by Bobby Akart
“Mother, may I propose a toast to you, Father, and the Lowell family, whose name is once again synonymous with power in this town?”
“Absolutely, Gardner. Cheers!” Constance stood and lifted her glass in the air to touch Gardner’s.
His grin widened as the alcohol fueled his euphoria. “Mother, the exhilaration of manipulating these people is beyond description. I undertook to change the course of our nation’s history these last few days, and by using the cunning Father taught me, I pulled off a tremendous turn of events that surprised everyone.”
“You have, son. Now, I must ask. Do you believe our illustrious president has any clue you were behind this?”
“I must assume so, Mother. In fact, I hope so.”
“Why?”
“It’s a gambit, Mother. As you know, the executive council was for this bill as proposed. Only Sarge, Arthur Peabody and Paul Winthrop opposed it.”
“Pshaw,” said Constance with an aristocratic swipe of her free hand. “Winthrop is older than I am and only supports Sarge because he’s distant family. Peabody is a do-gooder who believes every word of the Constitution. Naturally, so do we, but the document needs to evolve with the times and be flexible to deal with unusual situations like this one.”
“I agree, Mother. All I know is this, the elder statesman of the organization my father participated in for nearly five decades, Walter Cabot, is one hundred percent behind me. He phoned me and offered congratulations. He also vowed to support me when we confront Sarge about signing the bill.”
“How does that work?”
“I expect him to veto the legislation when it hits his desk,” replied Gardner.
“Son, that means all of your work was for naught.”
Gardner moved to the bar and refilled their drinks. He received a text message of congratulations from Phillip Endicott, son of Henry Endicott, who was suffering from dementia. Phillip had proven to be a loyal supporter of Gardner’s.
“Not necessarily, Mother, if you look at the big picture. When the new Congress convenes, we will have our man in the White House and several new members of Congress, who will give us a veto-proof majority in both houses to pass another version of the bill. Sarge hopes to rally the states to bring a Constitutional Convention before the new bill gets through the process.”
“Can he accomplish that?” asked Constance.
“Possibly. He’s very popular with the nation’s governors. But I don’t think it will come to that.”
“Why not?” asked the aging Lowell matriarch.
“Consider this. Setting aside the ancillary victories achieved through expanding our base of loyalists on the Hill, I’ve set Sarge up to make a decision that will run contrary to the will of the Boston Brahmin executive council. You see, Cabot will approach Sarge tomorrow and demand he commit to signing the bill. If Sarge compromises his oh-so-honorable principles, he’ll sign it for the good of the Boston Brahmin. If he chooses to veto the bill, I’ll covertly suggest his complete ouster from the executive council.”
“And, my son, you will ascend to the top where you belong.”
“Yes, Mother, and Walter Cabot has promised to lead the call to make a change.”
Constance raised her dirty martini for another toast. “To a memorable Thanksgiving!”
“Hear, hear!”
Chapter 60
5:00 p.m.
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC
Sometimes, despite the hundreds of people that Sarge interacted with on a daily basis, the presidency seemed to be a lonely job. He’d learned there were only a handful of close friends he could trust who weren’t attempting to manipulate him for their own selfish purposes. Over time, sound advice might be discarded because a level of paranoia set in. When this happened, Sarge chose to shut out the world, consider what he’d learned from history, and then acted accordingly.
He would be under tremendous pressure from the media and others within the government to declare his intentions regarding signing the Pacific Statehood Act. He drew upon his knowledge of American history, in particular a similar conundrum that faced President Andrew Johnson following the Civil War.
With the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, Vice President Johnson, an old-fashioned Southern Jacksonian democrat from Tennessee, became the seventeenth President of the United States.
During the secession of the Southern states, which included Tennessee, then Senator Johnson, a staunch proponent of states’ rights, remained in the United States Senate, much to the delight of Lincoln’s Republicans in the North. The decision earned him the label traitor in the eyes of most Southerners.
In 1864, the Republicans, contending they were the party of all Americans, nominated Johnson, a senator and a Southern Democrat, Heaven forbid, as President Lincoln’s running mate. After Lincoln’s death, President Johnson began the process of Reconstruction.
President Johnson faced the challenge of opposing political views in reconstituting the Union. He, like most Democrats and some Republicans, preferred a gentler approach to readmitting Southern states and creating several new ones.
He simply wanted to get the Southern states back in the Union and figure out the tough questions at a later time. However, most Republicans, emboldened by their Civil War victory, wanted strong language and fundamental changes enforced by federal law such as loyalty oaths; reparations and suffrage for freed slaves; and ratification of the Fourteenth Amendment, which specified that no state should deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.
The Republicans controlled Congress at the time, and the first test came when Nebraska was proposed as a new state. Nebraska came to the table with a state constitution that extended suffrage only to white males, which was contrary to President Johnson’s platform.
