The Generals of October

by John T. Cullen

  Clocktower Books

  The Generals of October

  by

  John T. Cullen

  Copyright © 2003 by John T. Cullen. All Rights Reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  All content, trademarks, tradenames, and other distinguishing marks, plus cover art and cover text, are the intellectual property of John T. Cullen. Cover art and design by John T. Cullen. Originally published under the pseudonym John Argo at Fictionwise. Eagle-and-flag image courtesy Microsoft Word clipart. All other interior art created and owned by John T. Cullen.

  A first edition was published by Clocktower Books in 1999. A second (reprint) edition was published October 2004 by iBooks/Simon & Schuster. The first two published editions were substantially similar, and are long out of print. This third and final edition is a reworked, tighter version based on an earlier, unpublished manuscript.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated, in loving memory, to my parents, George T. Cullen and Hortense Marie-Madelaine Didier.

  =====================

  The United States Constitution

  Article V:

  “The Congress, whenever two thirds of both Houses shall deem it necessary, shall propose Amendments to this Constitution, or, on the Application of the Legislatures of two thirds of the several States, shall call a Convention for proposing Amendments, which in either Case, shall be valid to all Intents and Purposes, as Part of this Constitution, when ratified by the Legislatures of three fourths of the several States or by Conventions in three fourths thereof, as the one or the other Mode of Ratification may be proposed by the Congress...”

  Quote of Article V courtesy The American Constitution: Its Origins and Development, by Alfred H. Kelly and Winfred A. Harbison, Wayne State University, p. 1086 (W. W. Norton & Co., New York, 1970).

  Chapter 1

  U.S. Vice President Louis Cardoza and the man licensed to kill him actually once came within 25 feet of each other. This happened at a reception in the White House, a year before the option needed to be exercised.

  There was nothing accidental about this near-meeting.

  It was a cold, calculated exercise by the Second Service, the shadowy intelligence arm of the equally shadowy government-in-waiting in Washington, to show that they could penetrate what they called the Rots at any level, any time, at will.

  A preppy-dressing man of 35, Cover had a bland, unmemorably youthful face that could belong to any serious but impish graduate student, and could blossom into a warm if somehow distracted grin. His blond hair was cut short around the ears, and was already receding from his bulbous temple ridges. Only the thinning hair, a certain slouch when he relaxed, and hard lines around his eyes, gave away his real age. He preferred to wear custom eyeglasses with thin steel rims, because he could kill a man with them if all else failed.

  At a reception in the East Room for diplomats and their wives, Cover posed as a Swedish correspondent. The Swedes were naive and open, and he slipped in among their party as they left their embassy for a row of limos. The Ambassador’s wife wore a leather coat and smelled of a faint, expensive violet perfume. Cover hovered by her side, speaking sufficient Swedish to impress her. When the Ambassador noticed, Cover smiled disarmingly, and the man nodded and smiled back with a bit of a confused look--was this an old friend whose name would come back to him? Cover nodded and smiled, and the Ambassador smiled back.

  At the reception, Cover held a sturdy saucer in one hand and a steaming coffee cup in the other. A waitress in black, with white apron, offered miniature blintzes from a silver tray, and Cover accepted one. Behind the thin lenses, his eyes twinkled cornflower blue, and his cheeks dimpled in a smile. The woman gave him a lingering look of appreciation before moving on.

  Cover sized up his man. The Vice President, Louis Cardoza, was a former boxer. Light-skinned for a Mexican-American, and sandy-haired with gray sidewalls at 48, Cardoza was movie-star handsome. Cardoza’s beautiful wife stayed by his side, a smallish brunette from immense old Anglo wealth, with a model’s picture-perfect face. She looked stunning in a little black dress that complemented her tanned, firm breasts and well-exercised thighs. Cover could easily understand the charm these people had upon a nation mired in the Second World Depression, with all its poverty, homelessness, crime, and despair. A nation waking up from nearly 200 years of uninterrupted rule by a two-party cabal that used billions of dollars of taxpayer money as a reelection slush fund each year--roads to nowhere, bridges over nothing, ships the Navy didn’t need, planes the Air Force didn’t want, to bring tax dollars to one’s district, and get votes--grand larceny, felony theft in Cover’s dictionary. He was reminded of the Romanovs--300 years in power, and nobody had believed there was any other way to rule the country. Soon, America would awaken from its long sleep.

  Cover was a moral man. There was a job to do. Actually, these people were so pretty, he hoped they would not get in the way, because then he’d have to do fearsome things to them.

  Wiping sugar dust from his lips as Louis Cardoza moved within 25 feet of him, Cover beamed. The Secret Service Rots hovering out of earshot from their man had no idea the Second Service was at all times moving among them, as Cover’s ideological arch-enemy Chairman Mao had said, ‘as a fish swims in the sea.’

  One of them even brushed Cover’s sleeve, and mumbled, “Excuse me.”

  Cover shrugged matter of factly, waving a napkin, and said: “think nothing of it.”

  A year passed.

