by Doug Walker
“Mr. President everyone seems to know you and Renee had some romantic involvement. It might seem spiteful of you to have these two marines transferred.”
“Spiteful, vindictive, whatever. I have gained very little personally by being president. I have lost my wife, lost my vice president, felt unable to have my son live with me, seem to have the worries of the world dropped on my shoulders. I have not complained. My head may be bloodied, but it remains unbowed. I believe I am entitled to something. One little dab of humanity. So do my bidding. Return with your shield on.”
A cabinet meeting was scheduled later in the day and Brooking intended to take up the topic of tobacco, which had become a nationwide and worldwide menace, users dropping at a rate far outstripping the non-smoker. But what to do? Almost linked to that problem was marijuana, the cause of many young people being confined to prison, the majority of them black
At one time New York City had a stop-and-frisk ordinance that had sent many young blacks found with trifling amounts of marijuana to prison, perhaps setting them on a life of crime. Maybe not. But now the city had slacked off. So what to do nationwide? Legalize the stuff? The easy way out was to dismiss it as a state and city problem. Americans like to mount their soapboxes and orate on the delights of states’ rights.
The President decided simply to throw out these problems for open discussion and possible study. Sitting around a huge table with every cabinet member and surrounded by their aides didn’t make for intimate conversation, not even a cheerful give and take situation.
Even before the cabinet meeting, German returned to the Oval office to say the Marine commandant had refused to have the two men transferred. “He’s an old man, set in his ways,” the chief of staff explained. “You know, Sempre Fi and all.”
“Ah yes, Sempre Fi, or Semper Fidelis. I had a friend who served in the Marines. He said Sempre Fi meant ‘Hooray for me, fuck you.’”
“An interesting deviation, Sir.”
“Yes it is. You mentioned this old man set in his ways. I’ve been told our military is heavy with brass and gold. Too many overage admirals and generals. Some of them in the early stages of dementia. I think that needs to be attended to. It shouldn’t take long.”
Brooking’s words were of some concern to German. Whatever the President was hinting at didn’t sound overly compelling. “What must I do, Sir?”
“Not a thing. Is everything set for the cabinet meeting?”
“Yes, Sir. Everything laid out. Pens, pads, carafes of water. We could even have soft music if you like.”
“That would be innovative. Toss in a couple of pole dancers and a spotted bull pup and we can charge admission.”
“One way to balance the budget.”
“Let the people know we’re trying.”
When German was gone, Brooking asked Penny to get the Secretary of Defense on the phone. While he was waiting he popped open a can and fed Fancy her daily rations. She had been purring and rubbing his legs.
Penny buzzed back. “Elliot Dansker on the line, Sir.”
“Elliot, how are you this fine day?” The President was in a cheery mood.
“Fine, Sir. I didn’t think I’d see you before the cabinet meeting.”
“Something’s come up. You know there’s been complaints now and again that our military’s become top heavy, loaded with aging generals and admirals, a few of them showing definite signs of senility.”
“Honor the aged, Mr. President.”
“Honor them and let them lead our young men into battle? Hardly the same thing. I think we should thin the ranks. I’d like a list of all generals and admirals from the four services who have served for thirty-five or more years. Should be simple to get from your records. Have it on my desk early tomorrow afternoon.”
A brief pause and Dansker asked, “What are your plans, Sir?”
“Depends on the list. We can both have a look. See you at cabinet meeting.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The list of generals and admirals who had served more than thirty-five years startled Brooking. Of course it was a life of luxury with all its perks, plus everyone jumping at their command. He checked off twenty-five names, including the Marine commandant. He attempted to avoid well-known commanders and favored cutting loose the very old. When he was done he had Penny type up the list and then jotted a handwritten note at the top: “I want these officers retired in two days. No use dragging it out. BB.”
Penny was then instructed to have the list hand delivered to Elliot. For his eyes only.
Brooking sat back and waited for the waste matter to hit the ventilating system. Being president could be fun.
He didn’t have long to wait. Penny buzzed and said both Elliot and German were at her desk and wished to see him.
“Tell them to wait. Tell them I’m feeding the cat.”
“Yes, Sir.”
After five minutes he invited them into the Oval office. Both looked around for the cat, but saw nothing. “I have this list and your note,” Elliot said, holding up the sheet of paper.
“You recognized my childish handwriting?”
“Of course.”
“But you didn’t understand the message?”
“I understand it completely, Sir. But these are honored officers; some of them could be classed as heroes. They can’t simply be dismissed, cast aside.”
“Elliot, I’ve always thought of heroes as those who have given their lives for this country. Not those who live in country club comfort with all the trappings of affluence. These men, and as you say the list is all men, no women oddly enough, are crowding the top of our service rolls and they are long past making a contribution. Let us make way for younger men. Let us inspire younger men to achieve these proud posts. Let us have some sort of service at Arlington. Play Taps perhaps, or the Last Post.” He looked at German. “Do you have anything to add, Curt?”
