Patriot's Farewell

by Bobby Akart

  “Do you have any specifics on how the vote shifted so suddenly?”

  “Here’s what I’m told by my girlfriend,” said the much younger man, who was sleeping with a member of the enemy’s camp. “They’ve plucked off a few Republicans who were never on anyone’s radar.”

  “Are they disgruntled?”

  “No, she didn’t say that. It was just typical give-and-take. You know, if you’ve got the money to give, I’ll take it. Quite simply, they’ve sold their votes.”

  “And you think they’ve swayed enough members over to the yea column to pass the bill?”

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  Senator Rutledge contemplated his next move while his chief of staff stood motionless in front of him. He still had time to decide whether allowing the bill to pass and pushing for secession would be the best option or to work overtime to prevent its passage in the Senate.

  He reached a decision, albeit a temporary, politically expedient one. “Get me Donald Quinn on the phone. Thanks.”

  Senator Rutledge never wanted to be president and therefore never threw his hat into the ring. He preferred to work behind the scenes to influence the nation in the direction he envisioned. When Sarge took office, he was amazed that the New Englander’s dedication to the Constitution and the visions of the Founding Fathers would so closely mesh with his own. Sarge was a Yankee version of himself.

  In those early days, he’d showered his new president with wisdom and insight into the ways of Washington politics. Now, his friend and ally was in trouble. Sarge’s desire to restore the Union was about to be thrown a sharp curve ball, and Rutledge would feel terribly guilty if he didn’t give them a heads-up.

  He sat in his darkened office as clouds continued to engulf DC during this early winter storm. The Civil War clock continued to tick toward 3:00 p.m., the start of the vote, when the phone rang. They had Donald on the line for him.

  “Good afternoon, Donald. I’ll be brief. My mother and I need to meet with you and the president tomorrow morning. It’s urgent.”

  Donald questioned Senator Rutledge as to the purpose and he was assured of the important nature of the gathering.

  “Okay, before the daily briefing. Yes, 8:00 a.m. is fine.”

  Donald then asked Senator Rutledge specifically about his opinion on the House vote. Now was not the time to equivocate. Now was the time for brutal honesty.

  “Donald, I believe the bill will pass.”

  He was asked by Donald how that was possible. He was assured the votes were there to defeat it.

  “It’s too late to do anything now, I’m afraid. Suffice it to say, it’s not what you think.”

  Donald protested, reassuring Senator Rutledge that they’d kept a pulse on any potential members of their coalition who might stray.

  “Did you check your own backyard?” Rutledge asked of Donald.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Sometimes, your friends at the party are the first ones to screw you over. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  There. Conscience cleared, for now.

  Chapter 39

  3:00 p.m.

  The President’s Study

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Immediately off the Oval Office, across from the president’s private bathroom and a small kitchenette, was a very small room used in many administrations as the president’s private study. The room contained four chairs, together with a desk and two wall-mounted televisions. The monitors were tuned to C-Span and CNN as the communications team joined Sarge and Donald to watch the House cast its final vote on the Pacific Statehood Act.

  The room was tense as both Sarge and Donald nervously paced from the president’s study to the Oval Office, discussing the revelations provided by Senator Rutledge and the ramifications of the House turning on them. As the votes slowly appeared on the screen, both men convinced each other that the fight would not be lost in the House alone. The Senate vote was still looking favorable although they’d not focused on it. Until now, their confidence level had been running high.

  Betty joined them eventually, as did two of Sarge’s political strategists and his speechwriter. The clock had trickled down to zero with thirteen votes remaining uncast. It was deadlocked at two hundred eleven votes each.

  Betty asked if the thirteen votes would be nullified because of the time stamp. Donald walked back and forth with his cell phone pressed to his ear. He held up a hand, asking for quiet in the room.

  “They extended voting for five more minutes,” he announced.

  “Mr. President, more votes are being tallied.”

  Sarge spun around and headed back into the study, followed close on his heels by Donald. Two more nay votes were recorded, the screen remained unchanged, and then the yea side ticked up.

  212, 213, 214, 215

  “That’s more than they were supposed to get,” commented Crepeau.

  “Five votes left, all republicans,” muttered Sarge.

  The tally registered three more votes against the bill, leaving the total nays at two hundred seventeen.

  “Come on, baby,” shouted Donald over Sarge’s shoulder. “Just gimme one more vote. Come on!”

  The yea side ticked up again.

  216, 217

  “Last one,” said Ocampo.

  The next thirty seconds seemed like an eternity. Even the members of the House stopped, staring down at their smart phones and computer tablets. Everyone waited.

  And then it was tallied. The final vote—for passage of the bill. The CNN screen said it all. Amidst the jubilation of those manning the news desk, the graphic read The Pacific Statehood Act moves on to the Senate.

  Sarge spun out of the room and shoved his way past Donald into the Oval Office. He was livid. Behind him, his senior staff debated what happened while Donald frantically attempted to reach House leadership in search of answers.

