He started the car and put it into drive. The car lurched onto the dirt road and started into the woods.
Incredulous and fearing for his life, Hahn reacted, shouting at Walters that he did not know how to drive.
“I’m an excellent driver.” The General’s reply caught the men off guard. Hahn and Murray just looked at each other and laughed. Walters quickly explained that he had to get away from his protection.
“There’s a reason you have bodyguards. Some crazy liberal might want to take a shot at you.”
Walters answered Jack’s statement in a curt manner, “That won’t happen tonight.”
The three men looked out the window as their car flew past the gates of the estate and the television personnel. Walters noted the smooth ride, complimenting the Germans for their automotive craftsmanship.
Hahn leaned over the front seat. “Do you know how to get to Annapolis?” he asked Walters.
The General switched on his right turn signal and informed Hahn that the car was equipped with a GPS device. “I’ve become very familiar with this apparatus. It’ll get us there. But I want to make one stop first, before I go.”
The storm raged as the car pulled into the darkness of the lengthy oval driveway. George Washington’s Mount Vernon estate had been turned into a national park site many years earlier but still resembled the way it looked in 1789. The sky was pitch-black, save for the flashes of lightning cascading like musket fire across the stately plantation. Power lines had fallen, leaving parts of the estate in near blackness.
The driver side door opened and bottles spilled out, breaking glass across the driveway. Fredericks careened out of the car and stumbled, grinding the larger parts of glass into the pavement. He regained his footing and headed to the dimly lit museum directly in front of him. Cursing and screaming his hatred of George Washington, Fredericks peered through the window at a life-size mannequin of the General, riding his white mount in full Revolutionary War garb.
“You ruined my life, you bastard!”
Fredericks was incensed. A flash of lightning lit up the lawn, knocking the emergency power out. He took advantage of the situation and pulled the largest stone he could find from the muddy earth. He smashed it through the window and crashed into the building, tearing his clothes on the remaining shards of glass.
He looked up at the General Washington statue in the dark and charged, tackling the inanimate figure to the ground. Fredericks pulled the authentic sword from the mannequin’s sheath and swung it wildly as he imagined himself in a duel with the first president.
Fredericks wheeled around to the sound of a car coming up the driveway. He made his way to the broken window and peered through the dark rain, straining to see if anybody noticed him. Instead of driving to the main house, the car turned toward Washington’s original tomb. It pulled up in front of the small building and the driver door opened.
A man stepped out and stood looking at the door to the tomb. As Fredericks squinted, a flash of lightening left no doubt as to the identity of the stranger in the night.
“It’s him, it’s him! You were right. I have to fulfill my destiny.”
Fredericks stormed out of the building and into the driving rain toward Washington’s tomb.
The cell phone lit up for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Both men reached down but only one found it to be his hand-held device.
“It’s mine, I got it.”
Hahn answered the call from Anders. He told Anders that Walters wanted to make a stop at his original Mt. Vernon estate before heading to the hotel. An exasperated Hahn relayed the fact that their leader had ditched the secret service agents. Anders voice could be heard throughout the entire national park.
“Is he out of his mind? Do they know where you are? I’m calling them right now. Don’t panic! They’ll be over there in a few minutes.”
As he hung up the phone, Hahn shook his head at Anders’ condescending and over the top reaction. The speaker function may have been off but the conversation was as clear as day to anybody within fifty feet of the car.
Murray stared at his phone in the palm of his hand. “My cell is dead. Damn it. I forgot to power it after dinner and we ran out of there so fast I forgot the charger. You have anything for a BlackBerry?”
Hahn held up his iPhone and apologized. The apology was hardly out of his mouth before the voice of Tim Jenson caught his attention. The latest election results were being reported on the radio. The two new founders opened the car window and called out to Walters over the roar of the torrent. Walters stood only ten feet away with his back to the car. The men had not realized that Walters had been in the rain for a good five minutes as they were preoccupied with their phones and the results. Without moving his feet, the candidate looked back over his shoulder. The men turned up the volume.
Jenson repeated that all three networks were reporting that Texas was still too close to call. Eighty percent of the precincts were in, yet they could not give the state to Walters.
“How could that be? We won Florida, Ohio and Pennsylvania already but Texas is still up in the air? Maybe we didn’t campaign there enough. No. There’s no way! They have to be pulling something!”
Hahn looked at the radio console while Murray’s gaze stayed on Walters. Jenson’s announcement had elicited no reaction from the candidate. Walters virtually ignored the critical news and turned his attention back to the crypt.
Hahn’s phone buzzed loudly, diverting Murray’s attention back inside the car. The text message came from Dudek, alerting the team that if they won Texas, the president would concede the election. Hahn pumped his fist as Murray looked out the open window, catching a glimpse of his boss disappearing behind the tomb.
“Where the hell is he going?”
Murray was concerned as to why the first president would walk to the back of the tomb in the middle of a driving rain storm. He did not recall anything behind the building except a few trees and the Potomac River. He stayed seated and powered up the window to keep the rain out of the back seat. Hahn stayed focused on Jenson’s election report. Murray leaned over the front seat and turned the car off, explaining that they didn’t want to drain the battery.