“No, Sir.”
“Well make certain each and every man on that list is informed, then have Conlon announce it to the press. Make some appropriate statement about the services becoming top heavy. Thank you, gentlemen.”
The news caused a press flurry in Washington that rippled across the continent. Twenty-five senior officers cashiered, as one opponent of the administration put it.
Brooking put his press secretary up to hinting that there might be more to come, which tended to quiet criticism from the senior ranks of the military. You might say they closed ranks in a show of loyalty to their commander in chief.
Meanwhile, Vice President Jairo Ducote resigned, issuing a self-serving statement that he wished to spend more time with his family and more time in his home district. He even suggested he might want to pick up where he left off with his old House seat.
After a week, Brooking called his secretary of defense and told him to tell the new Marine commandant to transfer the two White House Marines. There was no problem this time.
There came a time when a homely little senator from the far west accused the administration of leaking sensitive military information for political gain. After all, it was an election year, the conventions were at hand, and the general election soon to follow, Senator Alvin Keppel said.
Brooking believed this might be a two-edged sword.
Keppel called for a special prosecutor with unlimited boundaries.
Many in Washington had nightmare memories of such a prosecutor some years ago. He moved through the Capitol like a wrecking ball, laying waste to everything in his path, carving out a horror story and a niche for himself in the halls of ignominy.
This time there definitely was a leak, and some of it might have been coming from the White House. Keppel’s theory was that the administration wished the public to know what stealth measures it was taking against shadowy foreign enemies. Material thought to be classified had been in the print media and reported on TV. Conventional wisdom seemed to be that the FBI could track down the source. But so far, no luck.
Senator Keppel
was a member of a bipartisan committee who was privy to classified material. He continued to rise on the senate floor as often as possible and demand a special prosecutor. The senator had aged in office and had crossed the threshold of senility, well on the road to total memory loss and other faculty impairments.
With the FBI seemingly stymied, Brooking called on his ninja to look into the matter.
After a general assessment of the situation, Tarot spent time checking out Senator Keppel. He found the old man paranoid to the extent that he didn’t trust the Capitol Hill mail totally. He kept a postal box in a Washington substation. Also, the only staff member he totally trusted was his daughter, Emily, who acted as his administrative assistant with a handsome salary.
One of her duties was to check the postal box from time to time. This box drew Tarot’s attention. While he couldn’t spend time following Emily, or keeping tabs on the box, he did contrive to place an inconspicuous camera in the substation, keeping an eye on the box 24/7.
Remarkably, he found that Emily took very little out of the box, but more often placed something in the box. Late in the evening, according to his electronic surveillance, someone, usually a woman, would take something out of the box. There seemed to be multiple keys. So why not one more? He bribed a locksmith to make him a key.
It took Tarot a couple of weeks to identify everyone involved in the game and make copies of the information that was being transferred. He then presented his case to Brooking. A day later the President summoned the head of the FBI plus the agents in charge of the investigation to his office.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “I’d like to know how your investigation is going regarding the leaks of classified material.”
The FBI director spoke for the group. “Because this is a sensitive matter involving the White House, I think it’s best not to give you all the details.”
Brooking was expecting that sort of a cover-up. “Gentlemen, I assume you want to continue to be employed by the U.S. government. If so, I’d suggest following the instructions of your President to the letter.”
“You’re threatening to have us dismissed?” the director demanded.
“Fired. Instantly fired. Before you even leave this building. All of you. If that’s what you want, you can get the hell out of my office immediately. I’ll have the Secret Service confiscate your badges and weapons.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President. Perhaps I spoke too soon. You are the President after all. You have every right to be in on the investigation. What would you like to know?”
“Everything. A list of the White House staff who are leaking. I’ll get rid of them and name them publicly. I’ll ask the attorney general to prosecute. Now give me their names.”
“We do have names,” the director said.
“Give me the list.”
“The information they’ve shared with the press isn’t classified.”
“You mean it’s the general give and take between government officials and the press?”
“Yes, Sir. That’s about it so far.”
“Why did you seek to withhold this from me?”
“Our investigation is continuing, Sir. We are determined to find the leaks.”
“I assume the starting point would be a list of those who are privy to such classified information.”
“Yes. We have that list throughout the administration. The various departments, Pentagon and so forth.”
“But you seem to have concentrated on the White House. Why is that?”
“Senator Keppel made the charges. He cited the White House was seeking political gain.”
“Would you say Keppel is a friend of this administration?”
“Why, no, Sir,” the director said. “He hates your administration.”
“Then wouldn’t he be a bit suspect?”
“Well, yes. But we’ve had no reason to doubt his word.”
“His word. His political word. He and the other members of the bipartisan committee. Do they have access to this sensitive data?”
“Of course, Sir. That’s well known.”
“So you’ve checked them out?”