  The entourage eventually made their way into the Oval Office, still chattering about the devastating results. Sarge remained quiet as he stared out at the snow-filled skies, which obscured his view of the Washington Monument.

  His team peppered him with questions.

  “Mr. President, do you want me to prepare a statement?”

  “Do you still plan on addressing the media, sir?”

  “What would you like us to do next?”

  They were all chirping in his ear at once.

  “What I want,” he replied calmly but assertively, “is fifteen minutes of peace and quiet so I can think.”

  The room immediately became silent and Donald hung up on the caller. “Okay, everyone. Please, give us the room. Ocampo, Crepeau, prepare a statement and have it in my office in thirty minutes. The rest of you, shut down any leaks regarding our opinion of the outcome. Why? Because we haven’t formulated it yet. Now, go on. Get to work.”

  Once the Oval Office had emptied, Sarge sat in his chair and leaned back, closed his eyes, and massaged his forehead with the heels of his hand. His oath of office called upon him to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution. He’d lived by those words throughout his time in office.

  He reminded himself of the first State of the Union address by newly elected President George Washington at Federal Hall in New York. With the recently founded nation in its infancy, President Washington focused on the very concept of the Union itself and the incredible accomplishment of establishing it. In this first State of the Union, he also spoke at length about the importance of maintaining it.

  How the hell had things come to this? Sarge was not a particularly religious man, but he closed his eyes and prayed to God for guidance. The decisions he’d make in the next twenty-four hours would determine the fate of millions of Americans and the nation in which they lived.

  Chapter 40

  4:00 p.m.

  The Oval Office

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Donald walked over to a two-drawer console that had rarely been used in
the two-term presidency of his best friend. He swung open the door and retrieved the bottle of Glenlivet Scotch whisky together with a couple of crystal glasses. He poured two fingers for himself and the same for the president.

  Sarge raised his glass and, without a formal toast, slammed the scotch to the back of his throat, causing him to wince. Donald followed his lead. Without having to ask, Donald poured another round, half full this time, which the men took to the couches and set on the side tables under the lamps.

  Donald broke the silence. “Well, should we drink and hope that it goes away, or do we hitch up our panties and fight another day?”

  “I say hitch ’em up!” replied Sarge with a hearty laugh. The first shot of Glenlivet seemed to change his spirits. He leaned forward and took a smaller, more controlled sip.

  “Sarge, here’s the thing,” started Donald. “If Rutledge is right, then we know someone is applying an incredible amount of pressure and influence over the vote. You can get away with that in the House, where there are four hundred and thirty-five members. I don’t know who defected yet, but I will find out. But it doesn’t matter. We need to look toward tomorrow and try to keep from getting blindsided again.”

  “This is why I need you, Donald. After Steven’s death, I found myself assuming more of his persona. I made decisions, initiated actions, and, hell, pulled the trigger myself in ways I never imagined. My initial inclination was to track down every congressman who screwed us and tear them a new one. But what would that accomplish at this point?”

  “Nothing,” Donald replied. “It probably wouldn’t make you feel any better. The betrayal of a friend is bad enough. But confronting the defectors would just exacerbate your ill feelings toward them and the anger you’re holding inside.”

  Sarge laughed as he took another sip of his drink. “Steven would say just shoot ’em. That may have worked back in Boston during the early days following the collapse, but I can’t get away with that anymore.”

  “I totally agree. So let’s talk about tomorrow.”

  “First off, in light of the fact the vote was destined to be tight in the Senate, and even more so now, I think I should recall Abbie to Washington. We may need her as a tiebreaker.”

  “Definitely,” started Donald. “Plus, she’s admired by everyone in the Senate Chamber. She knows these people better than we do. If something’s brewing, she’ll be able to sniff it out.”

  “Good. I’ll call her in a minute. Let me throw something else out to consider.”

  Donald finished off his drink and looked at Sarge over the top of his glass. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “If we think the Senate vote will be a problem, we could use this Taiwan crisis to postpone the vote,” started Sarge.

  “As Senator Majority Leader, Rutledge could postpone the vote,” interrupted Donald.

  “Exactly. We could have Paul arrange an emergency meeting of the Senate Armed Services Committee regarding this Taiwan matter. We could postpone the vote until next week, which will give us time to ferret out who’s behind this late push to pass the bill.”

  “That’s a possibility, but naturally the Senate would be incensed. They’re tired after a long campaign. They’ve pushed a lot of legislation through since the election—which was mostly at our behest. Plus, we’ve been the driving force behind the timing of the vote.”

  Sarge leaned back into the plush couch and pulled a pillow under his right arm to prop it up. His shoulder had never been the same since the assassination attempt. On cold, damp days like this one, it tended to get stiff and sore.

  “Yeah, that’s all true. I’m just looking at options.”

  “Why don’t we run it by Paul in the morning?” asked Donald.

  “Deal. In that regard, do you find it odd that he has Sarah tagging along?”

  Donald laughed. “Sometimes, I wonder if it’s the other way around. The first few times we met with the good senator, it was his mother who walked through the door first.”

