“I want you and Sly to take a crew down to the White House entrance. The demonstrators are going to stage a protest at eleven am. I’ve gotta warn you. This time it might get physical, so pull back and let the police do their job. But keep the video rolling. Try to get some interviews with protestors, police, and whoever else might be there. Good luck and be safe.”
Zeke found Sly in his cube and they both went downstairs and got a camera crew, packed up the van, and headed for the White House. On the way they watched some of the highlights of Sunday’s Redskins game. In a way, the team had become emblematic of all that DC stood for, a new crop of rookies for a hopeful new year, but the same old losing game. They could make an all-star player look bad, not an easy team for a fan to love. But with the turning of the leaves and a nip in the air, it was a welcome distraction from the political scene.
When they arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, or at least as close as they could get, there were already demonstrators gathering outside the wrought-iron fence in front of the White House. They were erecting a life-size stuffed doll of the president on a hangman’s platform and placing a noose around its neck. A few Capitol Police were watching in the background but not interfering. It was an ominous sight but not an unfamiliar one.
Zeke got out of the van and began interviewing one of the demonstrators on camera. “Sir, what do think of the mock hanging? Do you think the president deserves this?”
“Every president gets at least one mock hanging,” said the demonstrator. “Just consider it a ‘Welcome to DC’ celebration and we’re the Welcoming Committee.”
“Aren’t you worried about being charged with a hate crime against the president?” asked Zeke.
“Hey, freedom of speech, man,” said the demonstrator. “I’m a civil liberties lawyer. I know my rights.”
It wasn’t long before a couple hundred people had gathered. The demonstrator standing on the hangman’s platform picked up a microphone and began talking to the crowd.
“This president has done away with pollution regulations in our country, so oil companies can frack our land and drill on our shorelines and our protected national parks. He has reduced taxes for the wealthy and raised them on working people. He has promoted racism by encouraging white supremacists. He’s used waterboarding against Al-Qaeda terrorists violating their human rights. For these reasons and many more, we say rise up and take your country back.”
Then, he climbed the wrought-iron fence, yelling, “Follow me,” as he dropped inside the White House grounds. Other demonstrators, then, ran to the fence and climbed it, dropping inside the White House grounds. Almost immediately, they were met by at least a dozen Secret Service agents. FBI agents were also on hand. USSS Uniformed Division officers tackled and cuffed the demonstrators who had been wrestled to the ground.
A Secret Service agent got a megaphone and announced, “This demonstration is over. The demonstrators who have scaled the fence will be arrested and charged. Disperse immediately.”
The demonstrators left the hangman’s platform and ran away from the police. Sly, Zeke, and their camera crew kept shooting.
“Let’s get a close up of the hangman’s platform and the doll,” said Sly.
“Another unpeaceful demonstration about the president,” said Zeke on camera as he wrapped up the WJOP broadcast.
As Zeke was helping put away the broadcast equipment, a man in a suit walked up to him.
“Hi Zeke,” said CIA Agent Johnson. Zeke looked up in surprise.
“Agent Johnson, surprised to see you here. What brings you out?”
“Just keeping tabs on things. The Agency occasionally sends us out on little ventures to keep abreast of what’s going on.”
“I covered the last demonstration,” said Zeke. “This one definitely got out of hand. I’m surprised they don’t do something about that fence. I hear there’ve been several fence jumpers in the last few years. My mother could climb that thing.”
“The Secret Service and The U.S. National Park Service are talking about it,” said Agent Johnson. “Nothing happens around here without a whole committee. They don’t want to diminish the attractive, friendly look of the people’s house.”
“Yeah, but did they ever consider what mock hangings and burnings of the president might do to the friendly atmosphere?”
“That’s why they have Capitol Police, Metropolitan Police, Park Police, the Secret Service, FBI, and CIA all hanging around. It doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“I wonder what he thinks when he looks out the window and sees a hangman’s noose around his neck,” said Zeke.
“Who? The president?” asked Agent Johnson.
