by Bobby Akart
Sarge took a deep breath and brought up his courage. Out with it!
“Sir, did you know about the cyber attack before it happened?”
Morgan managed a small smile and gently nodded his head without losing eye contact with Sarge. “What difference does it make if I did?” A question with a question.
“Well,” started Sarge, leaning forward on the table, “you must admit the world has been turned on its head, and it is human nature to seek answers. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Ahh, Henry, curiosity killed the cat. Is an inquiry such as yours necessary or in anyone’s best interest?”
“Are you denying your involvement?” asked Sarge, who was now emboldened because Morgan was toying with him. He could feel Abbie’s glare with the eyes in the back of his head.
“Sarge, really?” she asked. “Is this absolutely necessary?”
Without turning, Sarge responded, “It is, Abbie. Regardless of motivation, the time to get this out in the open is now.” He returned his focus back to Morgan.
“Satisfaction brought it back,” said Sarge, referring to the curious cat.
“Indeed.” Morgan laughed, appearing to relax. He was up to the challenge. “What would satisfy you, Henry?”
“It’s not just me, sir. It’s for all of us, including all of the lives who we take responsibility for here on Prescott Peninsula. The truth will satisfy me, and then I can satisfy others. Let me ask you again. Are you denying your involvement?”
“Okay, Sarge. That’s enough!” shouted Abbie as she got off the sofa. “This isn’t some courtroom or police interrogation room. My father’s not on trial.”
Steven reached out to her. “Abbie, please,” he said. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
Abbie began to tear up and then relented. She sat down next to Steven with her arms folded, staring at the pine floors.
Morgan stood and began to pace. He was assuming his position of authority. His comfort zone. “Henry, I will allow you this conversation one time. I’ve loved both of you boys as if you were my sons. This is my family, here in this room. But my family includes everyone in my charge. Here, and all over the world. I owe them a duty as well. That said, this conversation stays here. Does everyone agree?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Steven, with Abbie nodding as well. Sarge remained stoic, staring at the man who had been instrumental in Sarge’s success. He nodded his head once at Morgan, indicating his acquiescence.
Morgan continued to stand with his hands in his pockets, staring down at Sarge. “You have said many times, Henry, that all empires collapse eventually. You have expressed in your teachings, and books, that America is no exception. You were right. America has collapsed.”
“Sir, did you help it along?” asked Sarge.
“It has been collapsing for decades, socially and economically,” he replied. “This nation is a far cry from what our blood relatives, the Founding Fathers, intended for this great country. It is a nation conceived in self-reliance, built on the back of freedom-loving patriots who were willing to make the sacrifices necessary to survive and thrive. It is a nation that has lost its way.”
“I don’t disagree, sir,” interrupted Sarge. “America had certain founding principles, including the freedom to succeed and fail. But failure should occur on its own, not at the behest of others. Some empires collapse when they are defeated by a greater enemy. I’m trying to ascertain who the enemy is.”
Morgan fired back. “Well, it certainly isn’t me! You saw the signs. All of us did. America was a nation in decline politically, economically, and especially socially. There were no signs of America correcting its course of destruction.”
“It was not up to you to set its course,” said Sarge. “I, too, have been dismayed over the state of our country. But I have confidence in the American people to rise up and right the ship. The cyber attack was too much.”
“Perhaps, but that is your opinion, Henry. I, along with many of our friends, believed drastic measures were necessary to put America back on sound footing. I have said many times that I don’t believe America’s best days are behind her. The Founding Fathers would be appalled at how our nation’s freedoms and ideals have been squandered.”
“Sir, the Founding Fathers also agreed that a system should be established to course correct. When a mighty empire like the United States is failing, our ancestors had confidence in their fellow Americans to follow a process that includes elections, a judiciary that upholds the constitution, and executive leadership seeking the best interest of the nation.”
