Hulagu's Web The Presidential Pursuit of Katherine Laforge

by David Hearne

  Senator Laforge’s lips moved in the white maze of bandages covering her face, and she weakly said, “Thank you Doctor. I am still in a state of confusion.”

  Dr. Benoit questioned, “Do you remember the accident and the events immediately preceding it?”

  Senator Laforge hesitated, and then quietly said, “No, I do not really remember that much at all. I am not sure what is real and what were nightmares and dreams I experienced in my coma.”

  Dr. Benoit said, “Well one thing that is very real is that the President wants me to tell you that he is counting on you to serve your country, and to try and do the right things by remembering who you are and what you as the Senator has learned about situations like this. America is counting on you. Don’t let us down.”

  The Senator did not really understand what all that was supposed to mean, if anything. She did feel honored that the President was thinking of her and still talking to her. The Senator asked Dr. Benoit if her husband had been notified of her recovery.

  Dr. Benoit replied, “Yes he has, and we have a letter for you from Ira. If you would allow me, I will read it to you.”

  “Yes go ahead” the beaming Senator replied.

  Dear Kat,

  I know you are probably very confused by your ordeal, but I hope you can understand why I cannot be with you at your bedside. You have had a terrible accident and things are just coming back to you. Try to understand why I cannot be there and trust Dr. Benoit to help you have a speedy recovery. You have done a great job, and it is time for you to come home. As soon as they release you, we will all be together again to help you put this crisis behind us.

  Love always,

  Ira

  The Senator listened to the words and a deep feeling of depression descended over her. Ira was always much more loving in his letters than this. This was not even a letter, it was a short note. Did he not love her any longer? Something was being unsaid in this letter. Ira had always stood by her in every situation that she had been in, both good and bad. Something was just not right for him not to be here and for him not to say more about himself or how badly he was missing Kat.

  Dr. Benoit could sense her depression and offered, “Senator, you are in a foreign country and in a very odd situation, so try to understand that it is natural for you to feel mentally confused and occasionally depressed. However, things will get better. Senator, most victims of car accidents suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which includes physical, cognitive and emotional symptoms. I am going to work with you and use some techniques, specifically adapted to treat car accident trauma. These techniques should help you recognize and trust the innate healing wisdom of your body to hasten your recovery. However, I have to warn you that you are going to experience more headaches, irritability, mental confusion, lack of mental acuity, and temporary memory loss while getting better. Physically, you are still facing days that you will experience flu-like symptoms, but these are expected, and we can control them. Your biggest problem will probably be with your short-term memory, but that will continue to improve each day. So hang in there.”

  “You and I are going to attempt to mentally, walk through each of the activities that happened to you before your accident. Prodding your memory in this way may enable you to recall what happened to you and give you full recollection as to why you are now here. Initially, the left side of your body was paralyzed.”

  “But very soon you should be able to stand and walk unaided around the hospital. Your left arm will be noticeably weak for awhile. Your muscles that atrophied during your coma will improve quickly with daily physical therapy.”

  “In the immediate future, I am going to spend much of our time with your speech therapy, physical therapy, and mental gymnastics to help you relearn things and recover your memory as much as possible. By us proceeding slowly with this treatment plan, moving from events prior to your accident and understanding where you are now we will gradually work toward the center and transform this terrible experience from fragmented images to your total awareness of what happened. Once we are there, you will have total continuity of your memories, and be able to place this traumatic event in your past where it belongs. We do not want to leave gaps in your memory. We want you to remember everything.”

  Thousands of miles away, Ira had become very busy preparing News Releases about the prognosis of his wife. Her campaign had been derailed by the event, and he hoped that, he would be able to repair some of the damage. Ira had been in constant contact with the Senator’s campaign committee chairman trying to assure him that the cause was not in vain.

  As Ira was writing notes for his daily news briefing, his cell phone rang. He hoped it would not be media hounds who had discovered his private cell number. The caller ID displayed ‘Unknown,’ which infuriated Ira. He closed the cover in disgust, letting the caller get his voice mail and then returned to his notes.