“Yeah,” said Zeke.
“This is DC, kid. The president doesn’t have time for such nonsense. He knows that it’s all part of the show. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk to you soon, Zeke.”
“Glad I ran into you,” said Zeke.
“Who’s that?” asked Sly.
“Just a friend,” replied Zeke.
After Sly, Zeke, and the camera crew packed up, they decided to stop for lunch at Meridian Hill Park, which was on their route back to the station. It was one of the lesser-known spots among tourists although very popular with the locals. They found a local street vendor, and they all got some food before heading to the park. Sly called Harvey to tell him that they were stopping for lunch.
“Harvey wants us to get some feature video while we’re here,” said Sly to the crew. “It’s a ‘stop and smell the roses’ moment.”
After they finished eating lunch, Sly suggested getting the video for Harvey. “Can you get a shot of the green lawn surrounded by the trees and their leaves changing color?”
“Sure thing,” said the cameraman.
“This will make a nice feature piece,” said Sly. “Put me on camera, guys, as I talk about the park.”
“OK, Sly, I’ll give you three. Three, two, one. You’re on,” said Zeke.
“This is Meridian Hill Park, so called because of its exact longitude with the original DC land marker. It’s located on Sixteenth Street NW not far from the White House. The park has multiple names as I’ll soon explain. It’s one city block, designed like an Italian Garden, known for its mini bridges, waterfalls, luxurious green lawns, and the famous Sunday Drum Circle. More popular among locals than out-of-towners. Some know it as Malcolm X Park. There was a big effort to rename the park after the 1968 riots, but Congress rejected it due to its having been officially named the James Buchanan Memorial Park, after the fifteenth president of the United States. My favorite spot is of the waterfall in front of the mausoleum.”
The crew walked over to the waterfall.
“This is a favorite marriage proposal spot in the park which is also the home to many outdoor weddings. Hope you enjoyed our little fall diversion. For WJOP, this is Sly McDonald.”
“Nice job,” said Zeke.
“I like feature stories better than hard news,” said Sly. “If it was up to me, I would only do feature stories.”
The crew returned to the station which was only about ten minutes away. The camera crew unpacked the truck while Zeke and Sly went up to see Harvey.
“Hey, Boss, we got some feature footage for you,” said Sly.
“What did you think of our live coverage of the demonstration?” asked Zeke.
“Nothing special,” said Harvey. “What do you want, kid? An award? Come on over here. I’ll pin a smiley face on ya. Look, I asked you guys for some real stuff on this assassination plot that I keep hearing about, but neither of you guys has given me much of anything. All you come up with is this tiptoe through the tulips stuff. We’re a hard news station, not the Oprah Winfrey Show. Now, both of you guys, call up your contacts. See what you can do.”
“OK, Boss,” said Sly. “We’ll do our best.”
“Zeke,” said Sly. “Why don’t you call the FBI agents that interviewed you and see if they’ve heard anything?”
“I already did,” replied Zeke. “
They’re not talking. This may be a long shot, but how about if we talk to the person who organized the two protests at the White House?”
“Do you think the demonstration has something to do with the assassination plot?” asked Sly.
“I don’t know. I figure, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I’ll call the Secret Service at the White House and see if they still have that guy at the microphone in custody,” said Zeke.
“Good idea,” replied Sly.
Zeke called the Secret Service Media Relations Office, told them he was with WJOP, and inquired about the arrest of that morning’s demonstrators scaling the White House fence.
They told him that all demonstrators who scaled the fence had been charged and released. They would eventually have to appear in local DC court. They agreed to send him a list of names of the demonstrators charged.
After about an hour, Zeke saw the list of names in his email. There were ten names, six men, four women. Zeke and Sly divided up the six men and ran background checks on them. Zeke discovered that one man on his list, Abdul Muti Poya, was an Afghani with ties to the Taliban. He told Sly, and they went downstairs to the studio to watch some of the video from the morning’s demonstration. Sure enough, the lead demonstrator was Abdul Muti Poya. They had an address for the guy, so they told Harvey what they found.
