by Joseph Flynn
“You’ve tried breaking it?” Elspeth asked as Sweetie handed the umbrella to her.
“Yeah.” McGill grabbed the shillelagh he’d put down. He asked Elspeth, “Ready?”
She raised the umbrella as if it was a fighting stick. She parried the attacks directed at her upper body and head, but then McGill gently rapped her knuckles. And grinned.
“Sorry, I forgot to show Sweetie what you do if someone goes after your hands,” he said.
“An oversight, I’m sure,” Elspeth said, looking like she’d like to whack McGill.
“You want to show us now?” Sweetie asked.
“Sure, but let’s put the floor mats back in place first.”
They did. Then McGill showed them how to protect their hands and their legs.
He also showed them ways you could use the umbrella’s curved handle.
“Where’d you get that thing?” Elspeth asked when she saw how dangerous the umbrella could be.
McGill beamed with paternal pride. “Kenny found it online for me, after I started teaching him Dark Alley.”
He then informed Sweetie and Elspeth that the White House physician would soon be announcing that McGill was suffering from a flare up of traumatic arthritis in his right knee and would be using a walking aid to help him get about.
Sweetie said, “Let me guess, a shillelagh.”
“An umbrella on rainy days,” Elspeth added.
McGill nodded.
Just because he couldn’t shoot an antagonist didn’t mean he had to go unarmed.
U.S. Capitol
The Republican caucus in the Senate thought it would have a little fun at the president’s expense and filibuster her nomination of Governor Jean Morrissey to become vice president. That would leave the position of first in line to succeed the president vacant for an indefinite period, giving the Almighty a chance to reconsider whether he might like to give Patti Grant a mortal heart problem, and put the new speaker of the House, Peter Profitt, into the Oval Office. The Republicans were unanimous in thinking this was a swell idea, but there were only forty-seven of them.
Roger Michaelson, feeling betrayed that he hadn’t been chosen to replace Mather Wyman and having his primary challenge to win the Democratic nomination to be president die in New York, Illinois and California, chose to vote with the Republicans on the filibuster. Even with his support, though, that made only forty-eight senators in favor of jabbing a finger into the president’s eye.
Normally, it would have taken only forty votes to sustain a veto.
But Majority Leader John Wexford, giving no warning, invoked the nuclear option and ruled the filibuster out of order. He raised his voice above the shouts of outrage that filled the chamber and said, “The Constitution requires that the will of the majority be effective on specific Senate duties and procedures. This option allows a simple majority to override the rules of the Senate and end a filibuster or other delaying tactic.”
Further, Wexford ruled, as the Republicans were trying to delay confirming a new vice president solely in the hope of gaining political advantage, the vote to confirm Governor Morrissey as the new vice president would be called immediately. There would be no hearings on the matter. Also meaning there would be no chances for hostile senators to ask the nominee potentially embarrassing questions.
The Republicans howled in rage, vowing to bring the matter to the —
Supreme Court. Which was no longer their last lever of power. Having no alternative, the Republicans and Roger Michaelson stomped out of the chamber, retreating to parts unknown their vengeance to plan. Those plans became far more problematic when Mather Wyman, later that day, having heard what had happened, said the party he nominally led had been wrong to attempt to filibuster the nomination of Governor Morrissey.
The reactions to Wyman’s declaration divided Republicans sharply. While Wyman’s popularity jumped by an average of ten percent in national polls, the GOP suffered thirty-six Congressional defections, seventeen in the Senate, to True South.
Governor Jean Morrissey was confirmed as the country’s new vice president unanimously — by a vote of 52-0.
For the first time, the United States had two women running the country.
United States Penitentiary — Hazelton, West Virginia
Erna Godfrey was led into the warden’s office not knowing what to expect. The man was busy when she arrived, reading a typed document that lay on his desk and frowning as he did. Erna knew that look. She’d seen it before. Someone had just given the warden an order he had to follow, but he didn’t like it.
We all have our crosses to bear, Erna thought.
There was only one way to go about such a chore, Erna knew. Remember it was better to carry a cross than to be nailed to it.
The warden came to the end of the document, picked up his pen and scrawled his name across the bottom. Dated it, too. Then he looked up at Erna.
“Mrs. Godfrey, I’ve just acquiesced to a presidential order assigning you to another correctional facility, a medium security housing site. That is where you’ll serve the remainder of your sentence.”
Erna thought that was a nice way to put it. She was serving a life sentence. The warden might have said this is where you’ll go to die. But a medium security facility would be a luxury hotel compared to Hazelton. It was almost enough to give Erna hope that —
“The president has directed that you will be allowed to initiate a ministry to serve other federal inmates,” the warden told her.
Hallelujah. Erna’s prayers had been answered.
“This ministry will not begin immediately,” the warden said, responding to the smile that lit the inmate’s face.
Erna’s joy vanished.
She asked, “May I ask when it might start?”
“Yes. It will begin when you complete your doctorate of divinity.”
Erna rocked back on her heels. The correctional officer who’d brought her into the warden’s office had to place a hand on her back to steady her.