“Very idealistic, and naïve, young man,” said Morgan. “I’m surprised that you believe that dribble. Elections are rigged. The judiciary is stacked with activist judges. The executive branch is wrought with corruption.”
“The Sons of Liberty effectuated change against all odds, did they not?” asked Sarge.
“Yes, they did,” replied Morgan. “But they didn’t do it without a catalyst to spark the fight for independence. The Boston Tea Party was the stimulus for the Revolution.”
“Very true. But the Boston Tea Party was not as extreme as the cyber attack.”
“Henry, a reset was in order. A catalyst was required. Otherwise, our country was headed into a deeper decline that would result in some version of European Socialism, erasing all of the hard work of the Founding Fathers.”
“How can you justify this? The cyber attack will result in millions of people dying!”
Morgan’s face became red with anger. He started to shake and unconsciously massaged his left arm. “Now you listen to me. A reset was in order. I know it will be painful for many, as change often is. But our forefathers knew, as should you, that revolutions are nasty business. In the case of our country, a violent, forceful, and extreme event is exactly what this country needed to have the desired effect.”
“People are dying as a result,” said Sarge, shaking his head.
“No, the herd is being culled. The weak and the takers may die, but the strong and the makers will survive. America will be placed on solid footing once again!”
Now Sarge understood. The man he admired and looked up to since the death of his own father considered himself a steward of America’s freedoms. John Morgan’s heart was in the right place with the best of intentions. His methods, however, might have been misguided.
Or were they? Sarge doubted America could be restored to its former greatness through a series of election cycles. America’s culture was lost to moral deprivation and the expectation of entitlement. More than half of Americans depended on the government to take care of them in some manner. This sense of entitlement was pervasive throughout their society. Those who were self-reliant were ridiculed and punished through taxes that were redistributed to those who professed to be entitled. It was a vicious cycle that needed to be broken, but was never addressed by the elected officials. Welfare was not only the third rail of the American political system, it had become the main rail.
Sarge’s mind went back to Morgan’s immediate response, which was what difference does it make if I did? After considering Morgan’s reasoning, Sarge began to agree it didn’t make a difference. The real question was where do we go from here?
Chapter 44
Thursday, September 29, 2016
8:00 p.m.
Prescott Peninsula
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
Sarge was the first to notice something was wrong with Morgan. His face seemed contorted, as if it were uneven. He appeared to become confused and unaware of his surroundings. Morgan momentarily lost his balance, but then steadied himself against a wall. He reached for the chair but was several feet away.
“Sir, are you okay?” asked Sarge.
“Daddy!” shouted Abbie.
Morgan tried to speak, insisting that he was okay, but he slurred his words as if he were drunk.
Sarge rushed to his side and led him to the chair. Morgan winced as he attempted to hold his head. He was unable to communica
te and his eyes glossed over. Abbie was shouting for her father, but he could not respond.
“Get J.J.!” shouted Sarge to Steven, who immediately bolted out the door.
Morgan again attempted to speak, saying words that resembled my head.
“Sir, sir!” yelled Sarge, trying to get Morgan to focus on Sarge’s face. “Can you smile for me? Please, try to raise your eyebrows.” The right side of Morgan’s face responded, but the left side did not.
“Whaaaa ung,” said Morgan, still barely coherent.
Sarge turned to Abbie. “Listen to me, Abbie. Your dad is having a stroke. Are you with me? Can you help me?”
Abbie was crying uncontrollably, but she nodded her head.
“Help me get him to the sofa. We need to prop him up on the pillows.” Sarge and Abbie helped Morgan lie down. They made sure to keep his head and shoulders raised. Abbie unbuttoned his shirt in an effort to loosen his clothing. She lovingly wiped his mouth with her shirt sleeves.
“Daddy, don’t worry. Help is on the way. You be comfortable, all right.”
He attempted to look in her eyes and smile, but managed only a skewed grin. He gripped her arm with his right hand.
