Patriot's Farewell: A Political Thriller Fiction Series (Boston Brahmin Political Thrillers Book 7)
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“Okay, let’s get started. Members of the Ready Reaction Force have been assigned to assist existing security personnel at the AIT and prepare the four-hundred or so diplomatic personnel for evacuation. Several others have been assigned to perform security detail at the Hualien Airport along Taiwan’s east coast. At this point, the locals believe we are readying transports for the evacuation of American nationals who feel their safety is at risk due to the demonstrations. So officially those of you within the RRF have been assigned to the visible protection of Americans.”
Major Beckett took another draw on his cigar and studied his men. “I’ve assigned six of you to work with these gentlemen behind you. If you’ve been so designated, please remain here for now. The rest of you are to report immediately to the air transports waiting outside.”
The RRF unit shuffled out of the hangar, leaving Major Beckett, Lieutenant Colonel Sherman, and Drew’s newly expanded team behind.
Major Beckett shoved the cigar butt into the corner of his mouth and took a seat in the center of the folding tables set up next to the podium. “Folks, gather around and let’s take a look at the latest from the birds in the sky.”
His aides spread out the reconnaissance photos and maps along the tables and secured their corners with masking tape.
Beckett picked up a simple wooden stick pointer and looked from one end of the table to the other. “Okay, for the benefit of my people, this operation, code-named Golden Retriever, is classified top secret and is compartmented on a strict need-to-know basis. I’ve chosen each of you because of your security clearances, language skills, and your familiarity with Taipei.
“Our specific mission is to locate Ambassador McBride, secure his safety and, if possible, interrogate his abductors to find out who they work for. The CIA has its suspicions, and without prejudicing your efforts, it’s likely these are Chinese operatives from their Flying Dragons unit or some other element of the PLA. With that said, these guys will be pros. This is not some snatch-for-ransom situation. There has been no request for payment, or any contact for that matter.”
“Sir, have the intelligence people updated the whereabouts of the six vans that left the compound together?” asked Drew.
“They have,” he replied as he stood up with the pointer. “We have six ultimate destinations for the white vans.” He pointed at six different maps. They ranged from parking garages to small businesses to other residential locations.
Drew studied the maps. “How current are these?”
“Three hours ago, but our eyes in the sky are about to give us glasses,” interjected Lieutenant Colonel Sherman. “The Navy has assisted us with the new MQ-4C Triton Drone in Taipei. The drone is on its way from Hawaii and will be providing us live feeds by the time you touch down.”
“That’s a big bird, sir,” said King. “It won’t go unnoticed by the PLA.”
Lieutenant Colonel Sherman nodded. “That’s true, but it’s the best we’ve got at the moment. Besides, we’re hours away from everyone showing their cards anyway.”
“The real-time video will be a huge help,” mumbled Drew.
“Gentlemen, you’ve got six destinations to investigate and the potential for eight teams. I will send these most recent images with you aboard the newest air transport in the Corps. Jackson, my guys are your guys now. Use them as you see fit.”
“Thank you, Major,” said Drew. “Let’s saddle up, y’all. Time’s a-wastin’.”
Chapter 58
3:30 p.m.
The Roosevelt Room
The White House
Washington, DC
Sarge paced the floor as he waited for the vote to begin. A roll call vote in the Senate occurs when each senator votes yea or nay as their name is called by the clerk, who records the votes on a simple tally sheet. The procedural aspects of today’s vote on the Pacific Statehood Act, such as determining a quorum and invoking cloture, which was the procedure for ending debate on the bill, had been completed. Opportunities to filibuster had passed.
The presiding officer, Vice President Abbie Morgan Jackson, as was customary, conducted a voice vote. “On the passage of the Pacific Statehood Act of 2024, all in favor say aye!”
“Aye!” shouted half the Senate.
“All opposed say nay!”
“Nay!” replied the other half.
Abbie slapped the gavel down several times and announced that a voice vote would be forthcoming. She welcomed a motion for a recorded vote, which was promptly seconded.
For several minutes, Abbie conferred with the Clerk of the Senate while the appropriate paperwork was being assembled for her.