“But I’m a four-year Bible school graduate. I’ve read the Good Book cover to cover more times than I can remember. I’ve memorized most of scripture,” she said.
“The president has taken that into account. You’ll start your studies as a master’s degree candidate and then pursue your doctorate.”
Erna thought about that for a moment.
“Who will I study with?”
“With volunteer faculty members of the Northwestern Theological Seminary. Once you’ve received your doctorate, you’ll be allowed to record videos and podcasts to be distributed to other federal inmates who are interested in receiving them.”
The warden had finished his spiel, still not liking what he’d had to do.
He looked at Erna impassively. It was her move now.
Take it or leave it.
Erna realized what she’d just been offered. Patricia Grant was so incredibly smart. She was making Erna work for what she wanted. Making her study with academics whose understanding of the Lord’s teachings likely weren’t the same as her own. To earn her doctorate, she’d have to defend her thesis, her understanding of the Gospels.
Still, the president wasn’t setting her up to fail.
Patricia Grant was making her test her ideas against … people whose faith had never led them to take anyone’s life.
That was more than fair. It was an act of faith on Patricia Grant’s part. That things would work out for the best in the end.
Erna asked the warden, “Is there any way I might express my thanks to the president?”
“In my opinion, yes.” And he told her what he thought she could do.
Senator Charles Talbert’s House — Bloomington, Indiana
Sheryl Kimbrough was admitted to the senator’s house by Dorothy, the housekeeper. The two women were old friends. Sheryl had spoken to Tal when Dorothy hadn’t felt it proper to ask her employer to nominate her nephew, Dwayne, for admission to the United States Military Academy. She hadn’t even wanted to talk to
Sheryl about it, but the former press secretary, who had learned of the matter only by snooping, had pried it out of her. Captain Dwayne Williams had graduated with honors and gone on to win a silver star and lose an eye in Iraq. He now taught at West Point.
Always polite but formal with the senator’s guests, Dorothy nonetheless allowed Sheryl to kiss her cheek.
She said, “It’s so good to see you again, Ms. Kimbrough. Please tell me Cassidy is recovering well.”
Sheryl bobbed her head. “The doctors say she won’t need any plastic surgery, but Cassidy told me the least she should get out of the whole thing is a boob job.”
Dorothy’s mouth fell open, but then she stifled a laugh.
“Yeah, kids these days,” Sheryl said. “What are you going to do? Is Senator Talbert ready to see me?”
“He is, Ms. Kimbrough. I’ll just give a little knock on his door. Make sure he hasn’t nodded off.”
Sheryl followed Dorothy to the office her former boss maintained at the back of the house. It looked out on his backyard and, in season, a riot of flowers. The space was also adjacent to the kitchen, and the lawmaker believed in frequent recesses for snacking. Sheryl had been just one of the women in his employ who tried to keep him from putting on too much weight.
He still moved like a ballroom dancer, though, stepping out from behind his desk, gliding over to embrace Sheryl and kiss her on both cheeks.
Sheryl told him, “Better watch that, boss. That kind of greeting looks positively European. Maybe even a touch Socialist.”
Talbert laughed. “Nobody saw us except Dorothy, and she’s not talking.”
“It’s always the quiet ones who write the most sensational memoirs,” Sheryl warned.
Dorothy blushed and quickly backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Sheryl arched her eyebrows and said, “Who knows, maybe I guessed right.”
Taking his seat behind his desk, Talbert said, “Dorothy will take our love match to her grave.”
Sheryl laughed and sat opposite the senator. He was a longtime widower, but if she remembered right, Dorothy had started working for the senator shortly before his wife died. If the two of them had an illicit relationship dating back to … she didn’t want to know.
What she’d come to find out, though, was if Senator Talbert could use his clout to discover the identity of the mysterious benefactor who had paid the balance of the medical bills Cassidy had incurred, and by extension the far larger bills the other victims had run up.
Sheryl had tried everything she could think of to pry the information out of the hospital and all the doctors involved. She’d been stonewalled. Hadn’t even been able to coax a hint out of any of the nurses treating the victims. Such uniform, intractable discipline bespoke two possible motivators, admiration or fear.
Fear didn’t make any sense, really. Why would somebody both powerful and dangerous enough to scare people act so charitably to the burn victims? Didn’t seem plausible.
So that left a good soul with a lot of money.
Someone like that should hear from a grateful parent, her.
It was driving her nuts that she couldn’t say thank you.
That and satisfying her professional busybody’s curiosity.
She explained all this to Senator Talbert and asked if there was any way he could help.
He said, “I can help. I’ll personally convey your gratitude to the appropriate person.”
“You know?” Sheryl asked, incredulous.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I’m still a member of a rather exclusive club.”
“It wasn’t you, was it, Tal?”
The senator laughed. “I’m quite comfortable, and I’ll have a shamefully good pension, but I’m not wealthy. My charitable impulses are far smaller.”
“But you won’t tell me who?”
“I gave my word.”
“Damn!”
