Walters explained that each Revolutionary officer had taken a glass of wine and came forward in tears to take his hand. This act of respect was followed by an escort of the General to a boat that took him across the Hudson and on toward his retirement in Mount Vernon.
The new founders were emotional as they listened to their leader’s voice crack as he described the glory and sadness of a past life with those he loved but had been gone for hundreds of years.
Walters was the most celebrated man in the country again, yet he was alone. He spoke from the heart.
“My dear friends, those men of 1783 were very special to me, some of the bravest and most honorable men this country has ever seen. I had a world of respect for those men and yet I would take every single one of you over them, one hundred times out of one hundred. There is no doubt about that.”
The seriousness of the moment was interrupted by the ringtone of Jack Murray’s cell phone. The Virginian excused himself to take the call from his semi-estranged wife. Walters continued to describe his trip back to Virginia following his farewell. He lightened the conversation by joking that he wished he had a private jet and pretty stewardess for the trip instead of a bumpy carriage that took a week to get to its destination. As the men laughed, Murray reentered the room. He looked dejected.
“Everything okay?”
Walters was comfortable enough to ask the question in front of the team. Everybody knew and felt what Murray was going through. They were sympathetic.
“Yeah, everything’s good. Todd came out of his coma this afternoon. He’s responding well but doesn’t remember the accident, which may be a good thing.”
The men thought that news would have brought elation from their compatriot and were puzzled by his reaction. Walters thought the same thing, but turned his attention back to his speech. The first president, in barely a whisper, thanked the new founders.
“Gentlemen, in but three days when the election concludes, we will have achieved Providence’s calling. You have all done very well. I thank you and our nation thanks you.”
Walters sounded sanguine as he concluded.
“I will now take my leave for Virginia as we did in another lifetime.”
Murray’s attention was fully back in the room. He had been suspicious of Walters’ intentions since his first appearance on the Fredericks’ show and leaned in to grab Walters’ arm.
“What do you mean, sir?”
The General patted Murray’s hand as he scanned the room.
“While the other men continue the last few days of the campaign with Mr. Rader, I will ask you and Mr. Hahn to deliver me to my adopted home of Arnold, Maryland. I need to speak with Connor Walters and pay him my respects to his fine father who helped make all of this possible. And lest we forget, I need to cast my vote.”
As the men gathered their collective thoughts, they wondered why Hahn and Murray were chosen to go ahead. Before anybody had a chance to ask, their boss added another direction.
“We will then travel back to Mount Vernon and visit my beloved home on the Potomac where I will give thanks to Martha.”
The team tried to digest the latest request that sounded like an order. But Walters spoke again, this time sounding again like an eighteenth century man.
“I know not what fate has in store for me but when I am gone, as I have nurtured you, so too should you nurture one another.”
Anders had heard enough and jumped in quickly.
“But General, what are you saying? Where are you going? You’ll be President-elect on Tuesday!”
Walters managed a smile and told Anders that he was very much like his forefather and that Ben Franklin described John Adams best as always an honest man, often a wise one, but sometimes wholly out of his senses.
“I think we will not want for a qualified president. Do you, Mr. Anders?
Turning to the team yet again, Walters detailed how Providence had pre-ordained that fact, concluding his thoughts by stating that maybe “Mr. Walters” could relapse and expire from his cancer in the same fashion as the real Mr. Walters had met his fate.
“Now, Mr. Murray and Hahn, you will accompany me to Maryland and Virginia. The rest of you gentlemen, I bid a good evening. We will all be together again for our great victory.”
Two secret service agents entered the room as Walters finished. He shook hands with the entire team before departing with Hahn and Murray. The streets were desolate as the three men, accompanied by the agents, entered the limo on the brisk autumn evening.
Having departed Fraunces Tavern, the rest of the team stood on the sidewalk and looked at each other, unsure of what had just transpired or what was next.
Chapter 32
The car ride up the west side of Manhattan was uneventful. Rush hour was over and traffic was light as the black limousine made a right turn into the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel. The occupants had yet to breathe a word since departing downtown and they continued to look at the candidate, waiting for some explanation of what went down earlier in the evening.
Mr. Walters would not be so forthcoming. He stayed silent as the car passed the Mercedes dealership and descended into the tunnel. Hahn could not take it anymore. As the car approached the New Jersey border one hundred feet below the Hudson River, the currency trader cleared his throat. Before he could get a word out, Walters finally spoke.
“Do you think we could stop at a McDonalds before we board our flight? I could really go for a couple of those cheeseburgers and a large chocolate shake.”
Hahn and Murray couldn’t believe their ears. The burly secret service agents quietly snickered as the driver looked back toward the group through the rearview mirror. Hahn noticed the chauffeur’s glance and asked him if there were any on the way.
“Yes, sir, there’s one on Route 46 right near the airport.”
The candidate nodded in approval as the car came above ground and banked left up the ramp along the New Jersey riverfront. The New York skyline lit up the night sky to the right and Walters peered solemnly across the river, as if to say goodbye to the city of his first inauguration.