“I’m turning the lights off too. You’ll be fine, the radio will stay on.”
Hahn was in a trance, hanging on Tim’s every word. He did not change expression, even through the commercials. While Hahn kept his head down, Murray looked out the windshield. He saw no sign of Walters and he grew more concerned. A small reflection of light in the rearview mirror made Murray turn around. At the bottom of the long driveway, a pair of headlights appeared.
“Looks like the secret service found us.”
One second later, the car made a right turn onto the dirt road that ran behind the garden. Murray thought that the agents must have some kind of tracking device on the candidate to pinpoint his exact location. The road they took would eventually lead behind the tomb. Once the secret service got there, Walters’ little adventure would be over. Murray scanned the area in front of the tomb and thought he noticed a shadow.
Thunder roared and lightning flashed as the clock struck midnight on the east coast. The fact that the candidate had yet to leave for the hotel alarmed his team in Annapolis. A barrage of calls and texts found Hahn’s phone within seconds. Even the calm, cool and collected Ken Rader incredulously asked Hahn why Murray continued to ignore his calls.
Murray peered out the window through the rain. The shadow he saw a minute earlier did not produce the father of the country. While he did not feel like braving the elements, Murray recalled the vibes from the plane ride home and had a bad feeling about Walters’ intentions. He knew it was time to act; he had to go get his boss and bring him back to the car.
“If the agents bring him back here before I do, just yell and let me know.”
Hahn nodded as Murray opened the door. A gust of wind blew the cold rain into Hahn’s phone. The financial whiz cursed as he wiped his screen with a tissu
e. The car door slammed shut and Murray was off.
The slight man plodded through the mud with measured steps as he made his way around the tomb and through the cherry trees. Footing was unstable and the ground sloped. He was not about to misstep and end up face-first in the mud. He continued slowly and noticed an opening ahead. At once he stopped.
On the ground before him was a discarded suit jacket, pants, and a white dress shirt that was so saturated it was practically see-through. The discovery confused him. He was about to examine the clothing when lightning struck close by, causing him to jump to the side and stumble into the opening. Once in the clear, he looked up to see Walters kneeling in front of him.
Fredericks took a deep breath and drew his sword.
He inched his way toward his nemesis.
Dressed in his full military uniform, Walters knelt down, facing the banks of the river. It was apparent that he was in deep prayer or reflection. Fredericks paused in admiration of the man; this would be his night of victory and instead of celebrating, he was paying homage to his wife and colonial estate.
The reverence did not last long.
Walters’ peaceful reflection was suddenly roused by a primal scream above the din of the storm.
Walters felt the dull impact of Fredericks’ boot on his right rib cage. His body twisted from the blow and Walters landed on his back. He looked up to see the wild eyed Englishman spewing threats at him.
“We are going to kill you!”
Walters tried to pull away but could not. He was held down by Frederick’s firmly planted left foot dug into his chest. The tip of Fredericks’ sword slid across the skin just below Walters’ adams apple, but to Fredericks’ horror drew no blood. The General was not afraid.
“William, you cannot harm me.”
The words enraged the already volatile television host.
“What?? What are you saying? I am sick of your lies. You have ruined us and we will kill you!”
Fredericks took a quick drink from the small flask attached to his belt. He may have been drinking, but his mind could not have been clearer.
“You are not Walters! I know who you are. You are George Washington!”
Walters pulled his head away from the point of the blade. His powerful reply could be heard across the Potomac.
“That’s right, William. I am General Washington! You knew that since the beginning. Put down that bottle. It’s not helping you. It’s killing you.”
Washington’s unapologetic confirmation further infuriated Fredericks.
“They’re not killing me. They led me here tonight. They told me you would be here to seek me out.” ”
“Who led you, William?”
“The voices, THEM! They always tell me what to do.”
Mud flowed around them, down the slope from the hedgerows toward the river. William Fredericks breathed deeply to contemplate his next move. His adrenaline stayed high as Washington pushed the sword away from his throat and scrambled to his feet to face his foe.
“Mr. Fredericks, I know who you are! You are like me. We are not meant to be part of this day and age. We don’t fit in. Look deep inside and you know it to be true.”
Fredericks burst out in a maniacal laugh. “Then why are you here? And why are you running for President? Your people didn’t want you to be president! They betrayed you! That’s how I knew of the cancer relapse. Your own people informed on you!”
Washington, now screaming above the storm, fearlessly stepped toward Fredericks and placed his left hand on Fredericks’ right shoulder.
“No, you are wrong William. That was me. I knew you would spread the cancer rumors, allowing Mr. Walters to depart without question. At the same time, enough of the populace would believe you insane and still cast their ballot for Mr. Walters. I never meant to be president again.”
The inferno within Fredericks raged while George continued.
