“The Supreme Court? It’s become seesaw politics in legal robes.”
A Secret Service agent knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she said.
The agent poked his head inside and cold-eyed the chairman of the Joint Chiefs before speaking. “Air Force One is ready to go. We need to return to Washington, Madam President.”
She nodded. The Secret Service agent closed the door behind him.
“There’s an easy way out of this, General Klaine,” she said. “Those in the know say the House will elect Brewster president this week. He’s Senex’s boy, so he’ll do whatever the plotters want. No one need know what went on behind the scenes. The United States will be spared an attempted coup. I will take no action against you and the others.” She placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I hold off reprisals and they halt the military takeover during the week.”
She folded her arms.
“On the other hand, if the conspirators aren’t willing to wait a week, I’ll address the nation from the Oval Office about the coup attempt. I’ll mobilize against them whatever part of the military hasn’t gone over to the traitors. I’ll also have Senex and the others prosecuted for insurrection, sedition, treason, whatever law my acting attorney general can throw at them.” She placed her palms on the desk. “Wait a week and hold off until then. That’s my offer.”
“What if Brewster’s not elected this week?”
“What if pigs flew?” she asked. “Let’s cross that fantasy bridge when we come to it.”
“I’ll take your offer back to Senex and General Harrison.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Upon her return to the White House, a reinvigorated President Dallas Taylor dismissed General Horatio A. Harrison from the cabinet without public explanation. Unless the plotters refused her offer of a one-week delay until Brock Brewster took over, she wouldn’t inflame the nation’s turmoil by disclosing Hard-Ass’s mad attempt to overthrow the government. She stifled her urge to exact payback for his treachery toward her and the country. He was only Sebastian Senex’s tool. To publicly humiliate him would only lock the general tighter in Senex’s embrace.
She next rang up General John Klaine, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He told her what she wanted to hear. After a bitter disagreement, General Horatio A. Harrison and Sebastian Senex agreed to the one-week truce. Harrison feared she was playing them for suckers. Senex thought they had nothing to lose by accepting her offer.
Because of their disagreement, General Harrison was waffling on his commitment to any coup. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs also informed her that the marine platoon was moving back to its base at Quantico from DC, but the Tenth Mountain unit maintained its guard position around the New York Stock Exchange.
In a play for Klaine’s allegiance, she confided to him that the Chinese had backed off their agreement on the South China Sea because of their domestic politics and her insecure tenure as president. She would sign no executive agreement after all with the People’s Republic of China.
As she expected, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs was delighted the Chinese had backed away from a deal they now doubted was in their interest even though the chairman thought it a giveaway to the Chinese. The secretary of state must have worked out a reasonable South Sea compromise if the war hawks on each side didn’t like it.
The upside of the collapsed negotiations with the Chinese was that the chairman’s delight in the collapse of the executive agreement provided the opportunity to offer him the position of secretary of defense on condition he thwart the coup attempt if it became necessary. In agreeing, he confided that his distrust of the conspirators had only grown since he met with her on Air Force One.
The next call was to her press secretary to get a cover story out to a public on the verge of panic. The public would be told the cyberattacks were part of an unannounced military preparedness program to test for weaknesses in the country’s infrastructure. To get the most from the tests, the story would go, they had to be a surprise to best simulate the effects of foreign cyberattacks. The tests were at an end, so the public should go back to its daily business without fear. The military unit outside the New York Stock Exchange and the marine guards in the District of Columbia were explained away as a prescheduled military exercise program.
She was cooking on the front burner now. LBJ would be proud of her.
“Madam President,” her appointments secretary announced through the half-open door of the Oval Office. “The Murphys are here for their appointment.”
“Send them in.”
“Sorry we’re late, Madam President,” Bryan Murphy said. “Marines held up traffic heading back to their base at Quantico.”
“I’m running behind anyway.” She brushed aside what she had been reading and looked at Bryan. “I’m ready to rock and roll against Senex’s criminal enterprises.”
“This is my brother, Detective Jim Murphy of the Chicago Police.”
Jim stood at attention before the president’s desk with hands clasped in front like a truant schoolboy.
“We’ve met previously.” Taylor tapped a pen on her desk. “Under less pleasant circumstances.”
The Chicago detective started apologizing.
She held up her hand. “No need, Detective Murphy. Those were trying times for us both.” She laid the pen on her desk. “Bygones are bygones. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“I’ve learned,” President Taylor said, “a grand jury in Chicago has been convened to hear evidence against Senex for Dr. Angelo Mora’s murder. But didn’t a judge dismiss the charge at a preliminary hearing?”
“In Illinois,” the Chicago detective said, “we allow a criminal indictment even though a judge released a defendant at a preliminary hearing. The mountain of evidence uncovered by Operation Big Shoulders forced the state’s attorney to seek an indictment.”
“Hallelujah.” She clapped her hands. “We’re going after Senex in court after all. Not just the court of public opinion in the Senate hearing.”
