Uncivil liberties pc-2

by Gordon Ryan

  Before Austin reached the committee room door, a soft, feminine voice rose from behind the dais, her microphone amplifying her smooth contralto tones. Her voice was stark in respect to the chairman’s raspy bleating. “Secretary Austin, if you will grant me a moment of your time, please,” she said.

  Austin stopped immediately and turned to face his questioner. “Senator McKenzie,” he said, his voice conciliatory and a gentle smile playing across his face, “it would be my honor to answer your question.”

  Senator Rachel McKenzie, Republican from Kansas and a strikingly attractive woman in her late thirties-early forties, when she admitted it-turned toward the chairman of the committee and addressed him directly. “Mr. Chairman, if I may have the floor for just a moment.”

  Culpepper leaned back in his chair. “If you can do something, anything to bring this meeting to order, Senator McKenzie, the Chair will be most grateful.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied. “Mr. Secretary, please understand that we-this bi-partisan committee-are, as you have indicated, highly aware of the gravity of the current status of our nation. I concur with you, sir, that this is not the time for political divisiveness or party politics. This is the time for American unity. For political cohesiveness. For cooperation, indeed joint action against what seems to be an impenetrable cadre of terrorists who are wreaking havoc with our national sense of security. And I can also assure you, Mr. Secretary, that this committee, comprised of both houses of our Congress and representing all political spectrums contained therein…” she paused, looking up and down the row of her fellow members, “…seeks answers to the difficult problems we face.”

  Her smile grew broader and her face softened as her body language appealed to the man standing before her. “Mr. Secretary, we need you here today. America needs you here today. I need you here today. I honor your selfless service to our country over the past four decades and perhaps more importantly, I have learned- personally learned in difficult times-to trust your word. If you would give us your valuable time this morning, I assure you that we will cease any semblance of partisan bickering and together, as Americans, we will strive to find a defensive solution to our current problems. Speaking personally, General, I blame no one person, no particular party, and certainly not the president of the United States. It is the enemy we should despise, and, with all due respect to our esteemed chairman, it is not our political opposition that is on trial this morning. Will you grant me that simple request, General, and remain with us?”

  Throughout her brief comments, General Austin had recalled with clarity the moment in 1971 when Air Force Major James Thompson, Senator McKenzie’s father, flying as Captain Austin’s squadron commander with Austin as wingman over the DMZ in Vietnam, had transmitted a warning that he had spotted two Russian SAM missiles rising from behind their flight formation. The memory was no less clear then on the day it had happened, and seldom had been far from his thoughts over the past forty years. The fireball that engulfed Major Thompson’s F-4 Phantom had literally disintegrated the aircraft, destroying his ejection seat and any hope of egress for the pilot.

  And then Austin thought of the years of friendship he and his wife, Christine, had shared with Thompson’s widow, Charlotte Thompson, as she struggled to raise their only child, a one-year-old daughter named Rachel. The Austins had served as grandparents to the young girl, watching as Charlotte, thirty-two at the time of her husband’s death, had never remarried, struggling to rise from the devastation of such an early life tragedy.

  Eventually, young Rachel had grown to maturity, completed law school, married Richard McKenzie, also a lawyer, and borne two daughters of her own. Then, in a twist of nature’s irony, four years earlier, Richard had been killed by an IED in Iraq while he was serving on deployment as a company commander with his National Guard unit. And now here Rachel sat, a United States Senator from her home state of Kansas. Austin had carried the weight of this knowledge for many years, a young woman bereft of father and husband, both killed in war three decades apart.

  Austin replied. “Senator McKenzie, out of my understanding of the importance of our present objectives and my heartfelt respect for your personal sacrifice to this country, we will consent to remain and respond to the inquiries of this committee. I fully appreciate the importance of our task. But if the remaining committee members would please understand, I will not waste our precious time or resources in defending unwarranted accusations against my commander-in-chief. I serve at the pleasure of the president of the United States. He is tasked with the defense of our nation. His administration requires the support of both houses of Congress, and both political parties, to accomplish that mission. An attack on our nation is not the president’s personal fault, but a unified response to that attack is certainly within the definition of his job duties, as it is within mine. I intend, to the best of my ability, to fulfill that responsibility. As I see it, regardless of party affiliation, we are here to help him, not to hinder him, in the achievement of that objective. If that can be agreed, then my colleagues and I are at your disposal.” Austin turned his eyes toward the chairman of the committee. “Senator Culpepper, is that an agreeable premise?”

  The scowl on Culpepper’s face was evident even from the distance where Austin stood. “Mr. Secretary, as a member of this august body for nearly thirty years, I will not be gagged and bound by any rules you deem to place upon this committee. We have difficult and pertinent questions to ask of you this morning. I will say and ask what I feel is in the best interest of the American people.”

