by Marvin Tyson
Marty spoke up quickly. “I agree on the first part about me making a short statement, but I don’t know about your going to D.C. I mean, I should talk to Rick before I ask his wife to get back in the ‘undercover’ business again. I asked you here to get advice, not put you in danger.”
“Give him a call, then,” she said breezily. “But he’s a lot more intuitive than you think. When I walked out, he kissed me and said, ‘I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks’ with a smile on his face. He knows who he married, Marty.”
Raymond said, “I never thought the day would come when we would trust the possible future of Texas to a seven-months’ pregnant little Yankee girl, but I can’t imagine Texas being in better hands.” He smiled at her charmingly. The four men gathered around her like a quartet of doting daddies, both to let her know she would get anything she needed to get to the bottom of this, and to assure her they put her safety above anything else. Love was not too strong a word for the emotions each of these men felt for her.
She asked to talk to Marty alone as everyone was filing out the door and, as soon as the others were gone, she said, “Marty, I need Demetrious and Sammy to work with me on this. You know, just in case my belly gets in the way.” She said it with a little laugh, but he knew she was serious. Demetrious, otherwise called “De” for short, was a twelve-year veteran of Marine Recon and Sammy was Army Special Forces for about the same length of time. They had proved their skill and worth to him on more than one occasion, while saving his hide in a couple of testy situations.
“You get anyone or anything you need. I’ll take care of the funding,” he told her.
“Thanks, Marty, I couldn’t take that on by myself, and I appreciate your support.”
“I know you trust these guys, Pat, and I agree with your choice in this case. They won’t let you or Texas down; I’m sure of that.” He hesitated, then continued. “You just remember one thing. I don’t want to have to face off with Rick if something goes south on you, so you let the guys take care of the tough stuff and you can just give orders. How’s that? Agreed?”
“You know it, Marty. Don’t I always follow orders?” She shot him a grin that dared him to disagree.
“Okay, I’m gonna hold you to that!” he called as she headed out the door. “Uh-huh,” he said under his breath. “If you stick to that agreement, you’re not Pat Saunders Thomas.”
He went to the door and asked Norma to find Bill and Kay and have them meet in his office in fifteen minutes. Then he sat down in his chair, reflecting on what was going on in the new nation. They had so much to do, and now they had to deal with the pettiness of a former politician who couldn’t get the message that his time was over.
There was a soft knock at the door. “Come,” he called.
Kay and Norma entered the room, and Bill arrived a few minutes later. The women took the chairs in front of the desk, and Bill migrated to a small table in the corner of the room where he planted himself and his laptop.
“What do you want to start with, Bill?” Marty asked.
“Now that we’ve got the elephant in the room cut down to size, how about you give us an update on how the new constitution is coming along?” Bill brushed his fingers along the keyboard, then looked up at Marty.
Marty rested his elbows on his desk and his chin on his clenched fingers. “As you know, we have a working committee on the new constitution to decide a number of things, like what form it should take,” he told them. “We’ve selected the delegates, and we’ll be working to get the constitution into something we can put before the voters for ratification.”
He had sat in with the working committee several times, and words like “compromise,” “consensus,” “debate,” and “principle” were tossed around vigorously in the ongoing debate, but there was not much evidence of that in reality. Nothing about the referendum had managed to “cure” Texans of their inherent stubbornness. “There’s a lot of stubborn Texans out there, as we all know.”
The two ladies chuckled, because it was well established that if you wanted to get something done in Texas, all you had to do was announce it couldn’t be done.
“Well,” Kay said, “I sat in on some of those meetings, and there is no lack of strong opinion on everything. The biggest concern, I think, is how to write in the protections for individual liberties. Maybe those discussions made their way to President Jackson, who decided they’d be great fodder for the gossip mill.”
A young aide knocked and entered the room with a carafe of coffee. Marty took his black again, drinking it from a mug bearing the gubernatorial seal of Texas. “Boy, that hits the spot,” he said.
The ladies helped themselves to their own versions of the brew, Norma spooning sugar and some cream into her cup, and Kay drinking hers black like Marty. Bill asked the aide to bring him some hot water, a cup, and a tea bag. The aide rushed off to fill the request.
Marty had known the constitution operation would not be easy. “It’s going to be a battle to get everyone on the same page with the constitution, but life will go on until it’s done,” he told them. “It’s really important to get this right the first time.”
One of the planks of the platform of the pro-independence side throughout the public debate leading up to the referendum was that Texas would not allow “judicial review” by any court. Texans had all seen enough of one judge throwing out the ballots of the people on a whim.
“We have to do the same thing the Founding Fathers did at the creation of the Union,” Bill said. He was a lawyer, and he’d seen how the disastrous perversion of the still respected U.S. Constitution by unscrupulous politicians and the courts caused the Texas Constitutional Convention’s delegates to insist on language that would be difficult to “misinterpret,” intentionally or not.
