Patriot's Farewell

by Bobby Akart

  Sarge nodded and put his hands in his pockets. He stared at the Presidential Seal in the carpet before he looked at Brad. “We risk escalating an already tense situation, but it has to be done. This is not a time for détente. Power has to meet power. Give the order, Brad. Raise the subs.”

  Brad stood, followed by Abbie and Donald. “Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

  “Donald, contact State and tell them to keep the lines of communication with Beijing open. After the subs are raised and the gauntlet is thrown, I need to have a real frank discussion this afternoon with President Xi Jinping.”

  “You’ve got it, Sarge,” said Donald.

  “Now, I’ve got some unfinished business with another bully.” With that, Sarge adjusted his tie and strode out of the Oval Office on a mission.

  Chapter 79

  2:30 p.m.

  The Solarium

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Sarge entered the Solarium with confidence but encountered a room full of quiet, sour looks. The brandy snifters were empty and the cigars had been extinguished. The executive council of the Boston Brahmin were ready to get to the point, and so was Sarge. If he could stare down a Chinese invasion, he could abandon détente with this bunch as well.

  Not unexpectedly, it was Gardner who stood and addressed Sarge as he entered. “We’ve been waiting for some time. There is an additional matter that needs to be discussed.”

  “Take a seat, Gardner,” said Sarge sternly. “Actually, there are two matters. So please sit down. This won’t take long, and then we can join the others downstairs.”

  Sarge sat first, but Gardner hesitated. He looked around the room until he faced Walter Cabot, who provided him a slight, imperceptible nod. Gardner dropped onto the edge of the couch across from Sarge.

  “Let me address the matter of the Pacific Statehood Act first,” began Sarge. “We’ve discussed the matter at length, both as a group years ago, and on an individual basis as my time allowed. We all reached an agreement prior to my re-election that returning the four states to the Union was a priority, but it was to be done without condition.”

  “Henry,” started Cabot in New England dialect, “we’re at the eleventh hour of your presidency. While I don’t lay the blame completely on you for not accomplishing this goal sooner, we’re at a point that the states must be readmitted. Frankly, and I think I speak for the group here, we’re less concerned about these conditions than you are. The nation has evolved socially, and perhaps Washington should be forced to address these issues head-on.”

  “Besides,” interrupted Gardner, “this is about economics, pure and simple. Our ability to control our business ventures through governmental contacts is greatly diminished when a state as big as California is excluded from the equation. The other three states are tagging along for the ride. The big prize is California.”

  “I don’t disagree with either of you, but I stand firm in my belief that inviting the states back into the Union under these conditions is tantamount to blackmail,” Sarge said, defending his position.

  Cabot continued. “Henry, I’m sorry it didn’t work out like you planned, but Congress has spoken through its passage of the bill. It’s time for us to put the matter behind us and get back to our business as usual.”

  Sarge considered whether it was time to confront the issue head-on or use subterfuge to achieve his goal. He recalled the many conversations between himself and John Morgan during those days of isolation at Prescott Peninsula. The two were inseparable as Morgan mentored his godson in the art of wielding power and wealth. During those conversations, Sarge tried to maintain his own identity, refusing to believe that he could become his mentor.

  But then, he never thought he could become his brother either, yet he did. On a day when he should’ve been celebrating the birth of Win and his inauguration as president, he channeled Steven when he shot a traitorous son of a bitch between the eyes in the basement of John Morgan’s home. For years, he challenged himself to confront who he’d become in that moment, but each time he pushed it into the back of his mind.

  As time passed, Sarge modified the popular bumper sticker to read in his mind, what would John Morgan do? His answer was not always consistent, as he was restrained by the magnifying glass that hovered over the presidency. However, in his dealings on behalf of the Boston Brahmin, of which he’d been the leader for eight years, he was more John Morgan than he was Henry Sargent. At least—not yet, anyway—he hadn’t channeled his brother again.

  He allowed the conversation to shift to discuss the future and business as usual, as Cabot termed their puppet-master activities across the globe. If they weren’t going to press him for an answer on signing or vetoing the Pacific Statehood Act, then he wasn’t obligated to tell them his plans. It was a mistake lawyers often make in trial practice. If you don’t ask the question, the witness doesn’t have to answer. A good lawyer should never presume the jury knows the answer.

  “Yes, let’s talk about our business together,” started Sarge as he deflected. “Earlier, I outlined my agenda for the last two months of my presidency. The actions I’ll be taking will benefit all of us greatly and for many years to come. Beyond my departure from office, I will continue my position as head of the executive council, fulfilling the wishes of John Morgan, whom all of you trusted with your life.”

  “We did,” added Cabot. “John was a good man and his decision making always proved to be on the money, pardon the pun.”

  The room managed a laugh to ease the tension, except for Gardner. Sarge surmised this was not going as planned for him. He was going to like the next step even less.

  “Let me state something that those of you who survived at Prescott Peninsula understand,” continued Sarge. “It’s most likely you are alive because of my efforts and those within my team like Mr. Endicott’s nephew, Brad; Art Peabody’s niece, Julia; John Morgan’s daughter, Abbie: and myself. We’re the ones who made the arrangements to provide all of you, or your families, food, medical care, and safety when the nation collapsed around us.”