  Austin nodded. “Agreed, Mr. Chairman. By all means, please ask your most difficult questions, extract from us anything necessary to help us reach acceptable measures to counter this attack. But Senator, I submit, notwithstanding your long years of dedicated service, that we can press the inquiry without hyperbole. We need not denigrate anyone to achieve these objectives.” Austin paused, lowered his head, and contemplated his next thoughts for several long, quiet moments, during which Senator Culpepper held his gavel, appearing prepared to interject, then Austin began to speak in a soft, almost humble, tone.

  “Senator, I am not a politician. I was a serving Air Force officer for thirty-five years, then served with our civilian intelligence community, but I have only recently entered these hallowed halls in my present incarnation. I plead guilty to ignorance of the diplomacy required to initiate an inquiry such as we pursue this morning, but innately, I believe it can be done honorably and without guile. Can we not seek joint solutions without casting individual aspersions? Can we not work together as Americans, not as Democrats or Republicans? I can assure you, sir, the task at hand is difficult enough without our being internally divisive.”

  The scowl slowly left Senator Culpepper’s face, replaced by the beginnings of a campaign smile. “Mr. Secretary, if you and your colleagues would please have a seat, I believe we can proceed as intended. You may not like all that I have to say or where I point the finger… or at whom… but, sir, I admire your stance, and, begrudgingly perhaps, I will remove the partisan cloak I must often wear. As you request, I will try to remember that I am an American first, a Democrat second.”

  “That, sir,” Austin said as he moved back toward the witness table, “is all that I can ask of any man… or woman,” he added, glancing at Senator McKenzie.

  Three hours later, after all committee members had, in turn, taken their moment of private glory in the questioning process, all parties filed out into the corridor. General Austin took a few moments to wait until Senator McKenzie left the dais, approaching her in the hallway. Pug followed close behind.

  As the senator approached, Austin proffered a broad grin. “Rachel, how very nice to see you again. How are your girls?” Senator McKenzie stood about five foot nine, trim with exceptionally healthy looking skin and facial features. Her clear blue eyes, framed by loose-hanging shoulder-length dark hair, projected an aura of intelligence along with a sincere warmth. She quickly closed the gap, obv
iously pleased to see Austin. “Uncle Bill, it’s so nice to see you again.”

  Rachel stepped close to the general and was immediately enveloped into a warm embrace. She then stepped back, his hands still on her shoulders. “You should come and see my girls for yourself. We’ve all missed your visits since you retired from the Air Force. Congratulations on your new appointment. I knew President Snow would make good choices.”

  “I’m grateful for his confidence,” Austin replied. “Christine was talking about you the other day,” he said, speaking of his wife. “She said something about your daughter, Charlotte, getting married. She also thinks I’m too busy and that perhaps it’s time we really retired and headed somewhere warm… and peaceful.” He laughed. “Rachel, let me introduce General Padraig Connor. Pug and I worked together for the past several years. He’s now the Director of Homeland Security’s Office of Information and Public Relations.”

  Rachel extended her hand, holding Pug’s eye contact. “My pleasure, General. I was impressed with your testimony this morning. And of course, yours too, Uncle Bill,” she added. “It was a bit testy at first.”She chuckled. “But Senator Culpepper has his own inimitable style.”

  Austin grunted. “So I noticed. In fact, one of his aides handed me a note just as we broke up. We’ve been invited to his office for an informal chat.”

  Rachel nodded her understanding. “The real meeting, I would guess. Well, please try to find some time to visit us, Bill. And Christine is correct. Charlotte is twenty-three and getting married next week. Allison is twenty-four and just about to finish law school at Georgetown. They grow up fast, don’t they?”

  “So did you, Senator. I miss the days when I could take you on my knee or scare the wits out of you on the roller coaster.” He laughed.

  “Yes, well,” she blushed slightly, “we shouldn’t burden General Connor with those stories now, should we?”

  Austin smiled warmly and put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders once again. “It’s so good to talk with you again, Rachel. Christine and I will make it a point to call and come for a visit one weekend soon. I promise. Be sure to send us a wedding invitation. And thank you for an excellent compromise solution this morning. The meeting could have gone very badly without your assistance.”

  “All in the line of duty, Uncle Bill. It was my pleasure to meet you, General Connor,” she said, turning to face Pug once again and offering her hand. She then embraced General Austin, kissing him on the cheek.

  Austin and Pug walked in the opposite direction from Rachel McKenzie, heading for Culpepper’s office.

  “General, is Senator McKenzie part of your extended family? She sounded like you and she had a lengthy history.”

  “I’m an honorary uncle. But she’s as much a member of our family as the children we never had. A surrogate daughter, I would say. I flew in Vietnam with her father the day he was shot down and killed. She was about one at the time. My wife and I stayed in touch with the family over the years. I attended her wedding about twenty-five years ago. She already had two children before she graduated from law school. A very organized and determined woman. Then, several years ago, her husband was killed and history repeated itself.”