  “She’s certainly enjoyed her access to the White House,” said Sarge.

  “And benefitted from it greatly,” added Donald.

  Sarge continued. “My guess is that she wants to see the vote go down in flames every bit as much as we do, but for different reasons. We want the four states brought back into the Union because it’s the right thing to do. I think Sarah Rutledge would like to avoid a proverbial civil war if they come in and fundamentally change the social fabric of this nation in the process.”

  “Let’s stay the course, meet with Paul, and touch base ourselves with key senators tomorrow. We approached the House in a hands-off manner. Let’s be more involved on the Senate side.”

  “Agreed,” said Sarge. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly six. “I’m gonna call Abbie and then try to have a rare dinner with my family. Why don’t you head out as well?”

  Donald chuckled. “With all that’s going on, it seems to be the opposite of what I should do. However, you’re the boss, so who am I to argue. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

  Chapter 41

  6:00 p.m.

  The Jackson Family Home

  Muddy Pond, Tennessee

  Abbie emerged from the bedroom, where she had spoken with Sarge for thirty minutes. After watching the news regarding the vote, she knew her presence in Washington was needed. In the event the Senate deadlocked on the vote, she would cast the tiebreaking vote to defeat the measure. It wasn’t just the brief conversation regarding the Pacific Statehood Act that concerned her. It was also the revelations from Sarge about the situation in Taiwan. It was more grave than the news reports of demonstrations and protests depicted. The nation might be moving towards a military conflict with one of its most potent adversaries—China.

  “How did it go, Madame Vice President?” asked Drew as he approached his wife and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He gently placed his hands on her belly, which carried their first child together.

  Inside the Jackson home, Drew’s family and his extended family, the Aegis team, were milling about, discussing the news of the day while sniffing around the kitchen at Janie Jackson’s cooking. A playful dialogue between King Dawkins and Drew’s mother could be heard. King kept wanting to grab a taste of her Muddy Pond delicacy—roast hog from the spit. Janie threatened to beat the big man with a wooden spoon if he dared enter the kitchen one more time. The back-and-forth between the two caused an uproar of laughter in the family room as the six-foot-five former Delta operative cowered under the spoon waving near his head.

  Abbie laughed as she watched the exchange take place. “It seems your mother is enjoying a house full of kids again.”

  “Yeah.” Drew chuckled with her. “King is the bratty son she never had. If I knew how much she enjoyed attempting to discipline the big guy, I would have been more unruly myself.”

  Abbie squeezed Drew’s chiseled face with her right hand. “I take it you were the perfect son, never causing your parents any grief.”

  “Now, I never said that. But I sure knew to stay out of Janie Jackson’s kitchen.”

  Abbie smiled and then a look of dread came over her face. “I don’t know how I’m gonna break it to her, Drew. Sarge needs me back in Washington. I’ve got to be present for the Senate vote tomorrow in case there’s a tie.”

  “Honey, don’t worry about it. Mom understands that stuff. She was just commenting to me this morning while I helped her clean up after breakfast that this was the first time she’s had me at the house for four days in a row without being called away. Listen, she’s learned to take what she can get as her kids became adults.”

  Abbie sighed. “I know, but I still feel bad. Let’s tell her tonight after everyone kinda clears out for bed.”

  “Okay,” said Drew as he looked into Abbie’s eyes.

  She tried to avert his probing, but he was a master at reading people, both in a situation like this and when he was torturing them for information. Abbie finally looked back at him. She didn’t want to be tortur
ed.

  “There’s more, isn’t there? There’s always more.”

  The room burst into laughter again as King ducked a biscuit, which sailed over his head. The Judge entered the fray, his voice of warning directed at King. “Careful, young man, Janie’s got a gun.” More laughter emerged at the vague reference to the song lyric.

  Abbie pulled Drew closer to him and whispered into his ear, “I don’t want to put a damper on the evening. The situation in Taiwan is worse than what the media knows.”

  “I wondered,” said Drew. “What did Sarge say?”

  “The protests are largely organic, but when the demonstrations turn violent, they’re instigated by Chinese nationals controlled by their Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

  “Why are they trying to cause trouble?”

  “That’s still undetermined. There’s more. The country is experiencing rolling power outages. The CIA seems to have confirmed cyber attacks are causing their power plants’ operations to fail. The likely source is the PLA’s Unit 61398.”

  “They’re top cyber-espionage arm. They’ve got a whole army of hackers that do everything from stealing military secrets to spying on U.S. companies. Does Brad have an opinion as to whether they’re following the Russian’s playbook?”

  Abbie looked around to make sure she wasn’t being overheard. The information she was providing was highly classified. Drew, as her spouse, and Julia, as First Lady, weren’t necessarily given a security clearance, but information was shared with them anyway. Spouses of high-level politicians are known to receive classified data as part of the proverbial pillow talk between loved ones. Julia and Drew, as members of the Loyal Nine, would be kept abreast of these matters anyway, the law notwithstanding.

  “There appears to be a buildup of a special forces unit on a military facility directly across from Taiwan,” started Abbie.