Gabriel's Stand

by Jay B. Gaskill

  “With Judge Wandright? Doubtful,” Wiggins said. “But I’ll ask once again. Check in with me at noon tomorrow?”

  “I will,” Ken said.

  Three minutes later, Ken Wang emerged from a dark alcove and began walking briskly in the general direction of Pioneer Square, occasionally looking over his shoulder for signs of surveillance. Without realizing it, he walked past the storefront that had once housed the Earth Planet Bookstore. Two blocks beyond he found a rare old style phone booth. He slipped inside and was immediately overcome by the smell of urine. He keyed the memorized number Dornan had written below the bank account information. “Kona Carpets,” a female voice said.

  “My name is Ken, I have a question.”

  “One moment.” Ken waited.

  “Hello.” It was not Dornan’s voice.

  “I need a carpet cleaned,” Ken said.

  “We’re closed tonight. This is our emergency line only.”

  “Sorry. I was hoping to schedule an estimate.”

  “We’re not cheap. If you would like to see a sample of our work, you can check with the major financial institutions downtown. Did you see our ad?”

  “I saw your ad.”

  “If you like our work, perhaps you could call us again in a few days?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  A few days? What the hell is Dornan up to?

  Chapter 78

  “Where were you? It is so late!”

  “I was with the Smith team, arranging meetings with key Senators. Sorry, my phone was off.” Alice’s face was white with shock. She was shaking visibly. “My God, Alice, what is it?” Gabriel dropped his briefcase on the doorstep to their new Georgetown safe house, and held his wife gently by the shoulders, staring intently into her eyes.

  “Tell me.”

  “Roberto Kahn just called. Snowfeather is very sick. My God, Gabriel, they’ve done this to her!” She was gripping his lapel fiercely, her hands shaking with anger and fear.

  “I’ll call Owen’s people. I’ll get medicine, somehow,” he said. They released each other, and Gabriel fumbled for his cell phone. “Damn,” he said, “the battery died.”

  “Agents are guarding her door,” Alice said, pulling him inside. “No physicians can go in!”

  “They can’t do that!” Gabriel looked around the living room wildly. “Our new phone is encrypted?”

  “Yes,” she said, picking up Gabriel’s fallen briefcase in the doorway, and closing the front door behind her. He reached for the phone on the couch table.

  Gabriel’s fingers shook as he dialed the Edge Medical Hotline. “This is Gabriel Standing… Okay, okay… Voice ID confirmed? Thanks. My daughter, Snowfeather is in Manhattan. She is gravely ill. We suspect she was deliberately infected. No. They won’t let anyone in to see her… Yes.” Gabriel was rapidly taking notes on a pad by the phone. “How do I reach your contact?” More scribbling. “When will the parcels arrive? Can I have Roberto Kahn call you, too? Okay, okay. He can’t get back in, but possibly he can set up a rendezvous. I will. Thirty minutes. Thank you.”

  Gabriel put the phone down. He met Alice’s anguished eyes; his stomach was in free-fall. “This is what we need to do,” he said. “You get to Roberto Kahn, meet him in Manhattan—coordinate the drug pickup there. Call this Edge Medical number as soon as you find him, and book a flight. I’m going to be getting to Wang next. Then Smith and I are going to the White House.” Gabriel’s eyes were on fire.

  “You have Kahn’s number?”

  “Yes.”

  Gabriel got out of Alice’s way and fished his cell phone charger out of the briefcase, plugged it in, and speed dialed Thurston Smith. “It’s me. Can you get your son right away? I can’t explain but our meeting with Big Brother needs to take place today. I know it’s late, damn it. Pick me up?”

  As soon as Alice yielded the secure phone, Gabriel called Wang. “Ken? Good. This is Gabriel. My daughter is in her Manhattan apartment dying of something the G-A-N gave her. She’s being isolated by Commission agents. I’m trying to get medical help to her. Please see what you can do? Thanks!”

  When he looked up, Alice was already stuffing a change of clothes into a travel bag. She looked at him. “Taxi is on the way. I’m meeting Roberto at Temple Beth Sholom. We can’t lose her now, Gabriel, we just can’t…”

  ——

  It was Sunday night and House of Representatives Speaker Thurston Smith, Jr., was in the White House, looking at the President of the United States.

