The Liberty Intrigue

by Tom Grace

  “He’d lose that race!” a bystander shouted back. “At least the mouse knows how to make jobs and money!”

  “The only poll that means anything will be taken in November, but enough of this,” the Vice President said with a hint of annoyance. “There will be plenty of time over the next few months to talk politics. Today is about Frank Crusca. Anybody got a relevant question on that subject?”

  “I’ve got one,” Homer Hopps replied, watching the live feed of the press conference. “Patch me through to that cub reporter’s smartphone.”

  McColl tapped a few strokes into her keyboard and a text message window appeared on the upper left wall monitor.

  “All yours, Double-H.”

  Fry felt her cell phone vibrate with an incoming text message. It was from her editor. Her eyes widened as she read a tersely worded query, and her hand shot up as the Vice President called for a final question.

  “I hope this question is better than your last one,” the Vice President said dismissively to a ripple of laughter.

  “Where are Frank Crusca’s gold coins?” Fry asked.

  The Vice President’s eyes narrowed, his gaze boring into the young reporter.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, young lady. Who do you work for? Did you even go to journalism school?”

  Fry stood her ground. “On the day before he died, Crusca withdrew approximately one hundred thousand dollars from his union’s pension fund. He subsequently purchased an equivalent dollar amount of gold coins. This purchase was made from a dealer while en route to his hunting trip with you. The police report makes no mention of any gold coins among Mr. Crusca’s personal effects, which leads to two questions: Why would Frank Crusca bring a hundred grand in gold coins on a hunting trip, and where are those coins now?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ON AIR

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Denby said to open his radio show, “it is I, Garrus Maximus, the unquestioned conqueror of talk radio, and it is my solemn duty to you to explain the inexplicable and to offer sage and entertaining commentary on a broad range of issues affecting our great nation.

  “This morning, like every other morning, I had a thick stack of stuff primed and I was just chomping at the bit for the start of today’s program. Well, I know from personal experience that the surest way to get a laugh out of the Almighty is to tell him you got plans.

  “So a few hours ago, I was in my home office doing a little show prep. I’ve got the TV on one of the news channels and that ignoramus who stands next in line for the presidency pops up to close the book on his hunting accident. Watching this guy is like watching a car wreck—you know you shouldn’t look but you just can’t take your eyes off of it. So I watched and, God bless him, the Vice President did not disappoint.

  “There’s a poll out that pits Ross Egan against the President in this fall’s election. Against our great and illustrious leader, this man, who is not even running for office, is in a statistical dead heat. To put it in football terms: it’s almost halftime, the score is tied, and the visiting team isn’t even in the stadium.

  “Since Egan is not running this year, the poll looks four years out and pits him against the President’s rock-solid insurance policy against assassination, and the career politician and Beltway insider gets absolutely crushed by a guy who, in the Vice President’s own words, hasn’t even run for dog catcher. Whoever follows this bunch into office might want that job on their resume because there’s an awful lot of progressive excrement that’ll need to be cleaned up.

  “Now, as flattering as this might be to some, Ross Egan shouldn’t let this poll go to his head. I frankly would have been disappointed in anything less than a total blowout against the Vice President. In all honesty, I bet my niece’s sock monkey would beat that gaffe-prone pinnacle of ignorance, too.

  “So this young reporterette from one of the Baltimore papers asks the veep what he thinks of this poll and he just rips right into her. It’s a puffball question about a meaningless poll and he takes it like a personal insult.

  “The only thing thinner than the Vice President’s hair is his skin. But the real reason I bring this little temper tantrum up is that it was very instructive.

  “First, the Vice President made light of Ross Egan’s accomplishments, stating that what was done in Dutannuru could not work in America. Mr. Vice President, I have news for you—it already has worked in America. And, God willing, once you and the President and the rest of their left-wing, ivory-tower elitists are tossed out and your discredited economic, political, and social policies are scrapped, what made America great the first time around will do so again.

  “The man’s colossal ignorance never ceases to amaze me. The agenda of this administration is nothing new. It’s been tried time and again and it always, I repeat always, fails. Conversely, the simple, elegant, universal truths articulated in our founding documents work every time they’re tried.

  “Here’s the best way to illustrate my point. For roughly a century, the United States has been an economic superpower with the highest per capita GDP in the world. A decade ago, Dutannuru was near the bottom of the GDP list. By some measures, Dutannuru is still a third-world country, but their per capita GDP has soared into the top forty percent of nations. If this trend continues, Dutannuru will be on track to overtake US per capita GDP in twenty years—faster if the President’s policies of wealth redistribution and economic destruction continue.