Congress passed a law allowing Nebraska into the Union with their whites-only suffrage law intact. Congress preferred to correct the issue by separate legislation. Instead, President Johnson elected to exercise a simple pocket veto, which allowed the president to let the bill lapse without signing it. When a new Congress was seated in 1867, they tried again, this time adding an amendment to the Nebraska Statehood Act, which stated if a state is applying to join the Union, it’s with the understanding that blacks can vote, whether your state Constitution says so or not.
President Johnson, a strict Constitutionalist, objected to this language as a violation of the Constitution because it forced a law upon Nebraska that the state’s legislature never adopted. Although he agreed with the action of Congress in principle, he vetoed the bill because it was unconstitutional. Nevertheless, Congress overrode the veto and Nebraska became a state later that spring.
“Mr. President, Attorney General Stein is here for you,” said Betty as she cracked the door to the Oval Office.
“Send her in, please.”
Attorney General Rachel Stein, a Cleveland, Ohio native, was an acclaimed federal court litigator in the area of constitutional law. She’d learned to navigate the myriad of federal regulations to assist business in the hyper-regulatory environment created by Sarge’s predecessors.
One of his goals as president was to reduce the burden on business, a platform that was sure to meet a flurry of litigation from various rights and social justice groups. She was also the nation’s top cop charged with the responsibility of enforcing the laws. Today, Sarge had issues to discuss in both contexts.
“Hi, Rachel. Thank you for sticking around before the holiday break.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. President. You can expect my bill will reflect the overtime.”
The two shared a few words concerning their families and the attorney general’s plans after this administration came to an end. Sarge appreciated the conversation, but he could visualize people milling about outside Donald’s office, waiting for a statement.
“Rachel, I need your opinion on my veto options.”
She nodded and got down
to business. “Naturally, you could formally veto the bill when it hits your desk, likely next week some time. This would require the House and Senate to reconvene and override your veto by a two-thirds majority.”
“That’s straightforward. I’ve vetoed bills before, but they’ve never tried to override one. I doubt they’d try here either. A two-thirds majority is unattainable.”
“Another option is to ignore the bill, essentially refusing to sign it. The net effect of that inaction could create a veto.”
“You said could. What do you mean?”
“It depends on whether Congress is in session,” replied the attorney general. “If Congress remains in session and you sit on it for ten days, the bill becomes law as if you had signed it.”
“I’d have to confirm this, but I believe the House adjourned yesterday and the members headed for their home districts. I’m fairly certain the Senate adjourned after the vote today.”
AG Stein scooted to the edge of the couch and continued. “If Congress is adjourned during the ten-day period when the president has the bill on his desk for signature, and you refuse to sign it, the bill doesn’t become law. In historical terms, this is known as a pocket veto because the president puts the bill in his pocket, waits out Congress, and nothing happens. The bill dies from stagnation, in essence.”
Sarge relaxed. I bet the bastard didn’t think of this.
“Great. Now, next topic.”
Sarge paused for a long time before moving forward. What he was about to do would be considered traitorous, but not in the eyes of Americans. He was about to betray the unspoken understandings and oaths taken among his fellow Boston Brahmin.
Sarge began. “I’m going to bring something to your attention that is out of the ordinary. What you do with this information will be up to you although I think it warrants an investigation.”
“Is this related to a possible criminal matter? If so, I should bring others from the Justice Department into the loop.”
“I understand. I am simply suggesting you look into a possible bribery situation.”
“Okay, I think I understand your meaning, Mr. President. We’ve worked together for a long time and you’ve never approached me for anything. I have to believe you are sincere in your suggestions.”
Sarge decided to spit it out. “You might look into any recent large dollar financial transactions or deposits of House Majority Whip Billy Trent.”
“Isn’t this something more appropriate for the House Oversight Committee?”
Sarge had to tread carefully because he didn’t want to mislead his attorney general with false information. He was operating strictly on a hunch.
“It’s possible the financial transaction was initiated through a foreign government or business entity.”
The Lowell financial empire had tentacles stretching into many parts of the world. Their foreign holdings would not be subject to the same scrutiny as their American business interests. If Gardner bribed Congressman Trent, he would use untraceable funds from overseas. This would start the investigation at a much higher level than an oversight matter.
“Well, that certainly puts it within my jurisdiction. I’ll get this anonymous tip in front of the right people at the bureau. I’ll keep you abreast of their findings. Mr. President, you know these types of investigations can take time, right?”
“I understand. It may be that I’m out of office before the matter gets the full attention of the FBI and the Justice Department. I know the players involved, and the events of the last few days reek of manipulation, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand, Mr. President. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No. Thank you very much for helping me on this issue as well as your sound advice. I can make a prudent decision now.”