“I had my chance a long time ago and voluntarily left after two terms. I could have been king of America if I so chose. It’s up to twenty-first century Americans to solve twenty-first century problems and Divine Providence has provided us with the right people to do just that. Fredericks, you and I belong in another age and I am going home tonight!”
Fredericks bowed his head and slumped his shoulders. “Then who am I?”
Murray heard the commotion and hurried frantically around the tomb. He felt his way in total darkness through the grove of trees toward the voices.
His second thoughts about staying put in the dry car had vanished. Murray hoped that the agents would not have to use physical force to get him back to the car and wondered why they were talking so loudly. But a third thought crossed his mind as well.
“With the way the results are going, I sure hope he’s not facing an assassin.”
This last scenario caused Murray to increase his pace.
“You are King George the Third! I knew it since we met. Come with me, Fredericks.”
Fredericks lifted his face and screamed at the first president.
“Nooooo! You lie! That cannot be true! I am going to kill you!”
Fredericks stepped back from the General. He gripped the weapon’s handle with both hands and slowly lifted the sword above his head. Washington stood at attention and once again told his assailant that he could not hurt him. Mr. Fredericks would have none of it.
“I will fulfill my destiny!”
Fredericks took one last deep breath, about to bring the foil down upon the defenseless George Washington as he felt a sudden push.
The impact knocked Fredericks off balance and instinctively turned and struck his attacker with the handle of the sword.
Dottie Murray put her hands up to the back of her head as she intuitively rolled away from Fredericks. She kept one hand on her head to quell the flow of blood as she propped herself on the wet grass with the other. A confused William Fredericks quickly surveyed the foreground and deduced that the woman on the ground ten feet from him had just tried to save George Washington’s life.
“Your attempt at bravery was futile and you will now pay the same price as Mr. Washington!” Fredericks never saw the blindside hit that came next. As he gloated over the addition of a new potential victim, Fredericks was struck again, this time by Jack Murray. The force of the tackle was much stronger than Dottie’s and it knocked the Englishman off his feet and sent the sword flying through the air. Both men crashed to the ground and rolled toward the embankment of the Potomac.
Their momentum and the mudflow sent the combatants tumbling over the river’s edge. Dottie scrambled to the sword, picked it up and handed it to a calm Washington before racing to the river to help her husband. The storm only grew stronger as frantic shouts for help cut above the wind and rain.
Dottie made it to the bank to discover the two men hanging on for life. Jack held on to exposed roots in the small cliff while Fredericks grasped a couple of slick rocks jutting from the earth. Jack’s heart skipped a beat when he heard his wife call his name through the driving rain. For an instant Murray was not in a life or death struggle over a raging river; he was happy and content knowing his love had risked it all for him.
The immediacy of his dire situation returned when a lightning bolt crashed to earth only a few hundred feet from the cliff. Murray yelled to Dottie to get a stick or a tree limb.
Fredericks, having had the wind knocked out of him a few seconds earlier, tried to catch his breath and ask for help as well. But his energy and strength was sapped by the attack and he pawed at the dirt as he tried to climb the ridge.
Jack held on tight and looked at Fredericks. Both men dangled twenty feet above the water. The ex-pat was no more than three feet away from Murray but slightly lower than him. Murray knew that he had a better foothold and would last longer in the elements. He contemplated extending his hand to help his political foe before tasting a drop of blood on his lips.
He looked up to see his wife above. She laid flat on her stomach in the mud and, with
her eyes closed and using all of her might, extended a tree branch to her husband. The blood that dripped from her wound through her hair made Jack all but forget about the man to his left. He took the branch in his right hand and worked his way up the embankment as Dottie grasped the base of a small bush. He was near the top when he felt a hand touch his foot. Jack looked back.
Fredericks had lunged for Murray and grabbed on to the weakened root that had supported Jack. He was further down than where the Virginian had been and the footing was unstable. He again reached for Jack’s foot but it was out of reach.
One last pull got Jack to the top. He peered over the edge to see Dottie struggling with her grip. He threw his left leg over and crawled to his wife. The release of the weight on the branch made her open her eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. Murray were face-to-face for the first time in months.
She righted herself and embraced Jack with a hurried kiss as she pulled her husband away from the embankment.
Their moment of intimacy was interrupted by the sound of Fredericks’ hysterical pleas. The couple grabbed the wet branch and cautiously made their way to the cliff once again. They looked down in the dark to see a manic Fredericks losing his grip. Jack extended the branch as Fredericks screamed for his life.
“Help me!”
A lightning bolt lit the sky, allowing the Murrays to see Fredericks drop into the roaring Potomac.
All at once the rain subsided. The couple stood silent at the top of the ridge. Another minute went by before Jack turned and took his wife in his arms.
“I’m never letting you go again. Now let’s go get George.”
When the Murrays searched for Washington, he was gone. “I bet I know where he went,” said Jack. They plodded their way back past the old tomb and toward their car. As they came around the building, they saw Hahn leaning on the outside of the BMW, with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a full glass in the other. Upon seeing the two figures illuminated in the headlights, he hoisted a toast.
The New Founders Page 31