  “I’ll wrap up today’s monologue with a comment about gold. Gold is a big deal these days as people look for an asset that will hold its value while the President abuses the Treasury’s printing presses. The Vice President is apparently no longer satisfied with taking his bribes in cash and has moved his graft and corruption onto the gold standard. I say apparently because there’s no hard evidence that the Vice President took a payment in gold coins from the late union boss, but his stammering, incoherent evasion of the question raised more questions than answers. To paraphrase the immortal bard: The veep ‘doth protest too much, methinks.’”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  “The Vice President is here, sir,” the President’s personal secretary announced.

  “Show him in,” the President answered flatly.

  “Mr. President,” the Vice President said as he entered the Oval Office.

  “Close the door behind you,” the President commanded without looking up from his briefing book.

  The President then closed the book, stepped out from behind the imposing Resolute desk, and walked to the seating area in the center of the room. He motioned for the Vice President to take the seat to his left.

  Both men sat for a moment in stony silence, the most powerful man in the world glowering at his second-in-command. The Vice President opened his mouth once, but thought better of it and said nothing.

  “I saw your press conference,” the President began, straining to keep his voice even and calm. “Just what in the devil were you thinking?”

  “Mis—”

  The syllable barely passed the Vice President’s lips when the President cut him off.

  “The question was rhetorical, because I know full well that you weren’t thinking. The press is still largely on our side, but that little tirade of yours against that reporter will cost us. You will apologize for your conduct, and you will make this right.”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  “Good. Now the poll that she asked you about—it’s ours.”

  “What?”

  “Our campaign is behind the polling on Ross Egan. We are quietly encouraging the movement to draw him into the race.”

  “If he’s polling so strongly, why would we want to run against him?”

  The President shook his head, as if the situation couldn’t be clearer. “The polls show what we want them to show. A three-way race with Egan splitting the right works to our advantage. The great press he’s receiving is designed to fan the flames of
interest in him as an alternative to the Republicans, who just haven’t been able to agree on a nominee.”

  “A shame,” the Vice President said with a smirk.

  “Isn’t it?” the President agreed. “Egan has the appeal of a populist and there is some big money on the right in search of a new champion. He also sees himself as something of a patriot, so when he’s approached with a serious appeal to serve his country in its time of need, I think he’ll heed the call.”

  “If Egan’s going to run, he better decide soon or he’ll miss the boat.”

  “I have it on good authority that several of the foreign leaders he’s met with recently have quietly probed his interest. He’s warming to the idea.”

  “So how do we play it?”

  “Officially, the American people deserve to hear all reasonable voices in the debate on the serious challenges facing our great nation. Until he announces his candidacy, we make no official comment on the hypothetical. Quietly, and with that self-effacing charm you’re known for, you can express relief that we’re not running against him. And that’s how you should spin it when you apologize to that reporter. Telegraph a subtle hint of fear and it will swell the pressure building around Egan to run.”

  The Vice President gazed out at the protesters amassed in Lafayette Park as his motorcade departed from the White House. Among the banners and placards on display, he read the one raised by a man dressed in battle-worn military fatigues:

  YOUR HEALTHCARE

  KILLED MY FATHER!

  YOUR DEATH TAX

  KILLED OUR FARM!

  Against the patterned desert camouflage, the Vice President espied a thick blue ribbon worn around the protester’s neck. Near the man’s heart hung the five-pointed star of the Medal of Honor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  HOUGHTON, MICHIGAN

  MAY 5

  Nearly a thousand young women and men filed into the SDC Ice Arena, their solemn entry marked by the Keweenaw Symphony Orchestra’s skillful rendition of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Flashbulbs twinkled from the stands surrounding the arena floor as proud families searched for their graduates and basked in the moment.

  Once all of those graduating were in place, the dignitaries for the commencement ceremony processed onto the stage. The academic robes worn by the faculty and administration displayed the global depth of their scholarship, doctoral degrees earned from many of the world’s most prestigious universities.

  Ross Egan ascended to the stage robed in the colors of Michigan Technological University, the institution from which he had earned his undergraduate and graduate degrees in engineering. He recalled in vivid detail the pride he felt on earning his master’s degree, and the joy that his married life with Maggie would begin just two weeks later. His was a commencement day in the fullest sense, the day that his adult life began.

  He only half listened to the university president and the other speakers, his thoughts rushing between past, present, and future. He felt a swell of emotion for the sea of young graduates seated before him, ready to dive into the wide world. Egan’s reverie ended when he heard the university president begin his introductory remarks for the commencement speaker.

  “… and I am proud and delighted to welcome back to Houghton a favorite son of Michigan Tech, Ross Egan.”

  The graduates and the audience rose to their feet, filling the arena with thunderous applause. The president shook Egan’s hand near the lectern, and then returned to his seat. On cue, the front four rows of engineering graduates raised their mortarboards and tilted them toward the stage. The altered tops spelled out: EGAN 4 PRES!