“That’s what I’m paying you guys for. Good work. Now, take a camera crew over there and interview the guy. Careful not to scare him off, though. People get weirded out when they see a WJOP camera van rolling up to their house.”
Zeke and Sly went downstairs to the studios and got a one-man camera crew together. They loaded the van and Sly drove. Zeke observed dozens of students with books walking and riding bikes.
“Where are all these students going?” asked Zeke.
“Oh, University of Maryland is just up ahead,” replied Sly. “My alma mater. I was too young to see it, but rumor has it that they would always block this road in the spring.”
“What for?” asked Zeke.
“It was part of the coursework in the Philosophy Department. ‘How to Form a New Mantra for the Nation and Promote It.’ Blocking Route One was a sure way to get attention of both the state and federal lawmakers. No, I’m just kidding, but not about blocking the road. There was always some reason: Vietnam War, Richard Nixon, etc. One year in the early seventies, they had to close the school and put the campus under National Guard curfew because the student unrest got so bad. Oh, look over to the right. That’s the University of Maryland Marching Band practicing on the chapel front lawn.”
“Very beautiful campus,” commented Zeke.
“It sure is,” said Sly. “Huge too. It’s about thirteen hundred acres and, as a student, you do a lot of walking.”
They drove past the campus. About two miles down Route 1, they came to Riverside Apartments.
“He’s in apartment 201,” said Zeke.
“OK, guys. Zeke and I’ll go up first. John, we’ll call you when we want you to come up. Let’s go, Zeke.”
They knocked on the door several times before someone shouted, “Who is it?”
“Is this the residence of Abdul Muti Poya?” asked Zeke.
“Who wants to know?” asked the man.
“We are from WJOP,” said Zeke. “I’m Zeke Jackson, and this is my coworker Sly McDonald. We were at the demonstration earlier and want to ask you some questions about your protest.”
“I guess,” said Abdul. “Anything for the cause.” Abdul opened the door and let them in.
“You don’t mind if we record this do you?” asked Sly before he turned on his inconspicuous pocket recorder.
“No, I guess not,” replied Abdul.
“Did you organize the demonstration?” asked Zeke.
“Yes, I did,” said Abdul.
“How about the one before that?”
“Look, I organize all protests. OK?”
“So, what is the name of your group?” asked Sly.
“The Four Point Front,” said Abdul. “We’re against sexism, racism, poverty, and destruction of the environment.”
“Well, that seems reasonable,” said Zeke. “Who would be for any of that stuff?”
“Well, well,” said Abdul. “You’re a comrade. You should join us in our fight.”
“But I don’t go around burning or hanging images of the president,” replied Zeke.
Abdul extended a handshake to Zeke, and Zeke wasted no time taking it and looking him in the eye. Zeke saw that not only did Abdul have no armor, but a snake-like thing was coiled around him. Its reptilian scales blended into the black color of his shirt and pants permeating his whole body with a scaly, reptilian appearance. It had three raptor-like heads that sat above Abdul’s head and hissed at Zeke.
“Who are you?” asked Zeke.
“We are Legion,” the creature verbalized using Abdul’s voice.
“A legion of demons?” asked Zeke.
“That we are.”
“What do you want with Abdul?” asked Zeke.
“He belongs to us. He is our servant. He is on mission,” replied the creature.
“What mission?” asked Zeke.
“You know,” replied the creature.
“Be gone from him,” commanded Zeke.
“We do not listen to you. You are weak and frail.”
“In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, be gone,” commanded Zeke once again.
“We know who the Lord of Hosts is, but do you?” replied the creature.
Zeke backed off. Was the creature right? Did he know the Lord? The creature was questioning his faith. He would have to command a more powerful presence in the face of this demon. Zeke bowed his head for a brief moment asking the Lord to intervene. Afterward, Zeke followed up with a few more questions directed at Abdul and not the demon in possession. “Who supports your group? What organization?”