  Harry Chandler looked back like a man who still couldn’t believe that fortune had dealt him this responsibility. The Speaker sat in a stuffed chair in the oval office. The two men were alone and President Chandler was acutely uncomfortable.

  “Thurston, it is Sunday night. What is the emergency?”

  “Senator Jacobs has been very busy. He now has sixty-two votes to curtail any filibuster,” the Speaker said, the words, flat, matter-of-fact. “And that will put you on the spot when voting starts on Tuesday. I want you to listen to Senators Smith and Standing Bear.”

  President Chandler flinched. “Your dad and Gabriel? Holy crap,” he said.

  “I see that your usual eloquence,” Smith, Jr. drawled, “has given way to the succinct.”

  “They are fugitives,” Chandler said.

  “Not during the trial…per your own amnesty agreement. And, Mr. President, unlike some people close to you, these men can’t be bought.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to them in private, as we are.”

  “Good.”

  “When?”

  “Right now. They are waiting outside.”

  “You are a pushy bastard.”

  “I learned at your knee.”

  Chandler smiled, and pressed a button on a small intercom. His personal aide picked up. “James, go bring the gentlemen in.”

  The Speaker of the House shook his head sadly, as he and the president stood. “You can’t count on anyone outside a very narrow circle right now, Mr. President.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that,” Chandler said as they made their way to the President’s secure visitor’s area.

  “These men will go to the mat for you, if you are willing to take a stand.” Chandler nodded absently.

  A few minutes later, Gabriel and Smith Sr., entered the president’s private quarters accompanied by James. The president’s aide was a narrow man with a mustache and nervous manner. The President caught his aide’s eye and the man disappeared. A Secret Service agent peered in the doorway; then stepped into the hall, just out of earshot.

  “Sit down with me, gentlemen,” Chandler said, offering his hand. “Let’s talk.” Chandler glanced at the Speaker as the two self-invited visitors took their seats. He was beginning to suspect that his political nemesis, Smith Junior, was enjoying this moment far too much.

  Smith Senior began. “I’ll be blunt, Mr. President. John Owen and my friend Gabriel have become folk heroes. Worse for you, Commissioner Rex Longworthy is perceived as an evil puppeteer who controls this administration.” Chandler’s face suddenly became red. “And we both know who controls him.”

  “You know how much I hate that little bastard.”

  “That’s a good start, Mr. President,” Gabriel said. “But the perception in the Beltway remains that you report to Rex Longworthy. The entire country is watching Dr. John Owen’s trial. This is a good man whose crime is saving lives. He is being prosecuted for repairing damage done by his kidnappers. Do you have any idea how this is playing?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Are you the still President of this country, or a puppet?” Gabriel snapped. “It matters how this is playing only if you haven’t sold out.”

  Chandler flushed crimson. “Gabriel, you are being unreasonable,” he said.

  Gabriel fished out a worn photograph with thick callused hands, and solemnly handed it to the President.

  “What’s this?”

  “You in the Rose Garden.”

 
“I can see that. The Treaty ceremony?”

  “Yes. Look behind you in the picture.”

  Chandler’s face softened. “Oh. I remember. Snowfeather. Your daughter. How is she?”

  “At this moment, she is dying.”

  Chandler seemed genuinely shocked. “I’m sorry…”

  “We believe she was poisoned by the G-A-N. But just before this meeting a courier from Edge Medical, carrying illegal drugs, gave me her cure. Mr. President, I have the medicine, IN MY BRIEFCASE, to save my daughter’s life. And your agents, your damned federal agents, are surrounding her apartment, barring access to modern medical attention.” Gabriel rose, leaning toward over the President. “I repeat, Sir. Are you the President or a puppet?”

  The Secret Service agent in the hallway began to move into the room. “Sit down, Gabriel!” Thurston Sr. whispered loudly. Chandler glanced around the room. To Standing Bear he looked like a cornered jackrabbit. Gabriel sank back into his chair, and Chandler waved the agent away. Gabriel’s dark eyes continued to bore in.

