Term Limits mr-1

by Vince Flynn

  A.M. four caissons, each pulled by three pairs of white horses, arrived at the foot of the

  Capitol steps. Senator Olson stood off to the side and admired the precision of the young military men as they lifted each coffin off its catafalque and marched toward the door. As

  Olson moved to follow the last coffin out the door, a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. The thin, small Senator turned to see the smiling and apologetic face of Michael

  O’Rourke. “I’m sorry about last night, Erik.” Olson reached up and patted O’Rourke’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Michael. This means a lot to me.” The two men turned, walked out the door, and descended the Capitol steps. One by one each coffin was carried by its special detail and placed on top of the black, two-wheeled carriages.

  As the last coffin was placed on its caisson, the order was given and a lone drummer started to beat out the cadence. Following military tradition, each caisson was followed by a horse and a soldier walking beside it.

  O’Rourke, Olson, and four of the Senator’s bodyguards fell in behind the last riderless horse. Another command was given and the procession moved out to the beat of the drum. The street was lined with a large crowd of onlookers and media as the

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  procession traveled down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House at a somber, dignified pace.

  The commentators covering the event for the networks commented at length that

  Senator Olson was the only one of the remaining 531 Congressman and Senators who had elected to walk behind the procession.

  O’Rourke was dismissed by all as one of Olson’s bodyguards. The large, red-brick colonial was located on a secluded four acres of rolling Maryland countryside that overlooked the Chesapeake Bay. There were estates just like it up and down the coast of the Chesapeake, some smaller and some bigger. None of them, however, were as secure.

  Several years earlier, the owner had paid close to a million dollars to convert the turn-of-the-century house into a fortress. The bulk of the perimeter security system was composed of night-vision cameras, underground motion sensors, and laser-beam trip wires. The next line of security was in the actual construction of the house. All the windows were double-paned, bulletproof Plexiglas, and all the exterior doors were triple-hinged, two-inch-thick steel, covered with wood veneer and anchored into reinforced—

  steel frames. Four bodyguards were present at all times. The owner was Arthur Higgins.

  To those who knew him or had heard of him, he was known simply as Arthur.

  He had unofficially worked for the CIA since its inception, and over the last forty—

  some years he had done most of the Agency’s dirty work.

  When Director Stansfield took over, Arthur was ordered to cease all association with the Central Intelligence Agency and all other United States government agencies. He had blatantly ignored the order. In the large library of the house, Arthur sat at his desk and watched the TV coverage of the funeral procession. He knew each of the men who had been killed, several of them well. He felt no sorrow over their deaths, and that didn’t surprise him. Arthur prided himself on being emotionless. He believed emotions were something that clouded one’s judgment. But when the face of Senator Olson came on the screen, Arthur’s eyes squinted tight, as he fought to suppress the anger rising up from within. Not many people in the world could elicit an instantaneous physical response from Arthur, but Senator Olson was one of them. Just before the procession reached the

  White House, one of the commentators for CBS realized that the man standing next to

  Senator Olson was not wearing a tan trench coat and sunglasses like the other four bodyguards! He was wearing an expensive black dress coat and a nice silk tie. After informing his producer of this obvious fact, the producer put his assistants to work trying to find out who this unknown man was. Minutes later, as the procession was arriving at the gates of the White House, CBS announced that Senator Olson was walking with

  Congressman Michael O’Rourke, who was also from Minnesota. The cameras were naturally drawn to O’Rourke’s good looks, and the producers at every network scrambled to find out more about the unknown Congressman.

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  The procession stopped in front of the White House, and the four coffins were taken by their special details and placed on four black catafalques in the East Room.

  The room was packed with leaders of foreign nations, Ambassadors, U.S. Supreme

  Court justices, and a select group of U.S. Senators and Congressman, with the families of the deceased politicians sitting in the first several rows of chairs. When Olson and

  O’Rourke entered the room, no chairs were left, so they stood in back with the other people who could not find a seat. After the last special detail had left, the congressional chaplain stood and read a long prayer for the repose of the souls of the four men.

  President Stevens then stood and gave a surprisingly short, somber, and nonpolitical eulogy. He spoke only of the tragedy of death before its time, the importance of prayer, and helping the loved ones who were left behind heal properly. He was followed by several Senators and Congressman, who mentioned some touching personal moments, but who also stayed away from saying anything controversial.

  All of the politicians who rose and spoke avoided the subject that was in the forefront of everyone’s mind, the subject that they were all afraid to broach, for fear of falling in the footsteps of the four dead men who lay before them. Senator Olson was the last to speak, and he directed all of his comments to the families of his deceased colleagues.

  Once again, the flag-draped coffins were carried, one by one, out of the East Room, and this time were loaded into four black hearses that would deliver them to Andrews Air

  Force Base. From there, they would each be loaded onto a C-141B Starlifter for the flight back to their home states. President Stevens was now taking the time to offer each family member his condolences as they stood to leave.