“I tell you, we are Four Point Front. We have no backers,” said Abdul. “Anymore you talk to Janice Davies.”
“Who is Janice Davies?” asked Zeke.
“Our riot organizer,” replied Abdul.
“Do you have ties to the Taliban?” asked Zeke.
The creature reared its three heads and they all hissed viciously at Zeke.
“Why do you ask this? I am not terrorist. Enough questions. Are you police?”
“No, no,” said Zeke. “We’re WJOP News. Our truck is outside. Look out the window.”
Zeke looked out the living room bay window and saw the camera van with WJOP written on the side, but he also saw an unmarked car with men in it.
“You may be news, but you brought cops with you. I recognize that car. It’s been following me. You go now.”
“We didn’t bring the cops. We assure you,” said Sly.
“It doesn’t matter. You go now!”
“OK,” said Zeke. “Thanks for talking to us.”
Sly stopped his recorder. Zeke and Sly left the building. “Why did I get the impression that you were talkin’ to somebody besides Abdul?” asked Sly.
“I was,” replied Zeke. “I was talkin’ to a demon named Legion. He was controlling my access to Abdul.”
“Weird, man. Really weird,” exclaimed Sly.
Outside they saw the car that Abdul had mentioned. The driver lowered his heavily tinted window and called to Zeke. “Zeke, come over here. What are you doing here?” asked Agent Johnson.
“Agent Johnson,” said Zeke. “WJOP sent us here to interview Abdul Muti Poya. He’s the leader of this morning’s demonstration.”
“Yeah, I know who he is,” replied Agent Johnson. “Zeke, hop in the car for a minute. I want to introduce you to someone.”
Zeke looked over at Sly and the cameraman and shrugged his shoulder. “I’ll only be a minute. Don’t worry. I know this guy.”
Zeke opened the back door and got in the car. He saw someone in the front passenger seat. “Zeke,” said Agent Johnson, “this is Secret Service Agent Don LaDividico.” The Secret Ser
vice agent extended his hand to Zeke.
“Be careful, Don,” said Agent Johnson. “Stuff can happen when you shake his hand. That’s not just any hand.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about you,” said Don. “You’re that ‘talk to me’ guy.”
“Is that what they call me now?” asked Zeke.
“Well, that’s what they call you at the office.”
“Sounds like I’m on somebody’s radar,” said Zeke.
“More than you know, kid.”
“Well, nice to meet you,” said Zeke. “I’ve got to go. Agent Johnson, I’m waiting.”
“Yes, I know,” said Agent Johnson. “Soon, it’ll be soon. Hang in there.”
“Until then,” said Zeke.
Zeke got out of the car and went to the camera van. The cameraman was smoking outside the van. Zeke got into the van.
“What was that all about?” asked Sly.
“Nothing. He’s just a friend,” replied Zeke.
“You’re hiding something from us,” said Sly.
“And you, Sly. What are you hiding?”
“What do you mean?” asked Sly.
“You know exactly what I mean. You’ve done everything possible to sabotage my career at this station.”
“No, that’s not true,” said Sly.
“You think I’m stupid or something?” asked Zeke. “And now, you want me to confide in you? Yeah, right. Give me your hand, Sly.”
“Ah, no.”
“I thought so. You’re such a liar and cheat, and Harvey’s not much better,” said Zeke. “You and Harvey have been in this city so long that you’ve been assimilated into its sleaze. Let’s just get back to the station.”
The ride back to the station was quiet as they drove up Route 1. As they passed University of Maryland, the marching band was in full swing drilling its routines with the bandleader perched in his stand. They drove slow stopping for students as they crossed the street to the university bookstore.
“Oooo, Club LT” said Sly.
“What’s the Club LT?” asked Zeke.
“The Little Tavern, students nicknamed it the Club LT, a favorite late-night stop for studiers and potheads with an appetite. You can easily down three or four of those little burgers. I’m going in,” said Sly. “You guys interested?”
Soul Reader Series: Book1: Touch Enabled Page 10