  The reports of the Senator’s retrograde amnesia were very detrimental to Kat’s run for the presidency and Ira wanted to find information that would refute that this condition would have any effect on Kat’s duties as President. The phone rang again. He flipped his cell open and again the caller id displayed no number. Concerned that it might be his daughter calling, he pressed the call button and his most irritated voice said, “Hello?” It was not his daughter. A woman’s voice said “hello Ira.” Ira’s voice froze for a second. And then the caller asked. “Are you there?”

  The voice was unmistakably that of Senator Laforge’s.

  Ira blurted out, “Oh my God Hello!”

  Her reply was quick. “I have missed you so much Ira. I think about you and Lyndsey every day.”

  In a soft voice, Ira responded, “I pray every day that you will be released and come home. You are always in our thoughts.”

  “Ira, I need your support right now more than ever.”

  Ira stood silent for a moment as a well-manicured hand reached up to the cell phone, removed his grasp and purposely closed it.

  Two soft arms wrapped their self around his waist, and he felt lips kiss the back of his neck. Ira’s eyes were solemn and wide with what seemed like horrific fear. Ira pushed the arms away and turned around, facing the woman who had embraced him. His heart swelled from the raging emotions he felt as he tried to catch his breath. The call had reached into his soul and Ira asked God to help him find solace and strength to continue on. Ira squeezed his eyes shut forcing a couple of tears to dampen his cheek, and then hugged his wife. The Senator looked up into Ira’s eyes as she tried to think of the words to say that would comfort him. There were none, but she pressed her lips against his damp cheek and kissed him. Even she was trembling now as they both embraced.

  She knew he was scared, and her heart raced with her own fear of what had happened. No matter how irrational it all seemed, this was her new reality and she and Ira would have to find a way through it.

  With an almost trembling voice Ira asked her “How much longer do you think this will go on?”

  Kat squeezed Ira’s hand and quietly said, “I just do not know!” Now, there were tears running down her cheeks and there was nothing Ira could do to stop them.

  In a darkened hospital room in Ibn Sina Hospital in Baghdad, Iraq another woman sat on her bed with a phone receiver in her hand, rocking back and forth, and trying to contain her swirling emotions of having finally heard her husband’s voice and words after surviving this terrible ordeal. She could still hear him saying, “I pray every day that you will be released and come home. You are always in our thoughts.”

  * * * *

  I did not know before that cold January morning in 2004 that two Senator Laforges existed. This startling revelation came about as Tom, Vince and I broke our solemn pledges that frantic morning as we shared with each other all we knew about Senator Laforge. The prospect that she was dead compelled us to break our oath of silence. We had sworn that we would not share anything Kat had said with anyone or discuss it among ourselves, but the events of
this morning seemed to invalidate that pledge. The evil that erupted this morning made us all feel compelled to divulge our knowledge to each other. Perhaps some of what we knew would help solve why this attack had happened. As Tom, Vince and I began to discuss what we knew, it became very apparent that we were talking of different incarnations of the Senator.

  If you pledge an oath for something and a better alternative comes

  your way, break the oath and atone for it and do what is better.

  ~ Bukhari, Kitabu’l-Iman wa’l-Nudhur, No. 6622

  Part FIVE

  ComDefC1

  Large menacing icicles hung from the cornice of the old brick and granite town hall. Their deadly pointed tips shimmered forty feet above in the bright beams of the spotlights that swept across the façade. Dark ice sprinkled with fresh snow cloaked the rusticated brick pilasters rising two stories from the granite foundation. The town hall had served little purpose for quite some time, but in the last few weeks, workers had wiped away the film of grime, cobwebs, and dust obscuring its stately magnificence. Now, a new radiant look emanated from her thick brick walls, despite the cold and snow. The 1872 landmark seemed to gleam in the dark cold morning with its new mission. It used to be the place where the town would show movies, sponsor dances for teenagers, host shows for the area craftsmen and of course hold New England town meetings. The building’s prominence over the years and all the memories and dreams that it shared with those in Charlestown made it the perfect choice for a campaign stop. This morning it would reclaim its eminence even if only for a moment in time.