“Not just state court,” Bryan Murphy said. “I’ve directed Justice’s lawyers to throw the book at him in federal court. We’re going after him for environmental violations. We’re also suing for criminal violation of the RICO statute by running Promethean Pharma as a criminal enterprise.”
She looked at Bryan. “You and the FBI have done great work with Operation Big Shoulders.”
“My team at Justice should share the credit.”
Jim elbowed his brother.
“And, of course, my brother, Jim. Without Jim’s search warrant and consent to a joint investigation we wouldn’t have Operation Big Shoulders.”
She rested her chin on a hand. “If I were an elected president and not just this temporary one, I’d put your name up for attorney general right now.” She held up her hands. “But I’ll be gone in a matter of days when Brock Brewster takes over the Oval Office.”
“I understand,” Bryan said.
“Let’s go over the game plan for my White House press conference.” Taylor stood up. “I want you boys to stay on either side of me like silent spear bearers in an opera. I, the prima donna, will report on the Operation Big Shoulders investigation of Promethean Pharma and Sebastian Senex. The press conference will be a suspenseful overture to the opera of your testimony before the Senate Committee on Finance. I’m not going into any details of Operation Big Shoulders. My goal is only to whet the appetite of the media sharks for your testimony.”
The press secretary popped her head in through the Oval Office door. “The media’s waiting.”
The time on the Seymour grandfather clock near the door caught her eye. She came around her desk. “Got to get ready, gentlemen.” She motioned the brothers to take a seat on the sofa opposite hers. She tugged off her pink Western-fringed boots and rested her feet on the coffee table separat
ing the sofas. She wiggled her toes. “What a morning,” she said, slipping on a pair of burgundy Ferragamo flats. She stood up and smoothed down the sides of her gray pantsuit. “I’m ready and rarin’ to nail Senex’s hide to the barn door.”
In the James S. Brady Briefing Room, acting president Dallas Taylor took a position behind the lectern flanked by acting attorney general Bryan Murphy and his brother, Detective Jim Murphy, who was spiffed up in his freshly cleaned and pressed CPD uniform. Behind each of her human props stood an American flag.
She began with a lavish introduction of the brothers Murphy that made Jim blush. Taylor skirted the topic of Operation Big Shoulders with praise for the joint investigation conducted by the FBI and the Chicago Police Department united by their unbreakable bonds of law-enforcement brotherhood in fighting crime.
It was time to throw the press corps a juicy morsel to perk up their appetite for the testimony of the Murphy brothers before the Senate Committee on Finance. She discussed the extent and seriousness of Operation Big Shoulders while leaving any further information to the congressional testimony of the Murphy brothers. Negative insinuations involving Sebastian Senex were left dangling. She was enjoying herself fending off answers to questions begging for a preview of the Murphy testimony. She entertained one last question before leaving to take care of the nation’s business.
“I’ve just been informed that the wife of Governor Brock Brewster has died. Do you have a comment?”
“I’m deeply saddened.” And for once her political role aligned perfectly with her inner feelings. Brewster’s wife had welcomed her with open arms to DC soirees hosted by the Brewsters when the other District’s socialites shunned the new Texas congresswoman from the wrong side of the tracks. “She was a kind woman in a town too often unkind. My sympathies go out to her husband, Governor Brock Brewster.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
“What a genius,” said Dr. Grzegorz Wojciechowski, the former researcher at Promethean Pharma. “My latest research confirms his pioneering work with parabiosis.”
“Scz . . . Scz . . . I can’t pronounce your twin’s first name.”
“Call him Uno. Mine is Due. Those are the nicknames Dr. Angelo Mora gave us.”
Senex had more than a hard time with their names. He also had a difficult time telling them apart, except for the scar on Due’s face.
“Uno didn’t think Mora was a genius. He claims Mora stole the discovery of the Ponce de León protein from him.”
An MD with a PhD in hematology from Cambridge University, Due flipped his hand as though brushing away a fly. “My twin brother is an idiot. He only set the stage for Dr. Mora’s discovery. He envied the doctor’s genius and even my superior abilities.”
“You’re supposed to be a top MD researcher at the Undiagnosed Diseases Network. Not some eulogist for Dr. Mora.” Seated on a medical exam table in a patient’s examination gown, Senex kicked his heel against the side of the table. “Forget Mora. Find out what’s going on with me.”
Due dipped his head and clicked his heels. “Forgive me.”
Was the Polish foreigner with aristocratic airs mocking him?
Due ran his hands over and around Senex’s throat and chest with the deft movement of a masseur. “A little swollen under your armpit.”
“That started two days ago.” He coughed.
“How long have you had the fatigue, sore throat, and fever?”
“Almost two weeks.” He coughed again. “Sometimes I stop to catch my breath.”
“Open your mouth.” Due inserted a tongue depressor and peered in. “You were accused of Dr. Mora’s death after I left Promethean Pharma, were you not?”
Gagging in an attempt to speak, he pushed the probing hand away. The tongue depressor fell to the floor. “The judge dismissed the case. That means I didn’t do it. Don’t you follow the news?” He slid off the exam table and stood eye to eye with the medical researcher. “I don’t want to hear that man’s name again. Understand?”