  “Yes, Henry, and we’re all grateful to you and the others,” said Cabot.

  Sarge pressed on. “John Morgan trusted me with that task, and after his stroke, he emphatically supported me to lead the executive council. Over these eight years, I’ve earned your support and trust.”

  “Absolutely, Sarge,” said Art Peabody, who looked to others in the room for affirmation.

  Sarge looked directly at Gardner. “Unfortunately, there are some among us who think they know a better way. A leader always has his detractors, I understand that. But in an organization such as ours, dissent can cause irreparable damage to our businesses and families. A politician may have to resign or lose an election. In our world, mistakes result in jail time and even deaths.”

  “That’s a little overdramatic, don’t you think?” asked Gardner.

  Sarge shot back and made a point to the others at the same time. “Gardner, you are the newest member to the executive council and, as such, you’re not experienced in the machinations of the Boston Brahmin and the strategies I employ. Know this, however. We have to be careful and work as a unit to avoid scrutiny. The shadows are our friend, and any attempt to work outside the group can result in daylight illuminating our activities.”

  “I understand that,” bristled Gardner. “What’s your point?”

  Sarge had to hold back. Knowledge is power and he didn’t want to expose Gardner to the others—yet.

  “The point is none of us can enjoy the luxury of operating outside the group—going rogue, if you will. This group has been established to discuss our goals, but I’ve been charged with the responsibility of achieving them. Thus far, I’ve not failed any of you.”

  “I agree, Henry,” said Cabot as he provided Sarge a thumbs-up. Cabot was coming around. Sarge could feel the hostility easing and the tide of support moving in his favor. He’d also effectively shined the light of discontent on one person, Gar
dner Lowell.

  Sarge stood, adjusted his suit, and addressed the group. “Today, I’m seeking a vote of confidence from you. I will stand here as each of you simply votes yea or nay. If the nays have it, I will leave the room proud of my accomplishments and supportive of whomever you choose. If the yeas are the majority, then I want you to know I will diligently carry on the duties hoisted upon my shoulders by John Morgan during those dark days at Prescott Peninsula.”

  Walter Cabot stood and walked next to Sarge’s side. “I’ve known this young man all his life. His father, John, and I were good friends. Henry has done nothing to lose my confidence or, more importantly, my trust. Therefore, I vote a resounding yea!”

  One by one, the other members of the Boston Brahmin executive council rose and voiced their support for Sarge by saying yea. Finally, the last to rise, Gardner Lowell glared at Sarge but nodded his capitulation.

  “Yea,” was all Gardner could muster.

  As Cabot and Peabody patted Sarge on the back, he thanked the group.

  “Thank you all. There’s still a lot of work to be done and I’m proud to have your support. If you will, please join me downstairs, as I have an important announcement to make to everyone regarding a matter of national security.”

  The Boston Brahmin filed out of the room and heartily shook Sarge’s hand as they left. Gardner hung back, intentionally being the last to depart.

  The room was empty when Gardner walked up to Sarge. He didn’t offer his hand to shake. That suited Sarge just fine.

  “I know what you did,” Sarge leaned in to whisper as he looked his new nemesis in the eye.

  “This is not over,” Gardner growled in response.

  “It is for today.”

  Gardner pushed past Sarge, who waited in the Solarium for a moment to gather his thoughts. He realized that he’d just made a powerful enemy who’d proven he didn’t play by the rules, including the unwritten one established by the Boston Brahmin over the last two-and-a-half centuries. Sarge would have to become John Morgan, and his brother, if he was going to fight this adversary.

  Chapter 80

  3:00 p.m.

  White House Blue Room

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Sarge was the last to arrive in the Blue Room. He was surprised to see Brad there as well. The two walked directly toward each other.

  “Brad, that took a little longer than expected,” Sarge said as he looked for Julia. She was in the corner with the children, Donald and Susan.

  “That’s fine. The timing couldn’t be better.”

  “Well?”

  Brad’s smile was bigger than the look on his face when the United Nations had pulled out of Boston Harbor. “Mr. President, they’re standing down. The Chinese have withdrawn their amphibs from the beach, and their jets are no longer patrolling their side of the Taiwan Straits.”

  Sarge and Brad immediately shared a bro-hug and spontaneous laughter, which immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room.

  Sarge looked toward Julia, who was smiling, as was Donald, who raised a glass of champagne as a toast.

  “Everyone, I’m sorry for my disappearance this afternoon, but there have been several important matters that pulled me away.”

  “We understand, Mr. President,” said Stella Peabody.

  “Absolutely, don’t worry about it,” added another.

  Sarge motioned for Donald and Abbie to join his side. Sarge shook Donald’s hand and hugged Abbie. The two of them stood with Brad as Sarge continued.

  “As many of you know from this morning’s news reports, our ambassador to China, James McBride, had gone missing following a signing ceremony in Taipei, Taiwan. What the news did not report was that we believe he’d been kidnapped by operatives loosely associated with the Chinese government.”

  The members of the Boston Brahmin and their families were shocked at this revelation and began to talk among themselves.