  In front of the town hall, a large gathering of people milled about in the frozen slush. The crowd was clusters of groups huddled together for warmth and companionship with their breath plumed out around them like misty blank cartoon speech balloons. The noses of the early arrivers were red and raw from the chilling cold wind and snow. Drifting in on the wind was the distinct smell of smoke from a wood burning stove or fireplace. The tantalizing aromatic trace of fresh brewed coffee floated along with it to tease the senses. Across the street from the town hall, a group of children played on the frozen, wind-crusted snow throwing snowballs at each other and laughing as they enjoyed nature’s beauty. Mixed with their laughter were the constant clamor of people coughing and the murmur of voices. On the east side of the hall, huddled a group of young protesters waving their signs, chanting their little jingles and taunting those that dared approach them. Their signs declared Laforge an enemy of the poor, a liar and a destroyer of the economy. One sign read, “Laforge robs the poor. Vote for Dean, he’s not mean.” Some townspeople were very angry that these individuals had the nerve or stupidity to even appear here in Laforge’s hometown on this terrible morning.

  Sunrise wouldn’t occur for about forty-five more minutes, but the crowd was well illuminated by the lights from the town hall, near-by homes and streetlights.

  From within the town hall, the morning came alive with the celestial sounds of the Keene State College choir. The doors were finally about to open. The choir’s hypnotic harmonics drifted tantalizingly out into the milling people. The music’s mesmerizing arrangements subdued the clamor of the crowd with its beauty and feelings. The town hall’s doors swung open and like a mass of lemmings we all tried to trudge toward the inviting light streaming from its entrance.

  When we entered the building, Vince Hand joined us. This was the first time we were together since the 2002 high school reunion. After a few cursory hugs and handshakes, we all headed to the auditorium on the bottom floor. TV sets had been hastily mounted in the auditorium to show any breaking reports about the attack on Laforge and her entourage. New information had been temporarily stifled by the police and investigators who had cordoned off the crime scene on Route 12 from reporters and camera crews until all bodies and evidence were collected and documented. The morning TV shows still focused on the Laforge story filled with the constant rehash of the morning events, commentary on Ira Laforge’s murder and what Senator Katherine Laforge stood for. A good number of police and armed security guards milled about the crowd observing everyone and chatting on their little phones. Booths had been set up to sell souvenirs and books about Senator Laforge and other political luminaries. Even more important was the concession stands that were selling hot coffee and pastries. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee was exciting and soothing to our frozen noses and helped us forget the discomfort of the rest of our face, fingers, and feet as they slowly thawed out.

  With fresh cups of coffee warming our hands, we grabbed a table near a radiator and sat down to discuss the changing events. I was glad we were inside out of the cold with half an hour yet to go before any of the impromptu tribute for Senator Laforge would begin. I think all of us were convinced that the Senator was dead or mortally wounded by that time. The news had not mentioned her specifically as being dead, but nor had they stated the opposite. You could just feel that something evil had happened – a strange warmth, an unsettling flitting presence like the flick of a feather brushing across the back of your neck. Everything seemed like a sign to me, even the snowflakes falling on the adjacent window that melted instantly into little beads of moisture had to mean something.

  As I watched the beads of condensation turn into a tiny trickle of water, I noticed how oddly our images trembled as reflections in the large window. They were like wavering apparitions in a fog. Perhaps I was witnessing that wispy tenuous point where perceived reality merges into the world of dreams or even into another dimension.

  The constant waiting with little information on the events of the morning was taking a toll on me. The voices of my friends, the roar of the crowd in the hall, and the perpetual derisive chanting of protesters outside were muted by the loudness of the thoughts that now consumed my mind.