  Chapter 2

  Vice President Louis Cardoza received a visitor late one December evening at the Vice President’s House on Observatory Circle in Washington, D.C. The Secret Service detail did not detain the visitor long: Senator Donald Taunton, M-Va (Middle Class Party, Virginia). Taunton was an important committee Chairman. The Senator got out of his car and lumbered through the early dusting of snow on the asphalt driveway. Snow glittered yellow-orange under street lamps.

  Meredith Cardoza and the children were at home--at the moment, the house was in an uproar because the Cardozas were getting ready for their annual Christmas vacation in the Cascades Mountains, courtesy the Middle Class Party. Party founder Robert Lee Hamilton had donated a large chalet there on private land to the Party Steering Committee, to be used for VIP vacations and various planning functions.

  At three p.m., Senator Taunton rolled up in his black limousine. Meredith was chasing around the house after one or another of the children while maids scurried about and butler-types carried suitcases down into the garage.

  Louis, wearing sweats and thick fur slippers, stepped down into the entrance way wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Oh, Senator. I am just making applesauce pancakes at my daughter’s demand.” He noticed that Taunton looked tense.

  “We need to talk, Louie.” Taunton was a heavy set 70ish man with straight white hair that hung just over his ears without seeming messy or too long. As always, he wore conservative clothes--a dark suit and a white shirt, neither of which seemed to fit very well, and a dark red necktie.

  “Of course.” Louis led him upstairs i
nto his small library on the second floor. He waited until Taunton was inside before closing the thick, sound-proof door.

  “I know this is unexpected,” Taunton said, shifting his bulk uncomfortably in a large, ugly brown leatherette easy chair that Louis hated and never used because it made his skin sticky.

  “Not at all, Senator. I appreciate your visit.” He sat down and waited.

  It became clear after a minute that Taunton was under some great stress. His skin was flushed, his breathing was thick, his eyes seemed wide and glazed.

  “Let me get you some water, Senator.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Louis felt puzzled as he stepped to the wet bar, went through the motions, and handed a clean glass full of ice cubes and water, veiled in condensation, to Taunton. He noticed Taunton’s hands trembled as he coaxed a sip to his mouth.

  Taunton nearly dropped the glass. He set it down abruptly and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Well, I’d better get to the point of my visit.”

  Louis plopped into his chair. “Take your time.”

  “There isn’t time.” Taunton took a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses from his inside suit pocket. He fumbled with the glasses, opened them, propped them on his nose. “You have to do something.” He pulled some folded papers from his other inside suit pocket. A small recording disk fell out and rolled across the carpet.

  “You keep that,” Taunton said sharply. “It’s priceless information, but only if you act in time.”

  “Senator, this is very puzzling.” Louis scooped up the silvery plastic disk.

  “I know. Look at these papers.” He extended the oft-folded sheets to Louis--three of yellow legal pad paper, three of standard letter size laser printout paper.

  Louis glanced at the documents, some written, some typed. “And this is--?”

  Taunton stirred in jerky motions, unable to settle down. “Important enough, I think, that you go patch things up with your old party and get to the President. I think you’re the only one who might really make an impression on him. He likes you even if his party has you roasting slowly on a spit.” Having spoken, the Senator fell back in a tired slump.

  Louis read the documents slowly, and sat gaping as their significance became apparent to him. “I have to say I agree with you, Senator,” he said after a long silence.

  Taunton said: “I envy you, because you have been kept in the dark. You’re not part of this. I’m in over my head, and I didn’t realize how serious this was until I found out that I’ve outlived my usefulness. Hamilton’s not giving me another term. I’m out the door like a worn out shoe, and it makes me pretty bitter. But I’m beyond that now.” He pointed to the documents. “I got that through another member of a committee I belong to. My source is unimportant, because he was killed in a car crash this morning, and I don’t know if it was an accident.”

  Louis gasped. “Senator, are we down to--?”

  Taunton nodded funereally. “I’m afraid it’s come to that.”

  “Then it is the moment truth,” Louis said, setting his apron aside. Just as quickly he picked it up again and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. He looked at the disk. “Those are the names?”

  “All of them,” Taunton whispered. “Every one of the top players.”

  “Geez.” Louis felt something icy in his gut.

  “Louie,” Taunton wheezed, “this is where you show your true colors.”

  Louis nodded. “I thought I had it all under control. Turns out I was riding a tiger and didn't realize...” He and the President were a split ticket, from opposing parties. He'd been isolated like a cyst within this Administration, which had gone its own way on most things.

  Taunton chuckled darkly. “Robert Lee Hamilton has kept us all walking into walls for too long.” He referred to the founder and guiding light of the Middle Class Party, which had propelled Cliff Bradley into the Presidency. Louis was a New Democrat, and an uneasy fit the MCP's bridge between Old Conservatives and Moderate Republicans.

  “What will be the tipping point?” Louis asked.

  “The Constitutional Convention, CON2, next year. First one was in 1787, and there hasn't been one since. Too risky. It's allowed per Article V, but theoretically the convention could rewrite the whole thing. The people on that list are going to strike during CON2.”