“Tell you what. You insist on paying all your bills personally, persuade the others to do the same, get that bundle of money returned to the donor, and I’ll ask if I might be released from my pledge.”
Sheryl gritted her teeth. If only her money had been part of the bargain, she’d have gone for it, and Tal knew it. But she couldn’t ask the others to do it. They’d be financially ruined … and Cassidy would never forgive her.
With a large sigh, Sheryl decided she’d have to accept the hand she’d been dealt and act like a grown up. “Very well. Please tell this mystery man I will do my best, within my limited means, to emulate his generosity at every possible opportunity.”
As she’d made her statement, Sheryl had kept close watch on Talbert when she twice used the word his. He hadn’t blinked, twitched or shown any other tell. She still didn’t know whether the angel who’d showered money on Cassidy and the others was male or female.
“How’s university life?” the senator asked, hoping to distract his friend.
Sheryl told him she loved it. The students in her class gave her hope for the future.
“Maybe I should see if I can catch on there,” Talbert said. “I could use some hope.”
“I heard about the defections to True South. Three dozen, wasn’t it?”
Talbert nodded. “That actually gives me hope. Our party and the Democrats have been doing business at the same old stands for far too long. I’d like to see all of us evolve before we kill the government.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Not if we’re smart, but I don’t think we are. Not if we’re lucky, which we just might be. But when you have a sitting president leave her own party, the body politic is running a high fever. Damn, I wish we had Patti Grant back, especially now with that pack of hotheads gone.”
Sheryl nodded in sympathy.
And thought to herself how close Tal and the president were in political outlook and temperament. They were friends socially, too, both of them having been in the federal government for a long time and coming from neighboring states.
Charles Talbert and Patti Grant. Good friends. Maybe even confidants?
People who might share a secret knowing it would be kept.
Patti Grant richer than many small nations.
A woman who took time out from running the country to call Cassidy.
You couldn’t publish a story on a hunch.
But Sheryl was very glad she’d come to see her old boss.
The White House
McGill tapped on the door to Galia Mindel’s office and was told to come in. The chief of staff was annoyed by the unexpected interruption, but she couldn’t even wear a snug collar anymore without thinking of how McGill had saved her life. She put aside professional pique and asked him to have a seat.
“How may I help you, Mr. McGill?”
“I’m sorry to intrude, Galia. I’d have called to ask for a moment, but I thought you must be busy all the time, so I just dropped by.”
“Your reason being?”
“I want to get involved in the campaign, but in a specific way and for my own reasons. That being said, I don’t want to do anything to harm the cause.”
Galia frowned. One of McGill’s charms for the political creatures in the Grant administration was that he didn’t think he knew better than they did about presenting the president and her policies to the public. That was a great relief. The man could have caused all sorts of headaches if he’d wanted to.
As the administration had gotten under way, he’d respond to any question a reporter might ask with the stock answer, “I support the president wholeheartedly.” That response was above criticism for a devoted husband, and that was exactly what the man was. By repeating those five words time and again, McGill also bored the newsies so much they stopped bothering him.
As a man who worked at his career full time, he also wasn’t pestered about why he hadn’t taken on the do-gooder projects a first lady was expected to assume.
But now he wanted to get involved in a presidential campaign.
In a specific way? For his own reasons?
“Would you care to elaborate, Mr. McGill?”
“Sure. I’m tired of Damon Todd and his two pals lurking in the weeds somewhere. I’ve worked with the FBI to catch them, but that hasn’t panned out. It’s time to take a leading role. So I’m going to make myself a target. Well, appear to make myself a target.”
Galia blanched. The Grant administration had become one of historic firsts. Becoming the first president to have a spouse assassinated, however, wasn’t on anybody’s to-do list.
Rather than shout at McGill that he had to be crazy, Galia focused on practical matters.
“You’ve discussed this idea with the president?” she asked.
“Not yet. I’ve talked to Elspeth Kendry. Now, I’m talking with you. I want to get all the nuts and bolts in place before I talk with Patti.”
The man was serious. He was going to do what he said. From what Galia had seen during the past three years, McGill could exert an amazing influence on the otherwise rational and highly intelligent woman who was the president. Almost bend her to his will when he wanted.
For a fleeting moment, Galia wondered how much political advantage might be wrung from a McGill assassination.
She discarded the thought as unworthy, possibly even a sign that she’d been in politics too long. The president loved this man. He was the father to three young children. Better that Mather Wyman should become president than —
“Galia, I’m going to be all right,” McGill said, just as if he’d been reading her mind. “The idea is to bag the other guys. I’ll be working with the Secret Service on this one. In fact, I’d like to bring Deke Ky back for the job. We’ll find a suitable replacement to watch Abbie.”
“You’ll do what the Secret Service tells you?”
“I’ll listen to their advice. Believe me, I’m not going out on any limbs. I want to spend a long time with my wife after she leaves office, and I’d love to become a grandfather.”
Grandpa McGill, there was an idea Galia had never entertained.
She supposed it was somewhat reassuring.