  Ira’s murder and the probability of Katherine’s death made me more conscious of the transience and short length of life. I envisioned Ira’s final moments, to have been like a video that God suddenly put on fast forward, hurling him to the end of his mortality until there was only the quiet hiss, like a tape makes when it ends with its snowy blank screen of nothing. Life is such an energetic race of futility.

  A feeling of helplessness and bitterness raged inside of me. We are told that death is simply a transition from one spiritual form to another, but that morning I doubted it. I probably looked like I was in some sort of trance. But even in that cacophony of noises playing in my head, I could still discern the voices of my friends talking to me and trying to snap me out of it.

  I looked at them wide-eyed and gathered my thoughts. My conscious thoughts were the desire to talk about everything that I knew about this situation. The sound of my own voice startled me as I impulsively blurted out, “I know something that probably no one else here knows about Katherine.”

  I wanted to tell them about my trip to Texas. I had kept most of the details of the trip a secret from everyone, even my wife for over a year. But on that terrible morning, I felt the need to share it with them. It was something they definitely should know.

  Vince and Tom looked at me inquisitively, and before they could ask me anything, my wife said, “What is it, you think we need to know? Tell us, don’t hold it back.”

  I reminded them of my trip a year and a half ago to Houston, Texas. The trip occurred about a month after the death of my father and at a time I was still trying to settle his estate. My father had owned a small coin collection, which I now found impossible to liquidate at any reasonable price in the Charlestown area. Senator Laforge had invited me to her home in Houston to help me sell this coin collection. Katherine was an avid coin collector and owned a collection worth around three million dollars. She had acquired her coins over her entire life, and for the last decade with the assistance of a numismatist named Mike Fuljenz. She had read about Mike, the President of Universal Coin and Bullion, in some articles published in Coin World and sought him out to assist in her collection of rare Type Two Double Eagles.

  She had be
come enamored with collecting coins when she read about the Howard Bedford, one million two hundred thousand dollar coin collection that was assembled over a seven year period at a cost of about $13,000.

  Mike had told Katherine about other collections, such as the Garrett family collection of gold coins that sold for more than 25 million dollars, and the Eliasberg collection that sold for $11,000,000 in 1982. Fuljenz stories and her weakness for history hooked her, and she aggressively went about collecting rare gold, platinum and silver coins.

  Mike took the Senator under his tutelage, and helped her to become a savvy coin collector. He steered her towards the best and rarest coins and constantly searched for the most exotic finds in the coin world. Over the years her trust for him grew to the point where the Senator maintained a bailment agreement with Fuljenz and gave him the right to buy and sell her coins at his discretion.

  Senator Laforge planned to introduce me to Fuljenz, and since they were close associates, she guaranteed that I would get preferential treatment.

  Katherine had scheduled my introduction to Mr. Fuljenz at a restaurant called Tuffy’s Eatery in Mauriceville, Texas. When we arrived at the restaurant, located 70 miles east of Houston, the proprietor, Mike Hamilton was waiting to welcome us. Mr. Hamilton was not only a restaurant proprietor, but also the local Texas legislator for his county, and a staunch supporter of Senator Laforge. Always the politician, Katherine and Mike Hamilton immediately delved into discussions about H.R. bill this and H.R. bill that. I listened in amazement as Katherine discussed one Senate bill that big names in both parties favored. It was called the SCNT (Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer) bills, and it had been introduced by Republicans Alan Specter and Orin Hatch, and Democrats Dianne Feinstein and Edward Kennedy. This was a bill to prohibit human cloning while still preserving important areas of medical research, including stem cell research. Katherine said that those opposing the bill felt that Congress was trying to define a sub class of unborn humans who are simply legislated to be used as research material and then destroyed before they can become full term. Just as the conversation started getting interesting, a man with a well-manicured beard walked up to our table and flashed a big smile at Katherine. It was her good friend Mike Fuljenz.