Jack Murray observed Frank’s odd expression and asked him if he was going to address the rumors about a cancer relapse that were so prevalent in the news. Once again, Walters seemed disinterested in the topic and decided to change the subject.
“Jack, you said Todd was out of his coma before. Why the sour puss, I thought you would be happy to hear that.”
Murray hesitated in surprise, not expecting his question to be answered with an unexpected and personal question. He didn’t want to talk about it but felt he owed Walters and Hahn an explanation.
“Dot had mentioned that if Todd came out of it, she would join us for election night. When I reminded her, she said there was no way she could leave him at the hospital. I mean, could she leave him in better hands for a few hours than nurses and doctors in a hospital?”
He stopped short, realizing that he sounded a little selfish. Hahn put his hand on Murray’s shoulder, reminding him that Todd’s health was the most important thing. Their boss looked on approvingly, pleased at Hahn’s mature response and kind gesture.
He joked to himself that given their proximity to Weehawken, Hahn would not be challenging Murray to a duel anytime soon. He then asked if they were near the drive thru yet.
“How can you still be hungry after the dinner you ate?”
The diminutive Murray was not a big eater. He marveled at his boss’s uncanny ability to stay trim and even lose weight while maintaining a junk food diet. It started at that rest stop in Maryland over July Fourth weekend and it had yet to slow down. He asked the first president for a list of his favorite fast food restaurants and preferred choices. Walters did not hesitate.
“McDonalds has great cheeseburgers and fries. I can eat those every day. White Castles are good, too, but they don’t always agree with me. Can’t be eating those if I’m going to be flying for a couple hours.”
Murray thought if
Frank decided to forgo a political career, he could get him booked on the comedy circuit as a stand-up comedian. Johnny Carson would have loved him.
Walters went on to list a host of other establishments, all of which made his top ten. He finished his tally but made sure the group knew he appreciated a finer meal too.
“That filet mignon I had at Bonz in Atlanta was one of the best steaks I have ever tasted. And the veal at Campagnola in Manhattan was incredible. But right now I need a cheeseburger and I see it ahead!”
All heads turned as the golden arches appeared in the near distance. To Hahn and Murray, the scene was surreal. The man next to him could eat in the finest restaurants in America; at any time and for free as they had been comped just about everywhere they went. But all he wanted now was a McDonalds burger. At least he wasn’t looking for mutton tonight. Both men shook their heads as they turned into the parking lot.
The Gulfstream jet was wheels up as it climbed and banked left over Bergen County in northern New Jersey. As soon as the plane straightened its turn and started its direct path toward Maryland, Walters unbuckled his seat belt and instructed Murray and Hahn to join him in the private room at the back of the cabin. The men complied and shut the door behind them, leaving the secret service agents to the last of their chicken nuggets and sodas.
Walters sat on the edge of the bed as the others found their seats next to him. Their leader told the new founders that he wanted to speak with them in private, away from nosy eyes and ears of any agents, drivers or pilots. Hahn asked why new agents were assigned to his detail. Walters did not hesitate.
“Twenty-first century ladies may look different and dress differently than eighteenth century women, but they all think alike. And while I was very fond of Michelle, I thought it best not to lead her on in any way. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
Hahn blurted out that he thought they were an item. He wanted to talk about their rendezvous, but Walters had other ideas.
“She helped me out a great deal. I trusted her with my life. I did not reveal my true identity to her as I did with you and your colleagues. But I believe she suspected it and was attracted to it.”
Murray asked specifically how she helped him. Washington was more than happy to elaborate.
“The cancer rumors. I gave her the information detailing the story of the relapse and the secret doctor visits. She made sure the information got to William Fredericks.”
Hahn and Murray were flabbergasted. They did not know how to react. Surprise was followed by anger and it was Hahn who was the first to speak.
“You were the source of the rumors? Are you insane? That nut job is reporting it as gospel on every news outlet on television, radio and the internet. Why would you even think of doing something like that? It cut your lead in the polls in half in less than a week. The country is wondering if you’re well enough to make it to an inauguration. What do you have to say about that?”
While Hahn ranted, Murray could not help but notice the tranquil look on Walters’ face as Hahn’s spittle sprayed around him. Murray wanted to say everything his colleague was screaming before the light bulb went on in his head. He finally started to understand the method to Walters’ madness that was his presidential campaign. Hahn’s raised voice led to a knock at the door, which Walters quickly diffused. The agents appearing at the door left Hahn slightly intimidated. He sat back down and waited for an answer that came after a short pause. Walters dismissed them and they returned to the hallway.
“Gentlemen,” Walters’ said. “Do you see what that little tidbit of information has done to my adversary, Fredericks? He is slowly disintegrating before us, going mad in front of our eyes. It was preordained; we just sped up the process.”
Murray, for one, was not buying the explanation.
“Is that the only reason?”