  “Gabriel, goddamn it, those Commission goons are not my agents. I asked them to leave her alone.” Several seconds dragged by. “The Commission enforcement agents are ham-handed idiots.” More seconds passed. He pressed the intercom button. “James,” President Chandler finally bit out, “I need you here.” The aide scurried into the room.

  “Sir?”

  “Call the Bureau. Call the Service. Call my personal physician. We are going to deliver some medical attention to Senator Standing Bear’s daughter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gabriel, you have my apologies. We may have our disagreements but not on this sort of thing. Will you let my people take care of it?” The President held his hand out.

  Gabriel paused, momentarily taken back. Then, fighting tears, he pulled a packet from his brief case. “Your doctor will know what to do with this.”

  Chandler took it, handing the bulging envelope to his aide. “James, get our best Secret Service Detachment to move on this yesterday.” The aide hovered, while Chandler looked at Gabriel. “Your daughter is still in mid-Manhattan? Is that her address?” He pointed to the envelope.

  Gabriel nodded. “My wife is flying there now. Her cell number is included in the packet.”

  “We still have some trusted people in Manhattan. James, get on this immediately. You know who to use. Go. Now!” James left.

  Gabriel and Chandler sat facing each other. Smith the elder and Smith the son sat across, four men around a coffee table in a living room. Suddenly Chandler seemed to wilt. “Don’t get any ideas from this, gentlemen. There are limits. These people push and push and this time, they went too far.” He closed his eyes. “You had more to say to me? Continue, please.”

  “It’s not complicated,” Smith Senior said. “We need your support.”

  Chandler’s eyes opened wide. “Support? On the Treaty? Out of the question.”

  “Private support,” Senior continued. “You just need to signal to the Senate leaders by telephone tomorrow morning that you would honor a de-ratification vote. And we need the Senate President Pro-tem to suspend the rules, so that Gabriel can address the entire Senate before the vote.”

  “That’s all? You have no idea what you’re asking. Even hints about de-ratification of the Treaty sends these Directorate people into orbit. My support is out of the question. If these G-O-D people even think I have might have back-stabbed them…” Chandler sank back in his chair, a truly frightened man.

  “A combination of speed and decisiveness is your best weapon, Mr. President,” The Speaker said.

  “And your best protection,” Gabriel said.

  Chandler sighed.

  “They cannot be trusted,” Smith Senior pressed.

  “These G-O-D types are not normal people,” Gabriel said.

  “I give you that,” Chandler said. “They are truly ruthless. But this kind of talk can get you killed. Hell, this could get me killed.”

  “Ruthless doesn’t begin to cover it,” Gabriel said. “They don’t care about human life at all. Mr. President, they think they are the cleansing antibodies of some earth goddess.”

  “That’s bull—”

  “They mean to keep going until the virus of the human race as been wiped out,” Gabriel pressed. “They call us Homo ecophagus.”

  “My old Committee had the hard evidence,” Smith Senior added.

  “You can’t delay on this,” Gabriel said, leaning forward in his seat. “They will kill me and Thurston, and you, and our children and everybody else’s children,” Gabriel added emphatically. “Even if you cooperate with them now, Mr. President, you are a dead man at a time and place of their choosing.” He paused, staring at the President. Chandler seemed to pale slightly as the reality of the situation began to sink in. “So let’s stop this now while there is still hope. There is no alternative to courage.”

  President Chandler was silent for a long time. “Where is this headed?” he asked.

  “Into history, Mr. President,” Smith, the Speaker said. “The people will be with you on de-ratification.”

  “I won’t take any public position. I can’t.”

  “You don’t necessarily have to go public. But we need your help with the Senate leadership,” the Speaker said. “And we need it in time to matter. That would be tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, as President Pro-tem, Senator Castorini controls several key people in the Senate. I suppose he can keep a secret. Maybe I’ll talk to Taft Castorini first.”

  “When will that be?” Gabriel said.

  A long, awkward moment ensued. “Tonight is unreasonable,” Chandler said. “Okay? I’ll call him first thing tomorrow.” Chandler stood.