“Good Lord,” Donald moaned. “This is ridiculous. C’mon, Abbie, get on with it already.”
Brad began to laugh at his friend. “Donald, do we need to fix you a cocktail?”
“No, not yet. Depending on how it goes, I might need a bottle.”
The C-SPAN cameras had been focused on Abbie but began to pan the Senate floor and then the gallery.
“Wait!” shouted Sarge. “Where’s the remote?”
“Here, sir,” replied Ocampo.
“Pause and rewind the C-SPAN feed,” instructed Sarge. Ocampo hit the rewind button and the images were shown in reverse. “Slowly. Keep going. There. Stop. Stop there!”
“Sarge,” interrupted Donald, “is that—?”
“Yeah, I see the smug bastard. Gardner Lowell is in the front row of the gallery, right over Abbie’s head.”
Sarge reached into his jacket pocket and removed his phone. He frantically typed a text message to Senator Rutledge.
POTUS: Gardner Lowell. Gallery, first row, center. Do you see?
Rutledge: Pompous fool. I see him.
POTUS: Who did he get to?
Rutledge: IDK.I spoke to every one of them pre-vote.
Abbie began to call the roll, which brought Sarge’s attention back to the monitors. Donald had his iPad ready to check off the votes as they were announced. Ocampo had retrieved the easel with the senator’s names on the flip pad to display the votes for Sarge and Brad.
One by one, Abbie called out the states in alphabetical order. Alabama. Alaska. Arizona. Arkansas. The senators from each of these states cast their votes by declaring yea or nay.
“So far, we have no surprises,” muttered Donald as the process continued.
“Colorado, Senior Senator Higgenbottom,” said Abbie.
“Nay!” Donald recorded the vote, as did Ocampo.
“Colorado, Junior Senator Ellis,” said Abbie.
“Yea!”
Donald stared at his iPad and then at Ocampo’s handwritten tally on the easel. “Yea?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. She flipped.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Sarge. “I would have never thought she’d change sides.”
Abbie seemed to recognize the betrayal as well because she hesitated in continuing while she stared at Senator Ellis from her elevated position.
Sarge received a text message from the Senate Majority Leader.
Rutledge: I confirmed her this morning. No doubt. Now this!
“We can’t lose any more,” said Donald.
“Gardner Lowell wouldn’t be in the gallery if he wasn’t sure of himself,” said Sarge. “Donald, go through your list again. Who are we missing? We can still text them.”
“Not necessarily, Mr. President,” said Crepeau. “Senate rules prohibit the use of cell phones during voice votes.”
“What about Paul? He’s texting me.”
Crepeau shrugged. “He made the rules, sir. I imagine they don’t apply to him.”
Abbie continued. “Missouri, Senior Senator Taggett.”
“Yea!” came the reply.
Donald continued to frantically scroll through his iPad. Sarge studied the names for the remaining states. They were halfway through.
“Can we get Senator Rutledge to confirm Sanders from Nevada? I’m grasping here, but Nevada borders Cali and Colorado.”
POTUS: Confirm Sanders, Nevada.
Rutledge: On it.
CNN was showing a long-range view of the Senate chamber. The group in the Roosevelt Room watched as Senator Rutledge ambled over to where Senator Sanders was seated. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders and whispered into his ear. The senator from Reno, Nevada, nodded and patted Rutledge on the hand, who smiled and returned the gesture.
Rutledge made his way back to his seat and sent a text.
Rutledge: Confirmed nay.
POTUS: TY. We saw.
“Donald, who else?” asked Sarge.
“Sarge, I’m grasping here,” replied Donald, his voice trailing off.
Sarge studied the flip board, focusing on the names to determine who could be bought off. As Abbie recorded the votes from Pennsylvania, he focused on the last dozen states. Abbie must have read his mind with some form of extrasensory perception because she purposefully stalled before she called Rhode Island.
“She’s thinking also,” said Sarge aloud without realizing he’d done so.
