Patriot's Farewell

by Bobby Akart

  Everyone raised their glasses into the air. Sarge looked around the room, attempting to make eye contact with each of his guests before he made the toast. All of them were fully attentive, except one—Gardner Lowell. Sarge shook off the slight and continued.

  “Borrowing from the words of the immortal Daniel Webster, it is my heartfelt sentiment to you all, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment, that in all things, I will choose freedom now and I will choose freedom forever!”

  “Choose freedom!” shouted the guests as they joined in the toast and clinked glasses with their closest neighbors at the table. Everyone took a sip of the wine.

  There are not many foods or drinks that last more than two hundred fifty days, let alone two hundred fifty years, but Madeira wine, made in Portugal specifically on the Madeira islands, aged and lasted indefinately like the port wines of the era. Because Madeira was a standard port of call for ships starting for the New World, the sweet wine was commonplace throughout the colonies. This particular cask had aged well and drew smiles from all who partook.

  The food began to be served and the chatter commenced. Sarge, despite always being the model of humility, was the frequent target of questions and conversations.

  “What are your plans, Mr. President, after you leave office?” asked Henry Endicott’s wife, Emily. The former general had turned the Endicott family fortune into a company building the most advanced, modern weaponry available to the nation’s armed forces. Emily, his much younger wife, had found her place among the Brahmin wives at Prescott Peninsula during those trying times. She was now considered an equal.

  “You know, Emily, I’d love to provide some magnaminous answer like I intend to write a book or focus on my presidential library, but the truth is I’m just excited to go back to private life where I can play with Julia and the kids without being under a microscope. Or I might start a foundation.” Several of the Boston Brahmin laughed at the inside joke.

  Art Peabody fired off the next question. “What do you consider your greatest achievement in the last eight years?”

  Sarge laughed. “Staying alive, for one.”

  Julia slugged him because the close call in which her husband was almost assassinated was an indelible memory in her mind.

  “Okay, just kidding. Naturally, raising our beautiful family was a major accomplishment. It’s not easy growing up a kid in the White House. I must say, all of the credit goes to the First Lady.” Sarge raised a glass to Julia, who blushed the color of the wine.

  “Hear, hear!” said Abbie, who encouraged everyone to raise their glasses in Julia’s honor.

  Sarge toasted his wife and then kissed her. He added a few more words. “The White House has served as the backdrop to the tough decisions and trying times that often characterize the presidency, but it’s also been home, where Julia and I have watched our children grow into the extraordinary youngsters they are today.”

  More glasses were raised as the group continued to eat. Sarge continued to survey the room and caught Donald’s eye. Donald tilted his head down the table and furrowed his brow. The two men had known each other long enough to read one another’s thoughts.

  Sarge’s eyes scanned the table until he reached Gardner. The man’s dour, sullen look spoke volumes. Gardner Lowell wasn’t happy to be there and certainly didn’t approve of the host being heaped with praise and admiration.

  Sarge was enjoying himself and refused to allow Gardner’s surly expressions to ruin his mood. But it did make the President of the United States and chair of the Boston Brahmin’s executive council take notice.

  And it pissed him off.

  Chapter 74

  12:15 p.m. ET

  Xindian District

  Taipei

  It was just after midnight in Taipei and everything was proceeding as planned. Drew and his team had to sit and wait to allow the last of the AIT diplomatic personnel to get safely to their transports at Hualien Airport. His team and Control agreed that the retrieval of the ambassador would necessarily require a firefight. While they wanted to proceed under cover of darkness, Drew suggested the team stand down until the diplomats were safe and the AIT facility was properly secured. Knowing the events of the next hour could trigger a war with the Chinese, he was agreeable to waiting while the big guns got into place.

  His mind wandered to Abbie and Thanksgiving dinner. In his service to the country, and now with Aegis as the head of a black-ops team, Drew had missed many holidays and birthday celebrations. Once again, doubt crossed his mind as to whether he should be on this mission or back in Washington with his pregnant wife. He continued to wrestle with the decision of his future.

  He didn’t have to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to. Abbie, as the sole heir to John Morgan’s fortune, was wealthy beyond imagination. The two of them could raise a family, travel, and spend their days together out of the limelight that politics had thrust upon them.

  Drew looked at his watch again. He hated the downtime when he was on a mission. It required his adrenaline levels to rise and fall abruptly, which eventually tired any person. Some of the guys could zone out and daydream of exotic locales or girls back home. Drew’s default place of respite was with Abbie. Thoughts of her invariably led him to their unborn baby and the risks his job entailed.

  He purposefully shook himself to bring his mind back to the task at hand. King, who’d taken over the wheel, looked over at Drew.

  “Are you cold, honey?” he asked.

  “Screw you.” Drew snapped back to life. “I was just falling asleep. You guys are boring as hell.”

  “You told us to stay quiet,” Santa shot back. “If you want some chatter, I’ve got a few things on my mind.”

  “Hell naw,” moaned King. “Please don’t let him get started.”

  Control interrupted the back-and-forth. “Alpha One, Control. Over.”

  “Go ahead, Control.”