  The meeting was over.

  Chapter 79

  It was early Monday morning in Manhattan, and Secret Service Special Agent Mix was standing under the awning of Snowfeather’s apartment building. He was accompanied by Dr. Alex Fein, four secret service agents, Alice Canyon Hawke, and Roberto Kahn, the latter wearing his prayer shawl. Three Commission agents stood in the way. “What is your authorization, sir?” the Agent in Charge asked. Mix produced his badge. The Commission agent frowned. “Okay, you can go up with the mother and the lawyer, but not with the doctor.”

  “I don’t have time for this crap,” Mix said. He gestured to the other Secret Service agents, and four service pistols were drawn. The Commission agent stepped back. “Any trouble,” Mix said. “Don’t bother to call me, just shoot ’em. All of ’em. I’ll be back down as soon as the doctor is settled in.” Mix smiled at the President’s physician. “After you, Doctor. Mrs. Lindstrom, Mr. Kahn…”

  ——

  It was four hours later and President Chandler was still on the telephone from his quarters to Sam, a trusted advisor. “New winds are blowing, my friend. That’s right, Sam, this will be my life insurance. When the Vice President resigns at noon today—yes he will too, that man not only owes me big time, I have something on him—when he resigns, we are not, I repeat not going to fill the vacancy.” There was a long pause. “Don’t you get it? That puts our dear Speaker of the House, Thurston Smith, Junior, next in the line of succession if I’m suddenly removed or…killed.”

  “Your life insurance.”

  “Exactly. I tell you those Gaia bastards won’t dare touch me as long as T.S. Smith is alive and kicking, and in line to take over the Presidency.” There was another pause. “Thank you. I thought it was clever, myself. And yes, I think you should tell the Speaker about this personally. Never thought I’d care what happens to that Mormon SOB, but now I do.”

  The Vice Presidential vacancy took place as scheduled.

  NEWS ALERT: FALL RESIGNS VICE PRESIDENCY: Rumors of Cancer Denied

  Washington, DC. Speculation was rampant today, as Vice President Steven Fall suddenly tendered his resignation for unspecified personal reasons. Party officials refused to comment, while late night show comedians prepared for an evening of…

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nbsp; ——

  “Do you still play chess, Louise?” the Baron’s voice was clear over the encrypted line.

  “What do you mean?” Berker asked.

  “That weak president you supposedly control has made an astute move.”

  “I admit I didn’t see it coming. But we are planning several moves ahead. Just watch.”

  “We can’t wait.”

  Tuesday, 5:00 A.M. EST - Upstate New York

  He awoke from his dream in a darkened room…momentarily disoriented. Fred Loud Owl was back at the seminary dorm. The dream images still burned vividly in his memory. He decided to get up for a while and turned on the old lamp by his bed.

  In the dream, he had been standing on the edge of an arroyo. Red earth and rocks stretched as far as he could see, all the way to a sharp horizon. Above him, hung the sky. It was sun-struck and blue, a limitless space, etched here and there with ice crystal clouds. A silver bird formed a twinkling speck at the outer limits of visibility. He had first noticed it because it left a thin contrail as it plummeted. Somehow he knew it was a great bird, falling from the sky. And he also knew, somehow, that the thin contrail, a faint red line that still connected falling bird to sky, was blood. Loud Owl felt a terrible dread.

  And in the dream, he heard the distant whump-whump of a helicopter, its source near the falling bird, but invisible. The bird fell swift as a meteor, but somehow—in the vision—it fell slowly, like the memory of a disaster on horseback or in battle. The bird should not be falling, he thought, but it did. There should not be the sound of a helicopter, but there was.

  As the bird shot past him down into the arroyo, into the shadows, he could see that it was a great gray eagle. A totem eagle. After a moment, the helicopter noise seemed to recede into the distance…like a dirge.

  Loud Owl had now fully awakened, filled with dread and sadness, and the feelings lingered.

  As he made coffee, he resolved to cancel his morning lecture. He would find a quiet place far from campus and think on this vision. This felt like a premonition but he didn’t have a clue who he should warn…

  The coffee bubbled and Loud Owl began looking for his old boots.