“Yes, our girl smells trouble,” said Brad, the military man weighing in on the proceedings for the first time. “I’ll bet she saw Rutledge approach the Nevada guy.”
Sarge got excited. “Yes, you’re right, Brad. She’s trying to help us. Donald, come on, buddy.”
“Sarge, I mean Mr.—damn, whatever. The rest of these votes are solid yeas or nays.”
“There he is again,” exclaimed Ocampo, pointing at the monitor that showed Gardner in the front row, leaning on the edge of his seat, staring intently onto the Senate floor.
Abbie began the roll call again, now up to Texas.
“Ocampo, hurry, go back,” ordered Sarge. “Where is he looking?”
“It appears he’s looking toward the left, sir.”
“The Republican side of the chamber,” said Sarge and then yelled at the television, “Slow down, Abbie!”
“Come on, Donald, who can Gardner buy from Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin, or Wyoming.”
Donald replied, “The House Minority Whip was from Virginia. What if he was double-dealing?”
“Then Gardner may have bought Adams from Virginia!” replied Ocampo.
Sarge didn’t hesitate. He sent another frantic text, misspelling the junior female senator’s name in the process.
POTUS: Admas VA!!!
The group immediately turned their attention to the screen and watched Senator Rutledge jump out of his chair, drawing the attention of several members of the Senate. He pushed his way past a conversation and made his way to where Virginia’s junior senator was seated.
Abbie announced Vermont, whose senators placed both of their votes in the yea column. She continued, but her attention was noticeably on the Majority Leader.
“Virginia, Senior Senator Campbell.”
“Yea!”
Senator Rutledge approached Senator Adams from Virginia while Abbie hesitated, allowing him to speak with her. She appeared to pull away from him, causing a visibly dejected Senator Rutledge to flop into the vacant seat next to her, which belonged to Senator LaRocco from Wyoming.
Abbie continued. “Virginia, Junior Senator Adams.”
The senator glanced back over to Senator Rutledge and then announced her vote. “Nay!”
Ocampo and Crepeau exchanged high fives. “Excellent,” shouted the young woman, who had been Sarge’s prized student at Harvard.
Abbie moved on to West Virginia and Wisconsin, bypassing Washington state, which had left the Union.
“It’s gonna come down to a tie,” said Donald. “I think he got to her just in time.”
Sarge didn’t comment as he received another text message from Senator Rutledge.
Rutledge: It wasn’t her. Never was. Always solid.
Abbie came to the final state. “Wyoming, Senior Senator Wyatt.”
“Nay!”
The tension was thick in the Roosevelt Room as everyone was standing in front of the three monitors. The final vote was about to be cast.
“Wyoming, Junior Senator LaRocco.”
The Senate Chamber fell deathly silent as the C-SPAN camera moved to focus on Senator LaRocco’s customary seat in the chamber, which she’d vacated during the latter part of the vote. She was no longer there, but her seat was still occupied by Senator Rutledge.
Abbie repeated the call. “Wyoming, Junior Senator LaRocco.”
The other senators appeared to be confused and then concerned as she didn’t respond. People began looking around the chamber for her.
“Where did she go?” asked Donald. “It’s fifty to forty-nine in favor. We need her vote to create the tie.”
“What if she abstains?” asked Sarge.
Donald replied, “She has to give a reason. But where is she?”
Abbie covered her hand over the microphone and leaned over to the clerk, who immediately summoned the sergeant-at-arms. By this point, the mumbling among the members of the Senate rose to a crescendo, forcing Abbie to call the Senate to order.
The Rules of the Senate were forcing her to make a decision. She had to continue with the vote. She repeated the roll call, causing the senators to stop their chatter.
“Wyoming, Junior Senator LaRocco.”
“We’re screwed,” said Sarge. “She’s been co-opted by Gardner, or something has happened to her. Either way, it’s over. Abbie is going to have to call it or half the Senate will riot.”
“Final call. Wyoming Senator LaRocco, are you in the chamber?”
A long pause followed before the members of the Senate in favor of the Pacific Statehood Act began to embrace each other and celebrate.
“The clerk of the Senate shall read the final tally.”