The director looked to the several FBI agents seated around the room. “Which one of you has been working on that angle?”
General silence.
“We’ll look into it, Mr. President. No stone will be left unturned.”
Brooking laughed. “So many unturned stones. So many FBI agents. Gentlemen, Keppel is your man. He keeps a substation postal box. His daughter, who is also his AA, places the material in the box and various others remove it. Such a simple process.”
“How could this be?” the director questioned.
Brooking shrugged. “I conducted my own investigation. My secretary has a box with all my findings, including photographic evidence, copies of the material Keppel passed along, dates, times and so forth. Incidentally, I’ve kept a copy too. So don’t lose any of the evidence. I suggest once you’ve examined it you turn it over to the attorney general. Please, gentlemen, pick it up on your way out.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Derek Park had accepted Brooking’s offer to name him as running mate with some enthusiasm.
They huddled over breakfast with German and party chair Rains. The four of them agreed that people vote for the top of the ticket, but the vice president should be well qualified to step in as president. They also agreed that Park rose to that level and went considerably beyond. It would have been difficult to find anyone with more knowledge of the inner workings of the system. And, yes, how to manipulate it.
The next step was for Brooking and Park to make a casual trip to the pressroom, stand side by side, and have the President announce that he had picked Park as his running mate. The few reporters in the room at that early hour were too startled to even ask a question.
The President and his newfound cohort turned and strolled back into the safety of the depths of the White House and the Oval office.
“You might start measuring the windows for drapes,” Brooking said. “There’s a chance I won’t serve out a second term. Of course, if we lose it’s a certainty.”
Park indicated surprise. “You have some horrible disease?”
“No. Simply tired. Hard to believe, but I’m not a political creature. My folks raised me to be an academic, a student of ancient life, perhaps a type of archeologist. That’s likely where I belong. I just drifted into politics, and the party picked me rather than the other way around. I had no serious flaws because I had done very little. The thought of a presidential library or of leaving footprints in the sands of time holds no glamor for me. So, let’s just leave it at that. A word to the wise. A word to be prepared. I’ll speak no more about it.”
Washington is a totally political town, and the word that a lobbyist, perhaps the most successful and famous lobbyist , would be Brooking’s running mate stirred up the animals and fueled the gossip mills for days, as well as Sunday talk shows and late night comics. The butcher, the baker, everybody put their oar in the water. It took several news cycles and a few days for the excitement to die.
Few things surprised Brooking, but his mind was jarred a bit by a couple of items Penny told him. For one thing the marine captain had been transferred all right, but only across the river to the Pentagon where he was promoted to major. It seemed he was the scion of a very rich, very military family, and the old boys’ network had taken him under its wing.
The second item was that he had thrown Renee over in favor of a New York society chick who had a long-term lease on his marital horizon.
Brooking immediately asked Penny to get the secretary of defense on the phone.
“Is it true,” he asked, “that the Marine captain in question has been promoted to major and posted to the Pentagon?”
“Why, yes it is, Mr. President. Why do you ask?”
“Was he in line for promotion?”
“Not really. I know about it because it was unusual. The military is like a club. Particul
arly the Marines. They have an almost incestuous relationship with the British Royal Marines. You’ll find bars around Quantico that look like English pubs. But it’s a splendid branch and, unlike the army, both the officers and men are trained to think for themselves.”
“And what might our good major be doing at the Pentagon?”
“Probably not much of anything. Maybe shuffling papers.”
“Does he have a strong record of field service? Combat training? Bivouac antics?”
“Certainly he has training, but I’m guessing he’s probably spent most of his time around Washington and Virginia. Maybe California once. Most Marines aren’t stationed overseas.”
“There are exceptions. I’d like you to have him transferred to Okinawa. But keep my name out of it.”
A chuckle on the other end of the line. “He will be on a plane within a week, or else resign his commission.”
As Brooking hung up, a thought crossed his mind: “I’m finally getting my way without back talk.”
The President was in high spirits when he huddled with his speechwriters as a prelude to his southern campaign trip and fundraiser. It would be a full day. Breakfast in Augusta, Georgia, lunch in Jacksonville, Florida, and a reception and banquet in Miami. He asked the speechwriters to let him end his final speech in Miami with a few lines of Spanish. He could not understand Spanish, but he knew the pronunciations and he thought he could do a creditable job. South Florida was jammed with Spanish speakers from all parts of South and Central America, as well as Mexico, Cuba and various islands.
German called him and said Renee that wanted to go on the Florida campaign trip. Brooking had barred her from the West Wing, so she could not appear in his office in person.
“Tell her she can’t go.”
“But she’s insistent. She’s demanding to go. I believe a ‘no’ would upset her further. What should I tell her?”
Brooking thought a moment and then said, “Tell her she’s fired.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. Send two security men over there. Have her turn in her White House pass, clean out her desk and have them escort her from the property. Inform payroll to cut her a final check.”