  The crowd was starting to filter out into the hallway, and Olson turned to O’Rourke.

  “Michael, I need to talk to the President for a minute. Would you like to meet him?”

  O’Rourke looked down at his friend and then across the room at the President. “No, I’ll wait here.” Olson looked at the young O’Rourke, as he’d done many times before, and asked himself why Michael had decided to get into politics. “Have you ever met him before?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then come on.” Olson stepped away and waved his hand toward the President.

  “I have no desire to meet him. I’ll wait for you in the hallway.” Olson knew by the look in the stubborn O’Rourke’s eyes that it was worthless to ask a third time. The Senator nodded his head and turned to make his way toward the President.

  IT WAS DARK OUT WHEN O’ROURKE PARKED HIS DARK GREEN CHEVY

  Tahoe in front of Scarlatti’s apartment building. He was thirty minutes late. Looking forward to spending some time with her, he’ bounded up the steps. He could always put everything else out of his mind and relax when he was with Liz.

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  O’Rourke knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened. Instead of greeting him with the usual kiss, Scarlatti turned and walked back into the apartment. O’Rourke picked up on the angry signal and tried to figure out what he might have done to upset her. He was almost always late, so it couldn’t be that. He followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen. “Liz, are you all right?” Scarlatti did not respond. She stirred the pot of noodles boiling on the stove. Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. O’Rourke saw the tears in her eyes and tried to put his arms around her, but she backed away. “What’s wrong?”

  “You have no idea, do you?” Scarlatti asked with a voice that was far from steady.

  O’Rourke looked at her and shook his head. “I can’t believe you don’t know.” She started to shake her head back and forth, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Mi
chael.

  You’re a Congressman, and if you haven’t noticed lately, there’s a group of people that are going around killing politicians and you happen to know who they are.” She shook her head at him and took a deep breath.

  “Well, despite knowing there are people out there who would like to kill you, you decide to walk right down the center of Pennsylvania Avenue in front of thousands of people. Not only did you do that, but you didn’t even have the courtesy to call and tell me.” Liz paused again and stared at O’Rourke. O’Rourke looked down at her big, brown eyes and thought to himself, God, I don’t need this right now. The only thing that kept him from verbalizing it was that he knew she was right. “I was sitting in the newsroom, and someone ran up to my desk and told me you were on TV.

  The next thing I knew, the commentator is saying that no one else would walk in the procession because the FBI thought it was too dangerous. I sat there for twenty minutes of hell.” Scarlatti stared at him as she tried to stop crying. O’Rourke went to step forward, but she put out her hand. “No, I’m not finished yet. I sat there praying that nothing would happen to you. Pictures of Basset getting his head blown off kept flashing across my mind. All I could think of was that I wasgoing to lose you.” She broke down and began to sob into her hands.

  O’Rourke stepped forward and tried to wrap his arms around her. She pushed him away and walked to the other side of the kitchen, trying to gain some composure.

  “Michael, you have no idea how much I love you.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and paused. “Just last night you told me you never wanted to lose me. Well, how in the hell do you think I feel? Do you think I want to lose you? Did it ever occur to you to pick up the phone and let me know what was going on?

  Did you ever stop and think about me today … about how I was feeling, wondering if someone was going to shoot you? How would you feel if it was me? How would you feel if I died? That would be it, Michael. Our future together would be gone and none of our dreams would be realized. We would never have the chance to have children and raise them, nothing.

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  Damn it, Michael, this is my life, too!” O’Rourke moved across the room and grabbed her. She tried to move away again, but he held on and pulled her into his chest. He whispered into her ear, “Honey, I’m sorry. I should have called, but I was never in danger.”

  “How can you say you were never in danger. It’s been open season on politicians for the last week. They could have easily-“

  Michael put his finger over her lips. “I know who they are, Liz … they would never do anything to harm me.”

  The sun had risen again, and down in the subbasement of the White House a Secret

  Service agent opened an obscure door for Stu Garret. The President’s chief of staff walked in and sat down next to another Secret Service agent. Garret grabbed a pair of headphones and put them on as he looked up at the bank of monitors.

  President Stevens was standing in front of the fireplace in the Oval Office waiting for his breakfast appointment. A moment later, the door opened and Senator Olson entered the room. The President walked over and shook his guest’s hand. “Good morning, Erik.”

  Garret could hear them talk as if he were standing right next to the two men. President

  Stevens led Olson over to a small table that had been set for breakfast, and the two men sat down. A steward entered the room and started to serve the meal. Senator Olson received a bowl of oatmeal with a side of brown sugar and a halved grapefruit, while the

  President received his usual bowl of Post Toasties with skim milk and a cup of fruit. The steward poured both men a cup of coffee and left the room.