  Louis saw it now. “ Hamilton put bumbling old Cliff Bradley and me in office. He destroyed the Democratic and Republican Parties so he could put his Middle Class Party in place. But he's had bigger designs all along. “

  Taunton nodded. “God help us all.”

  Louis lowered his face into his hands. He'd spent his life building his career to this point. He was the first Hispanic in the Executive, a heartbeat away from the Presidency. The President himself was n elderly caretaker pope with little personality, manipulated by his party and given to spending his days on the golf course. Louis had taken California by storm as a Hispanic, as a Progressive, riding hot on health care issues. He'd quit the Democrats and gone over to MCP at Robert Lee Hamilton's personal invitation. It had been a huge gamble, and it had seemed to pay off, but his term in Washington turned out to be stymied and powerless. It was a pivotal moment, when the Legislative branch seemed to coalesce into the nation's primary power. It was a perverse penalty of the States' Rights delusion. It was a time of decentralization and disorder. The nation was weakened on the international front, Calcuttafied as jobs poured out and debt poured in, as the Third World rose and the First World sank. The ghettoes and Appalachias of the USA blossomed. Ordinary Americans who had not ridden the gravy train of globalism were on the outside, looking in, in their own country, noses pressed to the window while foreigners ate in the best restaurants and held jobs and drove cars fewer Americans could ever hope to own. It was a time, as a leading economist put it, of “back to back serial recessions with no relief in sight.” In that chaos, opportunists inevitably rose to the surface. Robert Lee Hamilton had succeeded in destroying the old order, but now it was chillingly apparent MCP and business as usual were not going to be his new order.

  “He has used us,” Louis said of their party's leader.

  “We see him for what he really is,” Taunton agreed. “By the time the rest of the country sees it, we may be too late.”

  There was a silence, in which they could hear the Cardoza children running in the hallways and Meredith's cheery but sharp voice calling them to order.

  Louis said: “I will make a decision up at the chalet.”

  “You do that,” Taunton said. He rose and extended his hand. “Good luck, Louie.”

  Louis rose and shook the old man's hand. “Thank you, Senator, for being my friend.”

  Taunton smiled grimly. “I know you will make the right decision, Louie, for yourself, your family, and your country. You know what you must do, and I believe you have the courage. Only you have the clout.”

  “Thanks for coming.” Louis absently picked up his apron and saw the Senator out. The Senator was chauffeured out of the Naval Observatory complex in his limousine. Louis waved, then returned to the kitchen to join his children in their laughter and fun.

  Chapter 3

  The next day, the family flew across the North American continent in Air Force Two. They landed in Seattle, and a smaller plane took them to MCP's chalet in the Cascades Mountains. Meredith was pregnant again, and never looked lovelier.

  Louis wanted to spend a day or two with her in blissful enjoyment before all hell broke loose--before he could no longer delay acting on the Taunton papers and the recording. In his private office upstairs, he had a little inner sanctum. It was a converted meeting room that could hold a dozen persons at a long table. He'd had the table removed and a desk put in. There was a beautiful gray granite fireplace in one corner with a beveled chimney flue, and a large plate glass window to the left of that, which afforded a breathtaking view of the mountains and of the valleys below. Aside from the desk, the only furniture was a half-empty bookcase with old law bo
oks and a few odds and ends. From the cabinet below the bookcase, Louis took a velvet-lined case with a well-oiled .38 Magnum Smith and Wesson and a spare cylinder of bullets. He wouldn't need the spare. One bullet would be enough. He set the case on the table. From a liquor cabinet outside, he brought a bottle of excellent scotch whiskey, and a glass. Locking himself in, he opened the case and looked at the gun inside. He did not pour himself his first shot--yet. Drenched with sweat, shaking, he took a long hot shower, dressed, and rejoined his family. He went through this ritual several times that week, but each time stopped short of starting on the bottle.

  Louis and his family played on the snowy slopes around the MCP chalet. Meredith’s cheeks glowed and she was full of energy. She was eating well, and she had stamina. In a snowball fight, she actually made him cry uncle. When he was out of breath, she was still running circles in the snow. Louis Jr., Annie, and Albert yelled as they tried to catch their mother.

  A couple of times she asked: “Are you okay, Louie? Are you okay, sweetheart? Is something bothering you?” and he’d deny it each time. Then she’d look hurt, and he’d comfort her. He smothered her with cocoa and love and love making.

  “You are a real romeo,” she said laughing one time as he pulled away from her.

  “I’ve got it all under control again for the first time in a long time, that’s why.”

  Louis and his family stood sight-seeing on the helipad, watching the black ocean of an Arctic storm wheel in. Dark gray snow clouds rolled silently across a brilliant tapestry of stars. A fog reached the helipad and crept around their ankles. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and the fog was replaced by thick, whirling snow flakes. The Cardozas went inside.

  Louis sat with his family by the roaring fire. He held Meredith in his arms, while Louis Jr. demonstrated his guitar playing skills and Annie fought with Albert. To tame the situation, Louis laid out a Monopoly game from the Ready Room downstairs, and for several hours the family lost themselves in a game. Louis Jr. and Meredith were the last ones in the game, until Meredith landed on Boardwalk, where Louis Jr. cleaned her out.