The Director of the Secret Service, Harrison Smith, was excited. “What do you think, Paul?”
Paul Kelley, Secretary of the Treasury, was an appreciative audience. “Good work, Harrison.”
“It gets better, Mister Secretary, take a look at this list provided by American Airlines.”
“Holy cow!” Kelley exclaimed.
“I thought that would get a rise. C.K. McNamara is on the list. Coincidence? He flew from Austin to DFW in coach on an already full aircraft, but at DFW he paid a twelve hundred dollar upgrade to fly first class to Washington and from D.C. back to Austin. The man has come into money. As Ricky said to Lucy, “You got some splainin to do.”
Both men laughed.
“Sir, shall I run the tape?” It was Ralph. His briefing wasn’t finished.
“Oh, sure, play that. Listen to this, Paul.”
Harold, chipmunk-with-a-cold, squeaked out his information.
“Now play the clean version.”
The assembled listened carefully as Harold pointed the finger of blame.
“Conscientious objector?” The Secretary asked.
“No idea, but if we had no other evidence at this juncture, that recording would be more than another layer of icing on an already decorated cake. What else, Ralph?”
“Secret Service has secured a search warrant from a judge in Austin. We’ll be checking CK’s apartment and his campaign headquarters this morning.”
The Secretary shook his head. “C.K. McNamara… I can’t believe it! Harrison, tell your guys to grill him well done. There’s some explanation, I’m sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to let that pompous windbag squirm a little. Just wish I could see it.”
“Judging from the calls we’ve received from the media asking what we know about a connection between CK and the Gunnison Gang, someone else wants to see that too, sir.”
Kelley whistled softly. “He’s being set up for a fall. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
Congressional Hearing (6 September 1994)
The gavel hammered harshly as the Congressional hearing was brought to order and the special session convened. Photographers and journalists filled the chamber as C-Span’s cameras rolled. CK leaned forward and nervously drummed his fingers on the table. He was straining at the leash. Brandon was seated across the room to CK’s right, tipped back on two chair legs, talking animatedly with his brother, apparently, without a care in the world.
The Chairman droned on with introductory remarks as an aide whispered into CK’s ear.
“What? What are they looking for?” CK answered in a low voice. “Stolen money? There’s no stolen…” his words trailed off as images flooded his mind. He glanced across the room, and caught Daniel’s eye. The younger man waved. His chin, resting on the knuckles of his right hand, never moved, but his fingers unfurled and curled twice and subtle as it was, there was a hint of a smile.
The meeting did not go well for McNamara. He tried his best at bombast, but was distracted by his own concerns. He ranted shrilly, haunted by the specter of Secret Service agents violating his privacy. Brandon was more amused than offended and when given an opportunity held his listeners spellbound by giving an abbreviated account of his debriefing at Ramstein. He ended by thanking Saddam Hussein and Hassan Rashid, for their generosity in supporting the Kurdish Resistance. The gavel banged for order and the laughter subsided.
The Chairman called for a five-minute recess after being handed a note from a member of his staff, and the gavel again announced the return to business.
“Mister Secretary, would you please rise?”
CK looked at his aides who shrugged.
“Mister Secretary, this committee has received disturbing news from the United States Secret Service which is charged with protecting our national treasury. Recently, a valuable shipment was taken from Global 620 when it was forced to land at Gunnison, Colorado. The Secret Service suffered a fatality in that robbery; many others died as well. Most of the stolen money was recovered but approximately five million dollars was not, until now. Some of the missing money has found its way to advertising agencies, an airline, and a shopping mall. Do you have any idea where we found millions more?”
CK shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir, you will have to speak your answer to my question.”
“No.”
“Well then, this might surprise you. The Secret Service found those millions in laundry bags stored in a closet at your Austin apartment.”
The assembly went nuts as reporters scrambled for exits and photographers recorded the stunned look on film.
“I can explain,” CK said weakly.