  “Has something happened to him?” asked Art Peabody.

  “He’s safe thanks to the heroic efforts of our team on the ground in Taipei,” replied Sarge, who purposefully made no reference to Drew. He was an asset that would remain hidden from all the Boston Brahmin, especially Gardner. “There’s more.”

  Sarge nodded to Brad, who stepped forward. “The Chinese were mounting an offensive to invade Taiwan. The recent unrest and loss of electrical power were the first stages of a campaign to destabilize Taiwan before the People’s Liberation Army crushed the Taipei government.”

  “This is the first we’ve heard of this,” said Endicott, Brad’s uncle.

  “Yes, sir,” Brad continued. “The PLA had amassed several hundred amphibious assault vehicles on the coast, with nearly one hundred thousand troops. Their next step was to launch missile strikes at key military installations and strafe the Taiwanese Navy with an air assault.”

  “Brad, how did you repel the attack?” asked his uncle, the former military strategist and general.

  “Frankly, sir, it was the shrewd instinct of our president that prevented a war,” replied Brad. He patted Sarge on the shoulder as he spoke. “This man saw the demonstrations and cyber attack that disrupted the power in Taiwan as a precursor to the invasion. He had the forethought to reposition our two aircraft carrier strike groups to flank Taiwan to the north and south. But the coup de grâce in the Chinese plans was the deployment of two Virginia-class submarines to a position between Taiwan and China. Upon Sarge’s orders, the Virginia subs surfaced and stared down the ChiComms.”

  “Did they stand down?” asked Endicott.

  “They stood down,” replied Brad. “Our Commander-in-Chief boldly stood up to the Chinese and the crisis has been averted.”

  The room erupted in applause. Everyone shouted congratulations to Sarge and his team of Donald, Abbie, and Brad. Julia and the kids joined his side.

  Sarge had a remarkable life. Professionally, the joy of teaching had provided him those moments of pride when his lectures made a difference in a young person’s life. Marrying Julia and the birth of their children were personal moments that he would never forget. Naturally, winning the presidency twice was an incredible accomplishment. Today, however, he realized his decisions might have saved millions of lives in Taiwan as well as one ambassador, who was simply doing his duty for his country.

  You’re free to make your own decisions, but you’re not free from the consequences of those decisions. Sarge owned the choices he’d made in his life, both good and bad. Those are the traits of a real man.

  Chapter 81

  8:00 p.m.

  The Oval Office

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  The media reports regarding Taiwan and the recovery of the ambassador dominated the rest of that Thanksgiving Day. Once the crisis had been diffused, Donald instructed the White House communications team to coordinate with their counterparts at the Pentagon to begin releasing information on the standoff with China to friendly news reporters.

  Sarge wanted the world to know what China had planned for Taiwan so that it might act as a deterrent for years to come. In addition, his plan to pocket veto the Pacific Statehood Act required the attention of the twenty-four-seven news cycle to be directed elsewhere. After this evening’s address to the nation, cable news outlets would focus on the Taiwan crisis and the world’s response for many days. By Cyber Monday, the news would focus on retail sales and the strength of the economy. For the purposes of this evening’s address, Sarge wanted to remind the nation he was committed to reunification, but not if it meant capitulation to the demands of these few states. In the end, he’d support what was best for the country.

  He received a final touch-up of powder to his forehead, which tended to show sweat under the hot lights brought in for the camera. Sarge glanced to photos of Julia and the children for support as he waited for the countdown.

  Three—two—one.

  “My fellow Americans, this is the twenty-sixth time
I’ll speak to you from the Oval Office and most likely the last. We’ve been together through seven-plus years, and soon it’ll be time for me to go. Before I do, I wanted to share some thoughts with you, some of which I’ve been saving for a long time, and others which were prompted by the week’s events.

  “It’s been the honor of a lifetime to serve as your president. Many of you have written the past few weeks to say thanks, but I’m the one who should be thanking you for the opportunity to lead this country back from the darkest time in its history and on the road to recovery. Julia and I are so very grateful for the opportunity you’ve given us to serve this great nation.

  “You know, one of the unfortunate aspects of the presidency is that you’re always somewhat separated from the people you serve. As president, I spend a lot of time within the White House, and on precious few occasions, I’m able to travel across these great United States to talk with you and hear your concerns. Too often, I quickly move from point to point in a car driven by someone else, looking at all of you through tinted glass.

  “I want you to know, I see parents holding up their children, who are waving a small flag. I read the handmade signs that read God Bless America. Every time I wave back, but by then I’m gone. You have no idea how many times I wanted to stop and jump out of the car to shake your hands or hug your child. Tonight, I hope to do a little of that from the Oval Office.

  “The White House is where I work. The White House has served as the backdrop to the trying times we’ve endured as a nation, but also for the tough decisions that often characterize a presidency.

  “But it’s also our home, where Julia and I live with our three beautiful children. Win, who was born on my first inauguration day, is now seven and a half. My darling daughter, Rose, who was actually born here in the White House, is now five going on twenty. And our youngest, Francis, or Frank, is in the throes of the terrible threes, a phrase the First Lady hates for me to use.