Walters gave a nod and a wink, confirming that Murray knew better. Murray understood Walters’ body language and decided to keep his thoughts to himself. For the first time in a while, he felt good, knowing that he had one up on the rest of the new founders. There could be only one reason why Walters leaked the cancer story to the press and Murray felt he knew why.
He smiled as Hahn changed gears and asked why Republican chairman Dudek had not been on the campaign trail.
“He’s taking care of all the Election Night preparations. We have a block of rooms and the ballroom of the Westin Annapolis Hotel. It should be a big gala on Tuesday.”
Hahn noted that at least he hadn’t set the festivities to take place in one of the many seedy motels near National Airport.
In one of those motels sat William Fredericks.
For Fredericks, it was not over. As a matter of fact, his mind was churning faster than ever before. His internal demons would not let go and they no longer cared about the president anymore. He had done all he could to help but the incumbent was destined to lose. Fredericks’ attention turned to destroying his nemesis.
As he sat on the motel room floor, propped against the bed with hundreds of pictures and articles scattered on the floor before him, Fredericks wondered how he had not seen it before, had not noticed what was now clear as day. The hand holding his third bottle of gin also gripped a picture of candidate Frank Walters at Federal Hall. He stood next to the statue of George Washington and struck a pose identical to the first president. The talk show host could not believe his eyes.
The photograph revealed the candidate to be the one and only George Washington. His talk, his walk and his mannerisms were all identical to what he had heard and read about the father of America. Even the way he addressed Fredericks on his talk show was eerily familiar. The voices that he referred to as Them told him all along but he was slow to believe it. Now there was no doubt.
Since the humiliation of their last meeting and the public degradation in New York, when Sophia turned on him as she did, the voices focused on unmasking Walters. They knew they had him. Now the demons screamed that Frank Walters was George Washington and demanded Fredericks expose this impostor to the world.
He knew he had to do it, but how? Following his on and off air debacle downtown, Fredericks’ already chaotic life had spiraled completely out of control. He stopped eating, barely slept and worst of all, pushed Sophia and his children away. All the while the voices relentlessly pushed Fredericks to unmask Frank Walters and annihilate their enemy.
Fredericks spent most of the last week in the darkness of his motel room, downing bottle after bottle of Beefeater and obsessively pouring over a myriad of newspaper articles, photos, sound bites and internet videos of Mr. Walters. The network had had enough and suspended Fredericks, fueling his spiral downward.
Fredericks now had the way to get back into the good graces of his bosses. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his producer. While he tried to be coherent, measuring his words carefully, the alcohol and the demons would not let him. His producer’s first hint of doubt sent Fredericks into a rambling and disjointed rant, demanding that he be let on the air to alert the world of his discovery.
His producer remained calm throughout, but would not relent. He told the suspended host that he had become a liability and that the network had carried him long enough. His loose cannon ways, which had yielded strong ratings in the past, were not working anymore. His show had been displaced by a conservative talk show and there would be more changes coming.
But the producer did extend an olive branch, telling Fredericks that if he sobered up they might give him one last chance in the studio on Election night, to participate on a panel discussion about the election results. He demanded to know where Fredericks was but was met with the sound of a telephone slamming down. It was three days before the election and the demons would not relent. He had to do something but no longer had his pulpit to deliver the message. He had finally had the proof the voices demanded, but Fredericks had no way of delivering it. As he took another swig of gin, the demons told him to kill Walters.
Desperate, Freder
icks pleaded with Them.
“Why?? Why him? Why me?”
The voices replied that it was always his destiny and that Fredericks had waited centuries for this moment. They instructed him to fulfill his destiny!
“What does that mean? Who am I?!”
The voices told him to seek Walters out on Election night as he will find him where he goes to die. Fredericks obediently agreed.
Chapter 33
It was usually a day of prayer and rest for Walters. This Sunday he was back at Pohick Episcopal Church in Lorton, near the site of the original Pohick church he attended in the eighteenth century. He preferred the 7:45 service, and this day was no different. Murray accompanied him.
Murray had his first peaceful sleep in over a month. He retired knowing that, Todd was awake and eating. On top of that he finally understood the man for whom he had alienated his family. He thought the long haul might be worth it after all. The history professor had a lot to be thankful for and happily slid into the back seat of the limousine with Walters and the secret service agents.
The men returned to their Mt. Vernon mansion and walked in to the smell of bacon and eggs in the air. They entered the dining room to find Brian Faulk and Anthony Hahn drinking their coffee while reading the Op Ed pages of the New York Times and Washington Post. Belly laughs followed each editorial line read by the two men. Murray gave Faulk a big hug while one of the staff handed Jack a mug of coffee.
“When did you arrive?”
Faulk flew down on the first shuttle flight out of LaGuardia and came straight from the airport. The campaign itinerary was light and Faulk wanted to join the team for the day.
After dropping Walters off the previous night, Pepper’s jet had flown back to New Jersey. Josh and Steve Anders were on their way to Florida for a full day of speeches and handshakes across the state. Josh thought they needed to fully secure the Sunshine state and Walters agreed. They would fly back to Maryland the following morning.
The New Founders Page 29