Sarge stood to dismiss Attorney General Stein. Yes, Rachel, these investigations do take time and can be drawn out for years. However, it only takes a few hours to make the news of an investigation spread through the media like wildfire.
They really shouldn’t underestimate me.
Chapter 61
8:00 p.m. ET
Ruifang District
Northeastern Taiwan
Drew and his team prepared to land at a CIA compound in Keelung City, thirty miles northeast of Taipei, which lent the outward appearance of a day care center. The rotors of the newly commissioned Bell-Boeing V-26 Osprey started their slow drooping turn into the center of the three-block buildings. Within a minute, the tiltrotor aircraft put into use for its first mission was spinning level with the ground, its rotor wash buffeting the earth, throwing dust and debris in all directions.
Several locals who handled security for the compound scrambled around to remove picnic tables and children’s playground equipment to make room for the turboprop aircraft turned helicopter. They were unaware of the increased size of the V-26 over its predecessor, the V-22.
Inside the V-26, the fourteen members of the covert ops force checked their weapons. The trip took a little over four hours, in which time Drew’s team of eight paired up with the six Delta guys. One Aegis member joined one Delta guy to track down each of the white vans that had scattered throughout the city. Once the vans were located, they’d make every effort to get eyes on Ambassador McBride. Once identified, the other teams would converge on that location to lend assistance.
The plan allowed for Drew and King to roam, as Drew called it. By circling the suspected location of each van, using the most up-to-date NSA recon images, Drew took a map and marked a straight line to the last known, confirmed location of the ambassador—the compound in south-central Taipei.
On a hunch, Drew elected to conduct surveillance on the compound. It would allow him to reach his other teams quickly while looking for clues as to Ambassador McBride’s whereabouts. As the V-26 made its final touchdown, his mind wandered to concern for the ambassador.
The fact that there had been no contact from his captors was of great concern. The men who comprised his security detail were Taiwanese military. They could have been compromised by the Chinese, or might have been a sleeper cell for the Flying Dragons, operating under the CIA’s nose all along.
If their purpose in snatching America’s top diplomat in China was ideological rather than strategic, Ambassador McBride might be subjected to any manner of torture. Back home, the government would be outraged. The ambassador’s family would emotionally suffer for the pain inflicted upon their loved one. The State Department would issue its strongest possible condemnation on the floor of the United Nations.
Yet he, Drew Jackson, was trained as and continued to work as a modern-day assassin who was provided the title operative so as not to offend the sensibilities of the intellectually enlightened people who sat at the centers of power in DC.
If those people knew what his Aegis team did for the benefit of the United States, they would fly off the handle into an indignant rage and spill their cosmopolitan cocktails on the floor of a penthouse party on New York’s Fifth Avenue. The actions of Drew and his team were necessary to keep America free. Assassinations and torture were part of the job.
But there was a red line that Drew refused to cross, although he came dangerously close one time when he tortured a German banker who had sexually assaulted innocent boys forced into prostitution. Drew’s job was to influence the man’s way of thinking that night in Frankfurt, but he had approached his job with a little too much zeal, resulting in the man’s death from a heart attack.
His past experience and the information relayed to him about the Flying Dragons led him to this apprehension. They had no red line and certainly had no moral obligation toward the treatment of Americans. These devils would torture Ambassador McBride for sport.
He checked his weapon one more time and adjusted his kit, which carried the customary backup ammunition and communications gear. They were going into a war zone and would be prepared for all contingencies. The sun was up in Taipei, but the streets were not em
pty of protestors.
As the Osprey hit the ground, he looked his men in the eyes. Each was more than capable of finding the ambassador and taking out his captors. There was a reason why professional killers came from Special Forces outfits. They were desensitized to violence. Operators looked at killing as a way to achieve their mission. The formula for success was no more complicated than confronting violence with greater levels of violence. In order for the group to operate as a cohesive unit, they could have no doubt that their partners would become killing machines, as they were.
The doors opened and the team hit the ground running for the covered porches at the rear of the buildings. They were greeted by the deputy chief of station for Taipei who headed up this annex.
“Let’s get you boys inside,” said Madeline Wu, a Chinese-American career diplomat born in San Francisco. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
The fourteen operatives filed into the room, which was a large open space filled with folding tables and chairs. Around the walls were whiteboards with notes scribbled on them, as well as maps of Taiwan. Wu was fully prepared for their arrival.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Drew as he tipped his camouflage hat with a U.S. flag patch attached to the front with Velcro. “My name is Jackson. We understand that the demonstrations have intensified through the night here and continue around the city.”
“That’s correct,” she said, pointing to a television monitor displaying TTV, Taiwan’s primary television station, which had been recently privatized. “Our sources tell us the president is going to declare martial law to get the city under control. When that happens, your ability to travel will be severely hampered, especially in light of the way you entered the country.”