  “Her father and her husband both killed in combat. What a tragedy.” Pug glanced back down the hallway just in time to see Rachel McKenzie stepping into the elevator.

  “Indeed. Now, let’s see what General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s triple great-grandson has to say to us.”

  Chapter 20

  Office of Senator Andrew F. Culpepper

  Hart Senate Office Building

  Washington, D.C.

  April

  Reaching Senator Culpepper’s office, they were shown in immediately, and the senator came out from behind his desk, all smiles and southern hospitality.

  “That hearing didn’t turn out so bad now, did it, Mr. Secretary?” Culpepper smiled.

  “I’ve faced worse,” Austin said, his demeanor relaxed, but his political antennae vibrating. The quietly offered invitation from one of Culpepper’s low level staffers had not been anticipated. Austin had sent Brooks back to the White House to report to the president, but directed Pug to remain with him.

  Despite his ‘I’m new at this’ charade in the committee room, former Lieutenant General William Austin had spent countless hours with behind-the-scenes congressional committees over the years and knew the ropes quite well. Staging a walkout had been a ploy that worked to establish his reluctance to impugn the president or others of the Republican persuasion and had resulted in the committee members toning down their verbal assault.

  “To employ an oft-used phrase, ‘I was just doin’ my duty,’ General, satisfying my constituents and party adherents. Nothing personal, of course. Actually, I find I rather like our new president. He’s more approachable than Cumberland would have been, God rest his soul.”

  “I understand the need for theater, Senator. Now, how can we help you further?” Austin asked, still wary of the senior senator’s intentions. Culpepper motioned for both men to take seats.

  Senator Culpepper had decorated his office, in which he had been firmly ensconced since the Hart Senate Office Building had been built thirty years earlier in 1982, with primarily antebellum and Civil War themes, most of them reflecting his home state of Tennessee. A half-dozen limited editions and two excellent originals of Civil War battles lined his walls, all done by the famous military historian and artist, Don Stivers. Both the original paintings depicted stages of the Civil War in which Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest led his cavalry regiment.

  Bronze statutes rested on several bookcases and a nearly life-size statue of Andrew “Old Hickory” Jackson, another famous Tennessean and the seventh president, stood just outside the entrance to his private office. On the front of the senator’s desk was an engraved sign, “Git thar fust with the most men!”, which was the famous quote from General Forrest, noted for his use of quick mobility in battle.

  “General, I know you’re not as naive about political matters as you pretended this morning, but I’m not as curmudgeonly as I might appear, either. I just might surprise you with my, shall we say, private beliefs regarding the current situation. I thought it would help if we could get together, out of the public eye, and discuss the matter.” Culpepper reached into a drawer to the side of his desk and retrieved a clear plastic document protector, about a half-inch thick with documents, placing it on his desk top.

  “Let me try to sum up why I asked you to meet with me this afternoon. As is the case in any war in world history, there are devious factions in society that would use any crisis, our current predicament included, to enhance their own objectives. Translated, that means ‘build their bank accounts,’ General. War profiteers. Scum of the earth, if you ask me, and dishonorable to their respective nations in time of crisis. As we both know, there are some Iraqis who are more wealthy today than Saddam was before the war. The same thing will happen in America with this latest invasion of our shores. I hope, General Austin, that you and I can form an alliance against them, but my opening gambit this morning was necessary to renew my well-established ‘anti-administration’ bona fides. The people we’re dealing with are concerned, with good reason, that the current administration will not favor their plans for increased profitability. From what I’ve seen of President Snow and some of his cabinet-level appointments, yourself included,” he chuckled, “they’re probably right. Oh, they shield their plans with verbiage of patriotism, honor, security for the nation, etcetera, but it’s all… what did you call my harangue this morning? Hyperbole?”

  The crusty old senator, a veteran of many such clandestine political conspiracies, chuckled for several moments. “Perhaps I laid it on a bit thick in my opening monologue, and, given my history in the Senate, I’ve already confirmed my anti-administration stance. Your walk-out disrupted that plan rather quickly, but we can both thank Senator McKenzie for saving the day. A very astute woman. As to my true intentions, per
haps you should ask President Snow to have a quiet word with President Steadman, my Democratic cohort in many a clandestine battle, before condemning me completely.”

  Austin nodded his understanding. “Perhaps we both were grandstanding a bit this morning, Senator. ‘ Public performance often belies private action,’” he said, quoting a phrase from Senator Culpepper’s recent political treatise.

  Culpepper grinned at the reference. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You’re smarter, politically speaking, than you pretend.” He then turned his attention to Pug Connor. “Son, it speaks highly that General Austin brought you with him to this private meeting, and I’m going to infer from his decision that he trusts both your integrity and your confidentiality. Unless informed otherwise,” he said, glancing toward Austin, “I’m going to proceed on that assumption. I’m playing a dangerous game here, General Connor. Perhaps not as life-threatening as some of the missions I’ve learned you’ve undertaken, but potentially as damaging, politically speaking.”