  “Green light, Alpha One.”

  “Roger that, Alpha One out,” said Drew. “All right, guys. Showtime.”

  Drew, Santa, and Spidey exited the van and took up their positions across from the entrance gate to the compound. Drew checked in with each of his operatives to make sure they were in position.

  There was no way to enter the compound covertly. In addition to the four sentries at each corner of the four walls surrounding the property, at least two guards covered the gate. The first step was to take the sentries out of play.

  The other four members of the Elite Eight were assigned a guard. On Drew’s signal, Tai was to fire a flare into the sky to draw the guards’ attention. When they showed their heads above the wall, the team would take each of them out with their silenced M4s.

  While the distraction was taking place, King Dawkins would crash through the gate, enabling Drew and his comrades to enter and provide King cover. The unknown variable was the number of reinforcements that would come scrambling out of the residence to back up their security team. Drew and the guys would have to be quick and efficient in dispatching the threats. More importantly, Drew and Spidey had to find their way into the house to locate the ambassador.

  Drew leaned against the stucco wall, closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In his mind, he kissed his wife as he headed out to an imaginary desk job in an imaginary office. He walked the plan through in his mind. Flare. Sentries taken down. Gate breached. Gate guards eliminated. Threats from residence appear through front door, maybe side entrances.

  He visualized each step, including how many men were inside to assist the others. When he was ready, he gave Spidey and Santa the thumbs-up and started the operation.

  “Alpha Two, you’re a go,” instructed Drew.

  “Roger, Alpha One.”

  Seconds later, Tai shot a bright red flare, which soared into the sky, arching its way from one side of the residence to the other.

  As predicted, this grabbed the complacent guards’ attention, who began to shout to one another. In the rela
tive quiet of the sleepy neighborhood, the spits of the suppressed weapons could be heard followed by the tumbling of the bodies down the platforms until they landed with thumps.

  Drew hugged the stucco wall as he led his team closer to the gate. The sound of the van roaring down the road drew the attention of the guards at the gate, who immediately opened fire on King. The windshield shattered as the van broke through the wrought-iron gates, shoving them inward and knocking the guards to the concrete driveway.

  King brought the van to a stop, but not before he crushed the shooters beneath the tires. Drew ran through the opening and placed an insurance bullet into the heads of the men writhing underneath the van.

  “Are you good?” he asked King.

  “Yeah, man,” he replied with his deep voice. “I lay down on the seat after I got her pointed in the right direction. I ate some glass, though.”

  “Your belly can handle it.” Drew laughed as the four men fanned out and took cover behind parked vehicles in the driveway.

  “We’ve got multiple tangos coming out!” shouted Santa, who immediately engaged them. The Chinese weapons were not suppressed, and the otherwise quiet neighborhood in Xindian District erupted into a war zone.

  Their adversaries had the benefit of a small retaining wall formed into a planter that lined the front of the house. Their men took up positions behind the wall, and soon the front windows were broken out, producing more barrels pointed in the Aegis team’s direction.

  The second flare was airborne as planned when the remainder of the team had taken up their positions on top of vehicles parked against the compound’s wall. It wasn’t the best of vantage points, but the crossfire enabled the enemy to be distracted rather than focusing all of their efforts on the front gate.

  The sound of gunfire and brass hitting the pavement filled the air. Drew and Santa leaned with their backs against the front of the vehicle, using the engine block as additional cover.

  Drew pulled up the aerial feed from the drone onto his phone. The left side of the house had been cleared by his team. The rear of the home was now being heavily defended by four men. His only hope of entry was through a set of patio doors that had been left open when the backup security guards emerged a few minutes earlier.

  “What’s the plan?” asked Santa.

  Drew studied the images again and replied, “If we can’t take these guys out quickly, at some point they’ll bring the ambassador out as a human shield. Then we’re screwed.”

  “Agreed,” said Santa.

  “We gotta hit ’em while they’re reactive. We just gotta bust in on ’em.”

  “Lead the way,” said Santa dryly. “I’ll be with you.”

  Drew looked his comrade in the eyes and nodded. He slapped the side of the car to get King’s attention. Using hand signals, he indicated his intention to lead Santa around the side of the house. He needed King and Spidey to lay down cover fire to keep the guards behind the retaining wall occupied. Then he contacted the two members of his team on the left side of the house to pick off any shooters who emerged while they made their entry.

  “Let’s do this!” shouted Drew as he rose out of his crouch.

  Simultaneously, King and Spidey opened fire on the four men guarding the front of the house. Glass shattered and wood window frames were splintered. The brick retaining wall was the only thing preventing the guards from being torn to ribbons. But as the two operatives rained hellfire upon the front of the house, Drew and Santa darted across the front lawn and reached the open patio doors.

  The two men nodded to one another and entered the house, their weapons leading the way.

  Chapter 75

  1:15 p.m.

  The Blue Room

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  “Donald, they’ve been circling me like vultures since dinner was over,” Sarge whispered as they casually walked toward the doorway leading to the Entrance Hall of the Executive Residence. “I expect this conversation will get contentious, so I plan on taking them upstairs to the Solarium. I’ll couch it in terms of a tour of the Solarium, but actually it’ll be a come-to-Jesus meeting for all of us.”