“That’s fortunate.” The Chairman glared.
CK’s legal advisor urged him to be silent but CK barged ahead. “My legal advisor has urged me to say nothing more, Mister Chairman, but I have nothing to hide. The money you speak of was a gift, a campaign contribution from Mister L. C. Stuart who visited with me in Austin.”
“Mister Secretary, the Secret Service has given me a list of your donors and Mr. L. C. Stuart is on that list. We’ll take a five minute recess.” The gavel hammered once and a second time minutes later to resume the hearing.
“Mister Secretary, we have spoken with Mrs. L. C. Stuart. She asserts that her husband has been confined to bed at the M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston for months. He has not visited Austin nor made any political contributions. In fact, there is no record of a five million dollar donation anywhere. I’m not a judge, Mister Secretary, but I believe that’s a violation of our existing campaign laws.”
CK stood in stunned silence. He looked across the room and Daniel raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders as if he had no idea what the Chairman was talking about.
“You did this!” CK screamed. “You did this, didn’t you? Tell them. Tell them!”
The gavel hammered for order.
“Who are you accusing, Mister Secretary? Sergeant Stiles?”
“No, his brother, that smiling Cheshire cat at his side.”
The Chairman looked at Daniel who looked wounded.
“Daniel Stiles was in my office trying to sell his POW theory but I didn’t buy it and this is his way of retaliating.”
“Mister Stiles, do you have something to say to this committee?”
“Yes, sir. I did visit Mr. McNamara, and he refused to help me, saying I had no proof. I thought I did, but the evidence I had, he took from me. He refused to even consider the possibility that an American Fighting Man was left behind on his watch as SECDEF. He dismissed the whole idea. I received support at CIA and a promise to do everything possible to get the White House involved.”
“Did the White House respond?”
“No, sir.”
“And why might that be?”
“I don’t know, sir, perhaps it was too hot a political issue.”
“Whoa!” exclaimed the President’s Press Secretary watching on TV. “Get the President on the horn now!”
Moments later he heard the President’s voice.
“I know; I saw it too. We have to cut CK loose or he’ll drag us all down and we have an election to think about. Go with the cover story and go now!”
The next call the Press Secretary placed was to an assistant, Jimmy Havern, who was seated in the Congressional chamber. The cell phone silently alerted him.
“Go ahead with the cover. Do it now!”
Jimmy stood and raised his voice. “Mister Chairman, may I address this hearing?”
“The Chair recognizes the Assistant Press Secretary. Do you have a question Mister Havern?”
“No sir, I have an answer for Mr. Stiles.”
“Step forward to the microphone. This is not a court of law. It is a hearing and the Press Secretary wishes to make a statement to be entered into the record. Proceed.”
“Mister Chairman, the CIA report did reach the White House and our President was shocked and concerned.”
CK saw the handwriting being writ on the wall, and sank disconsolately into his chair.
“The President ordered a rescue plan to be developed immediately. The CIA and the elite Delta Force were to be used to extract him once his location was determined. We were still narrowing our search when Sergeant Stiles showed just how resourceful he is by escaping his captors. The President sends his congratulations to this brave soldier and to his Service, the U.S. Army Special Forces. Sergeant Brandon Stiles and his fellow Green Berets are an exceptional fighting force and a source of pride for this great nation.”
The Assistant Press Secretary turned away from the microphone to face Brandon, and slowly but firmly clapped his hands. The tempo hastened when joined by other hands. Soon the entire hall was filled with cheers and thunderous applause, joined by a band of brothers miles away whose noisy approval roused the nurses.
Elizabeth, the beautiful reporter, flashed a brilliant smile and with her hands signaled “Hook ‘em Horns” and Brandon smiled and nodded. “Friend of yours?” Daniel asked as he leaned into his brother. (Long pause)
“Not yet, but with a little luck…” he left the question hanging,
Price For A Patriot Page 38