“On passage of the Pacific Statehood Act of 2024, there are fifty for and forty-nine against. The ayes have it and the House version of the bill is passed.”
Sarge slumped in the first available chair while Donald paced the floor, his face enraged. The communications team didn’t wait for their instructions to leave. Brad led them to the door and closed it behind them.
“Thanks, Brad,” said Sarge. “There’ll be plenty of time to prepare a statement for the press. Donald, sit down, old friend. I don’t need you strokin’ out on me. The girls have a slumber party scheduled for tonight and we’ve got wounds to lick.”
“Guys, I’m sorry about this. I’d love to throw down a bottle of booze with ya, but I need to get back to the Pentagon. Things are about to get hot in Taiwan.”
Sarge stood and shook his friend’s hand. “Go ahead, Brad. Thanks for hanging with us for moral support. Please keep me informed as things develop.”
“Of course,” said Brad as he turned to the dejected Chief of Staff. “Donald, hang in there. I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, hopefully.”
“Dinner?” asked Donald, who was somewhat oblivious to the conversation.
“Yeah, buddy,” said Sarge, who patted his friend on the back. “Thanksgiving dinner, tomorrow.”
Sarge followed Brad out and poked his head into Betty’s office.
She frowned and looked up from her work and offered her condolences. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. President.”
“Yeah, me too, Betty, on many levels. Would you please get the attorney general on the phone? Tell him I need to see him on an urgent matter. Also, let the Gatekeeper know that Donald will be indisposed for a little while. I think he needs to decompress.”
“I will, sir. Will you be in the Oval?”
Sarge laughed. “I may have to wheel my Chief of Staff in there from across the hall, but that’s where I’ll see the AG.”
Sarge smiled at several staffers in the hallway, who looked like they’d all lost their best friend. He didn’t make any small talk, focusing on his next steps, which had ramifications far beyond today’s vote.
He walked back into the Roosevelt Room, where Donald seemed close to tears. Sarge always ad
mired his good friend for not being afraid to show his emotions. Sarge closed the door behind him.
“We’ve got lots to discuss, Donald, and then we need to turn our attention to saving our ambassador.”
“I know, but let me ask this first. Will Gardner Percival Lowell be at Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?”
“I think he’s on the list. I’ll check with Julia.”
“Is it too late to uninvite him?” asked Donald.
“You mean disinvite?”
“What’s the difference?” asked Donald.
“Disinvite means you’re no longer welcome. It’s a little more mean-spirited.”
“Yeah, disinvite him. Can we do it?”
Sarge laughed and grabbed Donald by the shoulders and gave him a playful shake. “I wanna remind you of something. There was a night when the two of us were standing up on the widow’s walk at 1PP. You started to tease me by suggesting I run for President of the United States. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah, I remember. You threatened to throw me off the roof,” replied Donald.
“That’s right.”
“You should have thrown me off the roof and saved us the aggravation.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t. Donald, the Founding Fathers would have been proud of what we’ve accomplished in the White House. So would John Morgan. Today was a setback, to be sure. But it’s not the end of the world as we know it. We know what that looks like.”
“What about Gardner?” asked Donald.
“Listen, there is a conversation that will most likely take place tomorrow that is long overdue. We need to clear our heads, get our ducks in a row, because a new battle is brewing that won’t involve weapons of war or wrangling of votes. Now, are you with me?”
“Hell yeah!”
Chapter 59
5:00 p.m.
The Trump Townhouse
Trump International Hotel
Washington, DC
Gardner Lowell returned to the Trump Townhouse a triumphant man. In the past seventy-two hours, he’d accomplished three very important political achievements. First, he’d proven that he could manipulate the nation’s influential lawmakers just as well as his predecessors on the Boston Brahmin executive council by securing several diverse allies in the halls of Congress who’d do his bidding in the future. Second, he’d set the stage for the reunification of the nation, which would expand the balance sheets of his family and his associates. But finally, and most importantly to his ego, he’d stuck it to the president—Henry Sargent, who’d been appointed to his position of power without merit, in Gardner’s humble opinion.