[Lady Justice 09] - Lady Justice and the Candidate

by Robert Thornhill

  “He could, but he’s going to be holed up in a hotel in Dallas getting ready to crucify the big oil companies. We have confidence in you, Walt.”

  “I wish that I did!”

  Senator Ross Grimley and a couple of his aides met me at the airport in Richmond.

  We piled into a Hummer that was as big as a Sherman Tank and headed to the lake.

  The Senator’s boat was already in the water and the motor was idling.

  It was a 2012 model Nitro Z-9 with a 250 HP Mercury OptiMax motor that the Senator told me would whisk us across the water at 70 miles per hour.

  The boat had every possible option and the whole outfit probably cost as much as a small nuclear submarine.

  This being Virginia, I wondered how many pieces of tobacco legislation the Senator had championed over the years to earn the rig.

  We zipped across the lake at breakneck speed and anchored in one of his favorite coves.

  When everything was ready, he handed me a rod with one of those open-faced reels. I had seen them, but never used one.

  “This is a Shimano Calais,” he said proudly. “Just bought it yesterday. Cost me $650. You’ll love it.”

  I watched him cast his plug with perfect accuracy and it looked pretty easy, so I decided to give it a try.

  I flung the plug out into the void and it plopped unceremoniously into the water about three feet from the boat.

  I looked at the reel and it looked like a crow had made a nest in the Senator’s Shimano.

  I tugged at the big wad of line and it only made matters worse.

  The Senator was watching me with an amused grin.

  “That’s called a backlash, Mr. Foster, and it really makes a damn mess, doesn’t it?”

  Suddenly, I began to suspect that he knew all along that I was going to screw up.

  “Backlash --- not a pretty sight,” he continued, “and that’s just what’s going to happen if you continue your present course. In the highly unlikely event that you should be elected president, the thing that you must remember is that you will still have a Republican or Democratic congress and people on both sides of the aisle are not very happy with what they’re hearing from you. Abandon these hare-brained ideas and you might see some support. Persist and your political career will look a lot like what you’re holding in your hand. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  By this time, I was getting really pissed off. This had been a set-up from the get-go. Senator Grimley had been chosen to deliver a message of warning to Ben Foster from the entrenched interests on Capitol Hill.

  I wanted to tell the Senator where he could stick his Shimano and his advice, but I had to remember that I was Ben Foster and not Walt Williams.

  “I guess we’ll just have to let the chips fall where they may,” I said. “If I am elected, it will be because the American people want a change and want dinosaurs like you, who cater to the whims of big business out of office. It may not be tomorrow or even next year, but with elections in 2014 and again in 2016, you may just find your asses out on the street. Here’s what I think of your backlash,” I said, and I tossed the rod and reel into the water.

  Senator Grimley watched as his $650 reel sank out of sight. “Mark my words, Foster. You’ll regret this.”

  The Senator didn’t waste any time getting us back to shore and he didn’t even say 'good bye.' He took off in a huff and left one of his minions to take me to the airport.

  On my way to Dallas, I reflected on the encounter and realized that I had just seen American politics at its worst.

  I looked forward to hearing Ben’s address so that I could be reminded how politicians were supposed to behave.

  The news of the assassination attempt traveled fast and when I arrived in Dallas, security was even tighter than usual. No city wanted the dubious distinction of being the place where a candidate had been whacked.

  We had no idea if people hearing of the attack on Ben, would stay away fearing for their safety.

  We needn’t have worried.

  Our culture is used to getting their thrills vicariously through football players bashing into one another and race car drivers speeding around hairpin turns at 180 miles an hour.

  The prospect of actually getting to see a guy blown to bits by a sniper was just too juicy to pass up and the crowd that had gathered to hear Ben speak was so large that hundreds were turned away.

  Our venue was Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, the home of the Dallas Cowboys.

  The huge stadium had a retractable roof that Mark Davenport had asked to be closed thereby eliminating any more possible sniper threats from perches outside of the stadium.

  Before we left our hotel for the big event, Sully pulled me aside.

  “I’ve got a little present for you,” he said, handing me a Kevlar vest. “It won’t make you invincible, but every little bit helps.”

  I’d worn the body armor several times during raids by our squad. The darn things are hot and cumbersome but I’d seen several guys walking around that wouldn’t have been without the protection.

  After my most recent brush with death, I wasn’t about to argue.

  Word had leaked that Ben was gunning for the big oil companies and you could feel the electricity in the stadium as he took his place in front of the microphones.

  He certainly didn’t waste any time softening the blow.

  “$4.00 a gallon! How many of you out there like pumping your hard earned dollars into the coffers of the oil giants?”

  His opening remark drew a round of boo’s from the citizen’s that were getting tired of being raped at the pump.

  “Consider this, we are told that we are dependent on oil that is imported from the Middle East and every time there is a political hiccup in that region, it hits you and me right in the pocketbook. Israel threatens to attack Iran and the price at the pump goes up fifty cents a gallon.