“I am not your servant,” Due answered. He grabbed Senex’s medical record off a worktable, knocking over a container of cotton swabs. “I shall return when your tantrum ceases.” He slammed the door on the way out.
If Senex alienated Due, he jeopardized his own health. He couldn’t afford to alienate more people. Convinced he had murdered her lover based on Mora’s death note, Daisy would not talk to him. Bryan Murphy had also turned against him.
What calmed him was the control he still had over Brock Brewster. If worse came to worst, Brewster as president could pardon him for federal crimes. Illinois political and legal issues were not insurmountable. He knew the right fixers.
Waiting for Due’s return, he clicked on the TV in the examination room to see if the House had selected Brewster as president. Brewster’s image appeared on a news program. He emerged shattered from the deathwatch at the hospice where his wife had just passed away. He’d probably carry a grudge for failing to receive the Ponce de León protein protocol for his wife.
That problem could also be finessed. Once Brewster tasted the presidency, he would buck up and carry on. Actually, the wife’s death was a good thing. The poor widower could do no wrong. The public and Congress would sympathize with Brewster’s loss and grant him an extended honeymoon period to implement political programs for the benefit of Promethean Pharma.
Due swung open the door. “Are we feeling better?” he asked with one hand still on the doorknob.
Senex gritted his teeth and feigned mock penitence.
“Good.” He closed the door and came in.
“Are you sure about my Huntington’s?”
“Absolutely.” Due raised his fist in a victory pump. “It’s amazing. Your Huntington’s is in remission.”
“How do you explain it?”
“Dr. Mora had an explanation,” he said, as though daring him to challenge mention of the name. “It was my honor to be his assistant.”
“I want your explanation.”
“It’s the same. The parabiosis treatment and the later Ponce de León protein injections reversed the aging process. Like Dr. Mora told you, the resetting of a computer to a time before the malfunction occurred.”
Due sat down. “There’s a market for the Ponce de León protein.” His eyes brightened. “Clinics across the United States for those willing to pay. With my help—”
“Whoa.” He put out his hand. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.” The sawbones was impertinent, but he admired how Due sized up an opportunity. They saw something in common. Dollar signs.
“Remember me if you need a medical consultant to market this.”
“Sure.”
Due excused himself to confer in the hallway with his physician assistant.
He returned with a jack-o’-lantern smile. “I have your test results.” He read through the printouts. “No sign of Huntington’s.” He put the printouts on the worktable. “Based on a new blood test from Sweden and our RNA genetic profiling, we determined your biological age to be forty-four years.”
“What about the symptoms? Don’t tell me fibromyalgia like my Chicago doc. I’m not buying it.”
“Do not confuse my expertise with that of a mere internist.” He waved his hand with a dismissive air. “I have ruled out fibromyalgia.”
“So?”
“You have mononucleosis.” He smiled and wagged a forefinger at his patient. “Nothing to do with your anti-aging procedures, unless it rejuvenated your libido.” Due winked. “That is why Americans call it the kissing disease.”
“That’s all? Just mono?” He rubbed his hands together in relief. “Will I need Ponce de León injections to maintain my youth? My deceased researcher didn’t think so.”
“Deceased researcher?” Due stared down Senex. “You must mean Dr. Angelo Mora . . . the great Dr. Angelo Mora.”
He swallowed the urge
to lash out at Due for mentioning Mora’s name. He had to focus on the big picture. “Do I need continued injections of the Ponce de León protein?”
“That’s the only point on which I differ with Dr. Mora.” He rubbed his hand across the scar on his cheek. “I think you will eventually need booster injections, but I cannot say when you may need them. This is unknown territory.”
Of course he would say that. He saw dollars signs in keeping close to his patient. But maybe Due was right. He had to be careful not to push away the one person who could keep him alive.
“Your research with that deceased Italian researcher, your knowledge of the parabiosis procedure, and the Ponce de León protein . . . that’s all confidential. Right?”
“Naturally. I am bound by physician-patient confidentiality and privacy laws as well as the ironclad confidentiality contract I signed with Promethean Pharma.” Due picked up the printouts off the table and prepared to leave. “I appreciate your letting me know the real purpose behind that so-called artificial blood project at Promethean Pharma.”
“My life depends on your knowing the truth about my medical history.” Well, mostly the truth. Due didn’t need to know how he got the young blood. “One other thing,” he said buttoning up his shirt. “Are you sure there are no side effects from parabiosis and the Ponce de León protein?”
“None whatsoever.” Due put his hand on the doorknob to leave. “Of that I am certain.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Like a swarm of discombobulated bees, a crowd milled about the Senate hearing room awaiting a surprise witness before the Senate Committee on Finance in its investigation of Promethean Pharma and its CEO. To maximize security, the chairman ruled that the identity of the witness would remain confidential until called to testify.
Jim Murphy had his testimony postponed until after that of the unknown witness. He gathered his papers and left the witness table to settle in the first row of spectators beside his brother, who insisted on being present to provide moral and legal support.
American Conspiracy Page 27