“It seems to be a question of how the delegates thought about this question,” Bill spoke up again. “Some delegates thought a great deal of time and effort should be spent on this, while others thought it had been largely dealt with by the understanding that no court at any level would be able to overrule the will of the people. After all, this is a republic, and the power to govern lies with the people. However, that can get pretty convoluted at times.”
He stood up and began to pace. “This second group argued that a ratified constitution would protect the rights of minorities, and a proposed, changing Citizen Committee would always have the authority lately usurped by the courts in the U.S. This committee would have the authoritative power to determine what the constitution’s words meant and should be sufficient protection. But, to move things along, they also offered a final protection, a direct vote of the people in the event of any unresolved differences of opinion of the committee. In other words, anything other than a unanimous opinion by the committee would see a ballot determination by the people as to the true meaning in the passage in question.”
“My goodness,” Norma said. “No wonder it’s taking so long!”
“Like I said earlier,” Kay repeated, “maybe President Jackson is just trying to keep things in turmoil on individual rights in Texas, and he’s trying to scare some groups who have just recently gotten things their way. All he needs to do is make some comment about the U.S. sending tanks into Texas, or something equally ridiculous, and he’s sown the seeds of disruption.”
“Yeah,” Marty said, “and that could be a real problem.” He stood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but my brain has decided to take a vacation, coffee or no coffee. Let’s stop and reconvene in the morning. We’ll all be sharper then.”
“Yes, sir,” Norma said. “I’ll be working a bit longer, but I’ll make sure I get a good night’s rest before tomorrow’s session. Goodnight, all.” She rose from her chair and went back into the reception area.
“I’ve still got work to do with my folks,” Kay said, “but, like Norma, I’ll be ready to hit the ground running in the morning.” She collected her tablet and briefcase and left the room.
“Well, Bill, that leav
es you and me. What do you say we get the heck out of here and have some downtime? Victoria will surely be glad to see me home before ten o’clock.”
“Agreed, sir. Let’s talk over coffee around seven tomorrow morning.”
“That’s a date, Bill. Goodnight.”
So the end of Marty’s first day as interim president of the Republic of Texas ended with a whimper, in contrast to the excitement of the morning. He called for his car, and walked out into the cold night air to be escorted to his vehicle by Texas Rangers, who provided him safety for his journey home to his wife, Victoria.
Chapter 3
Bill O’Hare walked unsteadily into his office. He was tired, and he was scared. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it, grateful for the support. It had been a long day, and he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a good night’s sleep.
He had a wife and two kids he loved above all else, but that hadn’t kept him from having an affair with one of the secretaries who worked for a high-placed Republican representative. It had only lasted a couple of weeks, but his guilt had taken a toll on him. It wasn’t something he’d intended to happen―far from it. But Amy Burton had been so flirty, so eager to match him drink for drink on the one night he’d stopped for a drink before going home. Before he knew it, he’d lost control and, once she kissed him, rubbing up against him several times before coaxing him to a motel not far away, it was done. He was a cheater, and nothing would change that now.
But that wasn’t why he was scared, or not the only reason. He’d gotten an anonymous phone call on his private cellphone number two days earlier. A voice, speaking with an accent he couldn’t place, told him his secret was known and would be made public if he didn’t do what he was told to do. What he was told to do put the fear of God into him.
“Don’t worry, Mr. O’Hare,” the voice said. “You’ll be well rewarded for this task. Make it easy on yourself and agree you’ll do this.”
Bill hesitated, and the voice, which had seemed almost pleasant before, became ominous and threatening. “Now, Mr. O’Hare, I need to know now.”
“And if I say no?” Bill asked, his own voice weak and shaky; he had a pretty good idea of what would happen if he said no.
“Your affair will become a major embarrassment not only to you, but to Marty Kert and the new presidency, the new country,” came the reply. “Or we might just kill you.” The voice on the other end laughed, a hard rasping sound, but Bill didn’t hear any real humor in it. “Now, your decision, please.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do it,” Bill whispered.
“I did not hear you, Mr. O’Hare. Please speak up.”
Bill raised his voice as much as he dared. “Yes, damn it, yes!”
“Good. You will receive further instructions soon.” The line went dead.
Bill sat. His knees were shaking uncontrollably, and sweat dripped down his nose. What had he just agreed to? Now he knew what Judas Iscariot must have felt like. He was about to embark on a betrayal, and the “thirty pieces of silver” were going to be delivered to him. Sinking back into the soft chair, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the sweat, now combined with tears.
Following meetings with Marty over the last week or so, Bill knew he was in a corner, a cage of his own making. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
Chapter 4
Republican President Harold Barker was relaxing in the Oval Office, in one of those rare quiet moments he’d had few of since coming to the White House, when his chief of staff, Duncan McCarthy, hurried in.
McCarthy, who had been appointed chief of staff immediately following President Barker’s election, was a stout man, balding, with a crown of black hair like a monk’s tonsure. His suit jacket had been discarded at some point after he’d arrived at his office, and his white, button-down shirt was mostly tucked into his black trousers. His gold tie, accented with black stripes, was loosened, and Barker decided McCarthy had arrived at work at his usual six o’clock. He was from the president’s hometown, and the president trusted the man personally, as well as his political instincts. A pair of rectangular glasses perched halfway down McCarthy’s nose, and he looked a little owl-like as he approached President Barker.