  Egan and those onstage applauded the ingenuity and choreography of the statement. As the applause ebbed, Egan adjusted the microphone to his six-foot height and opened the folio containing his prepared remarks. He considered the text for a moment, and then closed the folio and decided instead to speak from the heart.

  “My God, it is good to be back home in the UP!”

  Another surge of applause echoed inside the cavernous arena.

  “And if absence makes the heart grow fonder, then my heart is sure to burst with the affection I feel for this amazing place and for all of you who truly make this beautiful peninsula heaven.

  “My thanks to the university and to all of you for inviting me to share in this celebration of your accomplishments. It really does seem like yesterday that I received my last degree and set out on a journey that I could never have imagined. In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss: Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

  “My wish for you is bound in a prayer that I have struggled to live my life by—‘May God grant you the serenity to accept the things you cannot change; the courage to change the things you can; and the wisdom to know the difference.’ I say struggled because a bullheaded Irish engineer like me has trouble imagining anything I can’t fix.”

  The audience rippled with laughter.

  “Now, I am of the belief that commencement speakers should talk more about the graduates and less about themselves. This is your party and I am just an invited guest.”

  The graduates loudly cheered and applauded.

  “As an occupant of the world that you are about to join as contributing adults, I do feel an obligation to provide, for lack of better words, full disclosure. Most of you are citizens of the United States by birth. It is your good fortune to be born into a republic that believes at its core that you enjoy certain inalienable rights as a simple consequence of your existence—the two are intimately bound together. The republic exists solely to protect the environment in which each citizen is free to enjoy those liberties derived from their rights.

  “The key to understanding how the United States became the greatest nation the world has ever seen, and why we are experiencing the problems that now beset us, lies in a simple truth. The United States is a nation of unique individuals, and our form of government functions best when it treats each and every person as a unique individual. It is the union of these millions of unique individuals that creates this entity called the United States. E Pluribus Unum—Out of Many, One.

  “You are stepping into adulthood at a time when the world seems to thrive on affixing labels. You are part of the youth vote, or the male or female vote, or whatever sub-ethnic, racial, socioeconomic category some statistician can devise. Some of this labeling is about as useful as the ERA for left-handed pitchers against ambidextrous batters, on the third Tuesdays of the month, in the second game of a doubleheader.

  “There’s an old joke about the difference between architects and engineers. Architects, it is said, know a little about a lot, while engineers know a lot about a little. As architects know less and less about more and more, they will eventually know nothing about everything. And as engineers know more and more about less and less, they will eventually know everything about nothing.

  “The only reasonable way to categorize the people of the United States is all or nothing. We are one nation made of millions of unique individuals—any other way of looking at it dilutes what unifies us. Politically, it is a tactic known as divide and conquer.

  “All of you graduates were born in the digital age and probably had computer chips in your cribs. I’m sure that each and every one of you has a cell phone that can do more than the mainframe computers that put men on the moon. Now, let me ask you a question. How many of you know about Who Is I?”

  All of the graduates raised their hands.

  “Great. Grammar aside, this website poses an interesting, if not cryptic, philosophical question. Who Is I? I guess that depends on what the heck I means. For me, I means individual. The one. I.” Egan poked an index finger at his chest.

  “We are, each and every one of us, unique and irreplaceable. Each of us is an independent entity, and the only one that has been or will ever be. Individual. Irreplaceable. Independent.

  “Who Is I?” Egan thundered. “I am! And so is each and every one of you.”

  Egan beamed a conspiratorial smile at the gr
aduates, who sat transfixed. Egan pointed at those in the front rows.

  “Could you all show everyone else here your encouraging message?”

  With a sense of anticipation, the graduates quickly filed out into the space between their seats and the stage and turned toward the audience. EGAN 4 PRES.

  “I do not accept that most of the problems afflicting this country cannot be fixed. I pray for the courage and your help to change what I can. Many will debate the wisdom of this decision, but all I can say is, better late than never!”

  The graduates began chanting Egan’s name.

  “Like many of you,” Egan shouted into the din with a broad smile. “Like many of you, I’m looking for a job. Today, I formally submit my application to you, in hope that you and the other citizens of these United States will be my next employer.”

  Egan waited through another round of applause and chanting.

  “The position I seek is my first in public service, but I know that my long career in bringing power to the people has prepared me well for the challenges it offers. I belong to no political party. My fellow Huskies, I’m Ross Egan and I’m running for president.”

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  MAY 6

  “… and we’re back to continue our conversation with the Vice President.”

  The Vice President smiled as the host of the Sunday morning issues program, Steve Zane, turned from the main camera toward him. The studio used a three-camera setup, allowing the director to switch between direct shots of the host and guest and an overall shot of them both. The Vice President had done enough interviews to understand when he was on camera and from where.

  “Now yesterday, both you and the President were commencement speakers,” Zane said.