“Keep talking to him, Abbie,” said Sarge. “Keep him awake. Try to have him focus on squeezing your hand.” Sarge heard loud voices and shouts heading toward the bungalow. He ran out to grab J.J. A crowd immediately surrounded the building.
“What happened, Sarge?” asked J.J. pushing his way past and inside.
Sarge followed him and answered, “Stroke, I think. The symptoms started about five minutes ago. He became unsteady on his feet, and he has been slurring his words. He is able to grip Abbie’s hand with his right arm, but he hasn’t moved his left. Also, he seems to have a headache.”
Steven entered the bungalow, followed by Lowell, Cabot and Susan Quinn. The space was overcrowded, which drew a quick response from J.J. “Everybody out. Too many people in here for the man to breathe. Susan, you stay. Abbie and Sarge, please move back.”
Steven led everyone outside except for Abbie. J.J. shouted at him before he left, “Steven, get Brad. Find out where the helicopter pilot is.”
“I’m on it,” replied Steven.
“Susan, get me my bag and the portable defib. Also, bring the blood pressure cuff. Hurry.”
“What can I do, J.J.?” asked Abbie through her tears. Sarge handed her a Kleenex, and he provided J.J. both a warm, wet towel and a dry one.
“Let me ask you some questions about his health. Has he ever had a stroke or a heart attack before?”
“No.”
“He’s not diabetic, is he?”
“No.”
“What about medications, especially for high blood pressure, cholesterol, or artery disease?”
Abbie went to a kitchen cabinet and found her father’s Lisinopril bottle, which was a common high blood pressure medication. She handed it to J.J. “He’s been out of his normal meds. This was the best we had available.”
Brad and Steven returned. “Damn it,” said Brad as he saw Morgan stretched out on the sofa. Some of the women gathered outside were crying.
“Where is the pilot?” asked J.J.
“He’s at Fort Devens. I can have him here in about an hour.”
“Crap. Listen, get him back and be ready to fly out of here.”
“To where?” asked Sarge.
“I don’t know, Mass General is in shambles,” replied J.J. “We’d have to find another hospital.”
“Excuse me, Brad,” said Susan as she forced her way inside. Brad immediately turned and left to contact the helicopter pilot.
Morgan was groaning and attempting to reach for his head. His face was still drooping on the left side.
“Stay with me, Mr. Morgan, while I check your vitals,” said J.J. “Thank you, Abbie, let Susan slide in here to assist me, please.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Susan, who took out the stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff. J.J. immediately checked Morgan’s blood pressure and pulse.
“Keep him comfortable and wipe away any secretions from his mouth. Make sure his airway stays clean and open. Use these towels to wipe his brow. Use a patting motion, don’t rub or cause his head to swivel unnecessarily.”
J.J. took another moment to examine Morgan’s eyes with a pocketscope and listened to his breathing with the stethoscope. Satisfied, he put the equipment in his bag. He stood up and whispered to Susan, who smiled and continued watching over Morgan.
“Come over here,” started J.J.
“Did he have a heart attack?” asked Abbie frantically.
“No, Abbie. I believe—” said J.J. before Abbie interrupted him.
“He’s been under so much stress. This whole scene tonight was unnecessary. This could have been avoided, Sarge!”
Sarge looked at Abbie and then caught Julia looking at him through the doorway. He felt terrible. He didn’t mean for anything like this to happen.
“I’m sorry, Abbie,” pleaded Sarge. “I didn’t know he had a condition with his heart.” He folded his arms and stared at Morgan. Sarge tried to reach to Abbie, but she pulled away from him.
“Let me finish, please. Nobody caused this tonight. Nobody is at fault here. This was a ticking time bomb that he’s been carrying inside him for some time. This was not necessarily triggered by any argument or stress.”
“What has happened to my daddy?” asked Abbie, who began to recover from crying.