  The President dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and said, “Erik, I would like you to know that I’m happy you’ve made the effort to come see me, especially in light of the current situation and the poor working relationship between our two parties.”

  Olson nodded his head, signaling a frustrated understanding. “I’m glad you’ve agreed to see me, sir. I know these are hectic times for you.”

  “They’re hectic for all of us.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Olson sighed. “That is why I’m here this morning. The situation we are confronted with is bigger than partisan politics.” Olson stopped as though e were searching for the right Words to use. “I am very concerned about what might happen if certain members of my party propose that we implement some of the things this group is asking for.” The President raised an eyebrow at the comment.

  “Considering the philosophical tenets of your party, and the stress that we are all

  Under, I can see where that might become a possibility, one that I would not welcome.”

  “Neither would I, sir.”

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  Olson glanced down at his oatmeal and then at the President. The President nodded, implying to Olson that he should continue. “Last Friday we started a new chapter in our country’s history, one that is potentially very dangerous. The idea that one small group can dictate, through violence, the policies of this country runs completely against all of the democratic principles upon which our nation was founded.

  These acts of terrorism absolutely and emphatically cannot be tolerated if we want to leave a civilized and democratic nation for future generations of Americans.” The Senator paused for a second, then continued, “As you said earlier, the relations between our parties have been very strained as of late. Much of that has to do with the recent fight over your budget. It is my feeling that we must put those differences aside and move forward with a unified front. There will be some compromises that will have to be reached, but the important thing is that we cannot, for a minute, entertain the idea of appeasing these terrorists.” President Stevens leaned back in his chair. “I agree.

  Appeasement is out of the question. That has been my official position from the outset. It does, however, worry me that you think certain members of your party may be willing to exploit this situation for personal and political gain. What do you propose our course of action to be?”

  “I think we need to bring the leaders of both parties together and discuss what needs to be changed in your budget to guarantee a swift and resounding passage through both the House and the Senate.” Olson placed both elbows on the table and waited for the response. “Erik, I had enough votes to get my budget passed before this whole debacle started.

  I’m not so sure I need to change it at all.” Olson looked straight into the President’s eyes. “Sir, if your budget was put to a vote today, it wouldn’t stand a chance of getting out of the House.

  Koslowski and Basset are gone, and these assassinations have scared the hell out of the remaining Congressman. I’ve heard rumors that a few of them are contemplating quitting.” Olson paused to let his comments sink in. “The only thing that will get your budget passed is a strong, unified front from both parties, and that means some deals will have to be struck. I’m not saying that drastic changes need to be made, only that you will have to meet us halfway.” The President nodded his head positively. The proposal was beginning to make more sense. The two statesmen continued to discuss the formation of their new alliance, while several floors beneath the meeting the wheels were spinning in

  Garret’s head. This might be the perfect way out, he thought to himself. Show a unified front with the President standing in the middle, holding both parties together. The public would eat it up.

  Stevens would look stronger than ever. His approval rating would go through the roof, and no one from either party would be able to challenge him for a second term. And

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  that meant Garret could have any position-secretary of state, secretary of defense, whatever he wanted.

  McMahon entered Director Roach’s office ten minutes late for their seven-thirty meeting. “Sorry, Brian, I got tied up trying to untangle a dispute, a dispute that I don’t have the time, energy, or political clout to deal with.” Roach was sitting at the conferen
ce table in his office. He had stacks of files laid out in an orderly manner in front of him. He preferred the large work surface of the conference table to his desk. McMahon plopped down in a chair at Roach’s end of the table.

  Roach had a feeling that whatever was bothering McMahon was about to be dumped in his lap. “What’s the problem, Skip?”

  “The problem is that no one from the President to Nance to the secretary of defense to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, no one, and I mean no one, is cooperating in letting us take a look at the Special Forces personnel files.”

  “Why?”

  “In short, Brian … they’re in the business of trusting no one.”

  McMahon shook his head several times. “I suppose they think we’re going to walk in the front door of the Pentagon with a hundred agents and start rifling through their top—

  secret files. Whatever their reasons are, I don’t care. I need to start looking at those files, whether the brass is paranoid or not. I’ll work in conjunction with them, and try to step on as few toes as possible, but we have to be given access.” Roach nodded. I’ll look into it this morning and hopefully have an answer to you by this afternoon.

  What else do you have for me?” McMahon handed his boss two files.

  “These are the ballistics and autopsy reports for Basset. I received them late last night.”

  “Anything unexpected?”

  “One interesting point. The guys down in the lab are pretty sure the bullet was loaded with nitroglycerin.” The director’s eyes opened wider.

  “Really?”

  “Yep, it’s a pretty sure way to make sure one shot does the job, I suppose.”

  “How does a person go about getting their hands on a nitro-tipped bullet?”

  “We’re looking into talking to the people over at ATF, and they’re trying to put together a list of people who dabble in stuff like this.