“Good morning, Duncan,” Barker said. “Coffee?”
“No, sir, thank you. I’ve had three cups already and, unless you want me dangling from the chandelier and chattering like a monkey, you’ll appreciate it if I pass.”
“Okay, then, what’s so urgent?” Barker asked.
“Turn on CNN, sir,” Duncan said.
The president grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, which was set on CNN. The channel was doing a replay of the Jackson statement.
President Barker leaned in toward the broadcast. As the scene at the press conference unfolded, he was caught completely off guard by the former president’s statement. At the end of it, he sat back in the chair, and reached up to loosen the maroon tie he’d put on that morning. He yanked at the knot as if he was having trouble breathing, then collected himself so he could try to figure out what the heck was going on.
Picking up his cellphone, he dialed a number and waited impatiently for someone to answer on the other end. “Ralph, get in here right away, and bring Frank Mitchell if he’s here. We’ve got a problem.”
He laid his phone on the desk and walked to the door, looking out. Alicia Moore, his secretary, had just gotten to her desk. Her curly blonde hair framed an oval face, and green eyes sparkled behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked professional in a gray business suit topped with a lace-trimmed blouse.
“Alicia, can you come in and take notes for me?”
“I can, sir.” She opened a drawer and took out a steno pad, then picked up the cup of coffee she’d just prepared and moved into the Oval Office.
The president went over and poured himself a cup of tea, which he preferred over coffee. He plucked a silver spoon from several laid out on the white tablecloth and stirred in a packet of artificial sweetener. He took a big gulp and a deep breath.
As they waited for the attorney general and Senator Mitchell, chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, President Barker thought back to his recent conversation with Corbin Jackson. He had met with the former president about a week earlier to discuss how the new nation of Texas was going to deal with individual liberties. He remembered telling the former president flatly that he was certain Texas would be better than any state on earth about safeguarding individual liberties and rights. Where it got confused after that, he had no idea.
Ralph Smart, the attorney general and the president’s son-in-law, strode into the office, followed closely by Senator Mitchell. These men were two of the president’s main advisors and, along with Duncan McCarthy, would have some idea of what, if anything, should be done. Ralph was good at political analysis, and Barker wanted to get Mitchell’s thoughts on how Jackson’s comments might affect the relationship between Texas and the U.S.
Ralph Smart crossed the room to shake the president’s hand. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Ralph, did you or President Jackson say anything after we met the other day that would cause him to make the antagonistic statement he made last night?”
“No, sir,” Smart said. “I didn’t even hear about it until late this morning.” He helped himself to a cup of black coffee, then sipped it as he peered over the cup at the president.
“Do we need to do anything about this? I don’t even know where he came up with that nonsense,” blurted Barker, looking from Smart to Mitchell. “This could undo a lot we’ve already done to get things on good working terms with Texas.”
“You know he’s just blowing smoke, sir. If I were in your position, I think I would just overlook it,” Smart said. “Or at least try to. President Jackson is not altogether stable, in my opinion. I’m pretty sure most people realize it, and think he’s just trying to get attention. Unless it leads to a serious confrontation with Texas of
ficials, my suggestion would be to just let it go.”
“I’m determined to keep relations with Texas as open and friendly as possible because it’s mutually beneficial,” Barker said. “If Jackson keeps this up, he’s going to screw everything up royally.” He didn’t say what he was really thinking―that Jackson pretty much screwed most everything up anyway.
“Yes, sir,” Ralph agreed, nodding before he took another sip of the fragrant coffee. “I’m with you one hundred percent on that score. Texas has got some powerful assets going for it.”
“How about you, Frank? Have you had a chance to talk with your committee?”
“No, Mr. President,” the senator replied. “I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about. Jackson just doesn’t seem to want to let go of his former role.”
“All right, then,” the president said, escorting Ralph and the senator to the door. “I won’t waste any more time on it. Hopefully, it will just fade away and nobody will think any more about it.” Somehow, that thought didn’t do much to ease his concern.
Chapter 5
As U.S. Attorney General Ralph Smart entered the bar, he noticed Senator Frank Mitchell was the only other person there that he recognized, and he was glad of that. He felt a real dread of anyone seeing Mitchell and him in the same room with ex-President Jackson, so he was relieved. If anyone connected the three of them, it would certainly be the end of his career and perhaps even his life.
He didn’t say hello as he took a seat facing the senator. His stomach was in knots as he waited to find out why he had been summoned to a public place in broad daylight. At least the former president wasn’t there, and the AG could always come up with a plausible reason for meeting with a sitting senator.
“Things are moving quickly on all fronts now, Smart, and we’ll need you to tell us about anything going on in the White House that you think has even a remote chance of affecting us; do you understand?” asked Senator Mitchell.