“I believe your dad had what’s called a transient ischemic attack—a ministroke. If I am right, and there is no way to be certain without a full medical evaluation, this will be just a brief episode.”
“He’s going to be okay, right?” asked Abbie.
“Yes, for now. Unlike an actual stroke, a TIA doesn’t result in permanent brain damage. The blood flow to his brain was temporarily interrupted by a blood clot that blocked a vessel or artery. Eighty to ninety percent of strokes are ischemic. Only a very small percentage are considered hemorrhagic, which are caused by a blood vessel in the brain that breaks, resulting in bleeding.”
“That’s good news,” said Sarge, trying to stay positive.
Abbie managed a nod.
“He’s not out of the woods yet,” cautioned J.J. “TIAs are strong predictors of a future stroke event. About five percent of victims will experience a true stroke within forty-eight hours. Although it is tempting to ignore his ministroke once the symptoms disappear, the attack should be considered a warning sign that a full-blown stroke is possible.”
“What’s the next step?” asked Sarge.
“He can stay here and rest. I will remain with Abbie and Susan. We’ll keep him calm and monitor his vitals. The more time that passes, the better his potential for averting a major stroke will be.”
“Okay,” said Sarge, looking past J.J. to the crowd outside. “What can I tell the others?”
J.J. turned to Abbie. “Why don’t you join Susan and keep your dad calm? Have him squeeze your hand and let him know you are there. Talk to him, Abbie. He needs to hear your voice.”
Abbie hugged J.J. as the tears welled up again in her eyes. “Thank you for helping him, J.J.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll be with you guys in a moment.”
Sarge leaned into J.J. and whispered, “Did you sugarcoat anything?”
“Not really,” replied J.J. as he lowered his voice. “The next twenty-four hours will be critical. Sarge, you know how I feel about him.”
“I know, J.J. I can’t argue with you. But he is—”
J.J. interrupted. “I hold him responsible for Sabina’s death. She and I should be sitting at home watching Netflix right now. Instead, she’s dead, in large part due to his actions. Don’t worry. I will treat him as my patient. It is my duty to keep him alive and nurse him back to health.”
Sarge placed both hands on J.J.’s shoulders, hugged him, and said thank you. There was no time to carry hatred or animosity. One never knew what the
next day would bring.
Chapter 45
Friday, September 30, 2016
10:16 a.m.
Prescott Peninsula
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
“I’m alive, my dear friends, and I plan to stay that way,” said Morgan to Lowell and Cabot. He’d sent Abbie to request his longtime trusted confidants join him. He had dodged a bullet, but it was the closest call of his life. Morgan dealt in the shadows of banking, geopolitical affairs, and the military-industrial complex. The bullets he had dodged in the past were related to political advantage or monetary gain. He had never come close to death. It was a defining moment in his life.
After a stroke, many victims experienced communication challenges known as aphasia. Some people had difficulty speaking while others had trouble understanding words spoken by others. Over time, those communications skills would improve, although the level of improvement was unpredictable.
Throughout his life, Morgan believed in the maxim that luck could result when preparation met opportunity. In his dealings, Morgan believed he made his own luck through planning. But the stroke was different. One couldn’t plan for achieving any measure of luck after a stroke. Luck was also believing you’re lucky, and John Morgan was. His stroke, while a shot across the bow, left him with very few adverse problems. J.J. advised him to rest and relax. J.J. further cautioned him his recovery would take months.
Morgan contemplated the ramifications of his near death and the potential for a more devastating stroke in the near future.
“John, you gave us quite a scare, old friend,” said Lowell as he sat down and gave Morgan’s hand a squeeze. “It is good to see you awake and alert.”
“Yes, John,” said Cabot, smiling. “I dreaded having to find another bridge partner. You have a way of staring down our opponents into making mistakes. It’s a gift, you know.”
Morgan smiled and motioned them to come closer. He whispered, “I love you old fools like brothers. I need you to stand with me now more than ever.”