  “At the same time, the U.S. is exporting more oil to foreign countries every year. Why are we shipping oil out of the country that could be used right here at home to lessen our dependence on imported oil?

  “The answer, of course, is dollars.

  “It doesn’t matter whether we’re talking about big oil, big drug companies or big food companies, it’s always about the money.

  “The U.S. government subsidizes the petroleum industry in virtually every area, from exploration to drilling to production and yes, even to the exportation of our nation’s oil supply.

  “Do you realize that one of the largest oil companies in America, ExxonMobile, pays a lower effective tax rate than the average American family?

  “Did you know that the top five oil companies that operate in the United States make over $76 billion a year in profits and have cash reserves of over $60 billion and yet, the administrations of the two major political parties see fit to grant them over $2 billion a year in tax breaks?

  “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that political elections are not bought and paid for by special interests.

  “So what’s the answer you might ask?

  “I’ll tell you the answer and some of you will not like it. I guarantee you that big oil will not like it, so I must be on the right track.

  “The first thing that must be considered is weaning our country from dependence on foreign oil. We have to become energy self-sufficient.

  “We must continue to explore new sources of energy. Alternatives to oil and coal have been adopted, but the American public cries NIMBY --- Not In My Back Yard.

  “People don’t want huge wind farms covering our open plains because they’re unsightly and who wants their city or town turned into another Chernobyl by an accident at a nuclear power plant?

  “I’m sorry folks, but you can’t make an omelet without breaking an egg.

  “I’m totally in favor of preserving our environment, but if we ever want to be independent of foreign oil we must find a reasonable middle ground.

  “Our scientists tell us that there are vast reserves of oil und
er American soil and under our coastal waters --- now listen to this very carefully --- these oil reserves do not belong to the big oil interests, they are a natural resource that belongs to the American people.

  “We have National Forest Preserves and we do not let logging companies strip the mountains of our beautiful trees because they belong to all of us.

  “As your president, I will call for a moratorium on harvesting our oil reserves under the conditions that exist today. The subsidies and tax breaks that are currently being given to the big oil interests will cease and those dollars will be directed to new ventures that will harvest the oil under conditions that will be in the interests of the American people.

  “This is not without precedent. We have built mighty dams across rivers that belong to the American people and those dams convert the flow of water into hydroelectric energy to power our homes and businesses.

  “Likewise, new companies, willing to operate under the new guidelines will be given permission to tap these reserves to bring affordable gasoline to the American public, creating more jobs for the unemployed.

  “So what happens to the big five oil producers? Unfortunately, you cannot un-ring a bell. They will continue to produce their oil just as they have in the past, only without the subsidy of your tax dollars. I am confident that when the New Wave gas stations open with $2.00 per gallon gas, next to their $4.00 per gallon stations, the mechanics of a free enterprise economy will dictate their future.

  “We would welcome any existing oil company to join with us in making the United States free of dependency on foreign oil and liberating the public from astronomical gas prices, but that probably won’t happen, because to them, it’s all about the money.

  “This November, you have a choice to make --- elect one of my competitors and maintain the status quo which includes pouring more money into the coffers of the giant corporations, or take a new direction that will return a valuable natural resource where it belongs --- to the people.

  “If you choose the former, please remember that I told you so when you’re pumping $5.00 per gallon gas into your tanks.

  “If you don’t believe that this is true, check the campaign contributions to my competitors in the coming weeks and see how much money big oil is willing to spend to guarantee that I am not elected as your next President.

  “Thank you very much. I will take a short break and be right back with you.”

  After Ben’s speech, I wished that I was wearing full body armor and not just a Kevlar vest. He was pissing off powerful interests every time he took the stage and any one of them was capable of taking him out of the race --- permanently!

  As we passed in the elevator, he gave me a pat on the shoulder.

  “Okay Walt, I’ve warmed up the crowd for you, so take it on home.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I just hope I don’t get swallowed up in your oil slick.”

  As I stepped out to greet the crowd, something new caught my eye.

  Unlike the previous rallies, placards bearing the slogan, “Champion For Change!” were bobbing up and down throughout the stadium and people were chanting, “Foster! Foster!”

  Arnie’s slogan had certainly caught on.

  Once again, the response from the people that shook my hand was positive. Truckers and cab drivers and soccer moms were tired of paying the artificially high prices at the pump and were willing to back anyone with a better idea and a possible solution.

  Ben was winning the support of the middle class American. I didn’t really expect to see any billionaires in the crowd waiting to shake my hand --- that just wasn’t their thing. More likely, they were somewhere behind closed doors trying to figure out how to put a muzzle on this upstart that could seriously threaten their bottom line.

  Mark’s security detail had intensified their efforts and I saw SS agents everywhere, surveying the crowd and watching for anything unusual from the nosebleed sections of the big stadium.

  After forty-five minutes of glad-handing, the crowd had thinned and as the stadium emptied, I looked in utter disbelief at the mess that was left behind.