  “Things are about to heat up in Taipei,” Donald added. “Do you still want me to pull you away if the situation warrants?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I’ll have David with me,” Sarge said with a chuckle. “I’ll probably need his protection.”

  “I’m going down to the Situation Room to get an update. Brad slipped away earlier.”

  Sarge gestured behind him toward the activity and loud conversation within the Blue Room. “Brad doesn’t like this stuff anyway. He didn’t even try my gingersnaps.”

  “Ungrateful bastard.” Donald laughed. “All right, buddy, good luck with those buzzards. When things get hot, I’ll send for you.”

  Sarge patted Donald on the back and sent him on his way. He took a deep breath and whispered to Morrell, “I’m gonna need you to go with me to the Solarium. Shelby and BAM can stay if they want.”

  “Thank you, sir, but they’ve said their good-byes. I hope I wasn’t out of place, but I let Brie tell Rose we’re moving back to Boston. Those two have a lot of fun together.”

  “Dave, no problem at all. You guys are like family. Let me go round up a few people I need to speak with and we’ll take the elevator.”

  Sarge made his way through the crowd toward Walter Cabot when there was an uproar in the Red Room.

  “He is not!”

  “Is so!”

  “Is not!”

  “Yes, he is! My grandpa said—”

  “Boys, stop yelling.” Julia raced into the room and interrupted the fracas just as Win was charging toward his adversary. Sarge made his way toward the opening between the two rooms to assist.

  Julia quizzed the young men. “Why are you two yelling at each other?”

  “He said Dad was weak,” started Win. His face was red with anger.

  Young Gardner Percival Lowell II, grandson of Gardner Lowell, stood defiantly in the face of questioning by Julia. His father, John Stewart Lowell, entered the room right after Julia.

  “Is that true, son?” asked John Lowell.

  “Dad, Grandpa said Win’s dad is a weak president.”

  “Well, neither your grandfather, nor you, should speak of the president this way. Until you’ve walked in his shoes, you don’t know how difficult his job is. Now, I want you to apologize to Win.”

  “But, Dad, I believe Grandpa. Why should I apologize?”

  “Because you’re nine years old and you’re too young to know what you believe, that’s why. Tell Win you’re sorry. Go ahead.”

  The youngster provided a halfhearted, insincere apology. As Sarge listened to the exchange, he thought of the phrase out of the mouths of babes. Originally a proverb from Psalms in the Bible, the modern usage meant something a child has just said that is clever, interesting, or truthful.

  Sarge scanned the room to gauge the reaction of the guests who overheard the argument. To his rear stood Gardner Lowell, arms crossed, the dour look unchanged throughout dinner, staring directly at Sarge.

  Julia continued to mediate the dispute and the guests gradually left her alone with the boys and John Lowell to sort things out.

  The exchange caused Sarge to bristle. He stood a little taller, set his jaw, and found Walter Cabot. He asked Cabot to gather the Boston Brahmin in the Cross Hall outside the Blue Room. “It’s time we talk.”

  Chapter 76

  1:30 p.m.

  The Solarium

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  The top floor of the Executive Residence was designed as a place of relaxation. Over the years, the rooms were used as a billiards parlor, a fitness center, and a music room. It was originally used as a sleeping porch, as designated by President William Howard Taft. Before the days of air-conditioning in the White House, the First Family used the Solarium as a cool place to sleep on hot nights. During the Truman reconstructio
n of the White House, it was expanded again and now included a kitchenette and bar.

  During the nineties, President Clinton, who was extremely fond of cigars, used to slip away for some solitude from time to time to smoke a stogie and relax. The Solarium became a place of respite for him. There was a period of time when his wife became angry with President Clinton, in particular with his cigar habits, and banned all kinds of smoking within the White House.

  The First Lady ordered all ashtrays to be removed and they were never again placed on tables for official dinners. Her press secretary stated the First Lady’s target with the new policy was cigarettes, yet the effect of her decision took dead aim at her husband’s affinity for a good cigar.

  Sarge believed in the freedom to enjoy a good cigar. Following in the tradition of statesman from Winston Churchill to John F. Kennedy, he revised the Hillary Clinton policy of banning cigar smoking, at least in the Solarium.

  The executive council of the Boston Brahmin used the elevator to arrive on the third floor of the Executive Residence, where Sarge joined them. He asked Morrell to wait in the hallway and he closed the door. He trusted Morrell with his life and could probably make him privy to the history of the Boston Brahmin, but for his own safety, Sarge kept him out of the loop regarding the true nature of his relationship to the group.

  Sarge poured everyone a brandy and unlocked the cigar humidor for his guests to make their selection. After everyone lit their cigars and exchanged clinks of their glasses, Sarge began.

  “Gentlemen, once again, I want to thank all of you for joining me in this final Thanksgiving celebration,” started Sarge. “From our first Thanksgiving together in those highly unusual circumstances after the collapse, we managed to join together each year to break bread and share the special relationship that has existed for centuries.”