman Stratford, three of his aides, and his wife.”

  “Wow. I bet you liked that,” Daniel said, masking his understanding of the chairman’s motives behind the breakfast meeting with June.

  “They want you to run for President, Daniel.” Daniel didn’t answer. “Daniel, did you hear me? President!”

  “I heard you, June. He’s having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with five other guys this week, and he wants them to run too.”

  “They told me that behind every good man was a good woman. So they asked me to use my influence and get you to save our country.” The chairman knew just what to say to June. “We’ve discussed this before, Daniel. I think you would make a great President. And of course, I would make the best First Lady this country has ever seen. I think you should run!” She was almost breathless. The idea seduced her. Daniel never saw her so excited before. Intoxicated was the better word.

  Peter Spark walked into Daniel’s office. He asked June if he could talk privately with Daniel. She knew Peter would convince him. Daniel promised he would think about her opinion.

  “Good morning, Senator,” Peter said enthusiastically. Daniel was waiting for Peter’s report only. He was in no mood to banter. “It looks good. I’ll know by the end of the day if everything is okay. I think you’ll be able to run.”