  As at any large venue, the concession stands were open to sell dogs and chips and soft drinks. Cups, wrappers and half-eaten weenies were everywhere.

  When the visitors had gone, the clean-up crew took over. I had noticed that most of the workers were of Mexican-American heritage. As we passed them in the stands on our way to the tunnel that led to the locker room, they acted as if we weren’t there and just went about their business cleaning up the debris.

  As we were about to enter the tunnel, one of the workers caught my eye. Maybe it was because he was one of the few non-Hispanic workers, or maybe it was because of the big mop bucket on wheels that he pushed ahead of him, but something felt different.

  Apparently Sully noticed it too.

  Just as we approached, the mop guy reached down into his bucket and pulled out a gun.

  “NO!” Sully shouted, and as the guy fired, Sully launched himself into the air between the shooter and me.

  I saw Sully’s body convulse as the slug hit him and at the same moment, it felt like a mule had kicked me in the ribs.

  We both went down as the SS agents converged on the assassin.

  The last thing I remembered before blacking out was someone shouting in my ear bud, “We got him! We got the shooter!”

  When I regained consciousness, it felt like someone had stuck a knife between my ribs and was twisting it.

  Then I remembered what happened, “Sully! What about Sully?”

  Mark was by my side. “He’s going to be okay. You both were very lucky. He took the bullet in his shoulder. It was a through and through shot that hit you in the vest. His body slowed the thing down enough that all you got were a few bruised ribs. He’ll be back on the job in a few days. So how do you feel?”

  For the first time, I pulled up my shirt and saw a black and blue mark on my ribcage about the size of a baseball.

  “I feel like I took a Nolan Ryan fastball point blank.”

  “The doc will give you some painkillers. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks for your empathy and concern,” I said with all of the sarcasm that I could muster.

  He ignored my biting remark. “Listen, we got the guy and I’m about to interrogate him. Would you like to join Ben and Paul as they watch from an adjoining room?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Maybe we’ll get some answers as to who is behind these attempts on Ben’s life,” he said. “We could use a break.”

  Actually, both attempts had been on my life, but I understood what he was saying.

  When I entered the room, Ben grabbed my hand, “Walt, are you okay? We were all so worried about you. Thank you doesn’t seem like quite enough ---”

  “I’m fine. Just a little sore,” I lied. It actually hurt like hell.

  Just then the screen popped open and we could see Mark with the shooter.

  Mark asked him a series of questions, but the guy just stared straight ahead and didn’t even acknowledge Mark’s presence.

  “This guy is obviously a pro,” Paul remarked. “From the looks of him, I’d say he is probably ex-CIA. These guys are trained to withstand brutal interrogation techniques.”

  Mark could see that he was getting nowhere and rose to leave.

  “Okay, be that way. If you won’t talk to me, then we’ll just have to send you to some guys that are a lot better at this than I am --- if you know what I mean. You’ll talk eventually. You might as well tell us who’s behind this thing.”

  The man spoke for the first time, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. You’re in way over your head.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Mark replied as he walked out of the room.

  Outside in the hall, I heard him give orders for the guy to be transported to a secure facility where the interrogation experts could have a go at him.

  The screen went blank and I could hear the rattle of chains as the guy was shuf
fled off to someplace that I really didn’t want to know about.

  Mark entered the room and we had a brief conversation about what was going to happen next.

  We were supposed to head to Arkansas so that Ben could take on his next Goliath, the BuyMart chain.

  “Are you going to cancel?” Mark asked.

  Ben and Paul looked at one another. “We’ve discussed it,” Ben said, “but where do you draw the line? If it’s not safe tomorrow, will it be safe the next day or the next? We can’t let these people intimidate us. We have a message to deliver to the American people and we’ve made a commitment. We’re going!”

  Then he looked at me. “Walt, if you’re ready to bail, I certainly understand. There have been two close calls in two days. I’m ready to take it all on if need be.”

  I had seen the look of hope in the eyes of the people that had heard Ben’s message and I was still pissed off by Senator Grimley’s attempt to put Ben in his place. If by some miracle, this man were elected President, it could change the course of history. I just wasn’t quite ready to abandon ship.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll hang around a while longer. I have to see who you’re going to piss off next.”

  “Good!” Ben replied. “Anyone interested in some bread pudding? I hear their sauce is terrific.”

  Just then, one of the agents burst into the room.

  “He’s dead! The shooter is dead!”

  “But how?” Mark asked. “All we were doing was transporting the guy. What happened?”

  “We had just left the stadium and were putting him into one of our armored vehicles when they hit us. A black SUV roared around the corner with machine guns blazing. They seemed to know precisely what we were doing and they went straight for the guy. He went down immediately. One of our guys took a round but he’ll be okay.”

  “They got away, I assume,” Mark said shaking his head.

  “Yeah, they did,” the agent replied. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

  When the agent had gone, Mark turned to us with a very serious expression on his face, “This is a very typical ‘black ops’ tactic. If one of your men is taken, there is a back-up team ready to take him out before he can talk.