The Loyal Nine

by Steven Konkoly

  “…especially for braving this crisp January weather. Thank you as well, Marin Mazzie, for your beautiful rendition of ‘All Hail to Massachusetts’!” Morgan viewed the crowd cheering. Abigail had a flare for the dramatic and had a tendency to micromanage her campaigns. Thus far, her approach had worked, resulting in her becoming a media magnet. In politics, good exposure was everything. It was all about branding. With her success, Morgan tried not to interfere in her approach to campaigning—unless circumstances dictated modifications.

  “The foreign policy of this administration was naïve and misguided. Above all, our civil rights and liberties as American citizens were under assault!” Morgan knew her announcement would be her boilerplate stump speech. Abigail was an astute politician. She knew the political landscape of Massachusetts required her to run as an independent. At times, her libertarian leanings concerned him because they did not mesh with his interests. Thus far, that had not been a problem. Morgan knew the national political scene and how it related to geopolitical interests. If Abigail continued her rise to national prominence, securing a place on the presidential ticket, Morgan would have to “discuss” some of those libertarian policy positions with her.

  “So, with the support of my family, my colleagues and the lovely people of the great state of Massachusetts, I proudly announce my reelection campaign to finish the work I began six years ago in the United States Senate!”

  Morgan was pleased with the text of her speech. Well done, young lady. This year will have a profound effect on your political career. I will guide you all the way.

  Chapter 16

  January 5, 2016

  73 Tremont

  Boston, Massachusetts

  A tap at the door interrupted his thoughts.

  “Come in, please,” said Morgan.

  His longtime assistant Malcolm Lowe entered the room. Lowe was an undersecretary of state during Morgan’s tenure. Now in his mid-forties, Lowe could have advanced his career in any number of ways, but he remained loyal to Morgan and was paid handsomely for his loyalty. Morgan muted the television.

  “Mr. Morgan,” said Lowe, exercising the professional method of addressing his boss when guests were present in the penthouse. “Several of your guests would like to express their congratulations to you, sir, and for the benefit of your daughter.”

  Morgan had instructed Lowe to put together an impromptu gathering of his close associates for coffee and pastries. They were all astute individuals and were fully aware of Morgan’s intentions—kiss the ring of the kingmaker and make a deposit into Abigail’s campaign coffers.

  “By all means, Malcolm, bring them in one at a time. Please invite them to stick around for a brief private meeting with the senator,” said Morgan.

  Morgan adjusted his jacket and walked around his desk to greet his loyal friends informally. At six foot four, Morgan was an imposing figure. Standing behind his massive desk, he could be quite intimidating.

  “Hello, John,” said Lawrence Lowell, son of the former president of Harvard and a direct descendant of John Lowell, a federal judge in the first United States Continental Congress.

  “Welcome, Lawrence. Thank you for coming to join us today. This is a momentous occasion for Abigail, and she certainly appreciates your support,” said Morgan.

  Morgan didn’t emphasize the word support, but it should act as a reminder to his dear friend of the task at hand.

  “Of course, John, I wouldn’t miss Abbie’s announcement under any circumstances,” said Lowell.

  Lowell had known Abbie since she was a child, and referred to her by her nickname, despite Morgan’s consistent use of the more formal Abigail. Lowell reached into his jacket and retrieved a check.

  “Toward that end, this is for Abbie’s political action committee. It’s the least I could do,” said Lowell.

  Morgan accepted the check and continued eye contact with his friend. It would be rude to immediately hold up the check as if to scream how much support? Morgan would wait until Lowell turned to leave before glancing at the number.

  “Thank you so much, Lawrence, and thank your wife as well. This means a lot to us,” said Morgan.

  Morgan reached out to shake Lowell’s hand both in thanks and as a form of dismissal. There were several others waiting their turn—no time for small talk. “I hope that you can stay for Abigail’s appearance here.”

  “Yes, naturally,” said Lowell.

  As he turned to open the door, Morgan glanced at the Lowell family contribution—one million dollars. Good start. Placing the check in his jacket inner pocket, he turned his attention to the next “friend of the family.”

  “Good morning, John,” said Walter Cabot, heir to the Cabot shipping fortune and direct descendant of Captain John Cabot, founder of America’s first cotton mill and a revolutionary war hero. The Cabot name was synonymous with American aristocracy.

  “My dear friend Walter, how are you?” said Morgan.

  He sincerely liked Walter Cabot and the two had transacted many successful business deals, including the acquisition of Huntington Ingalls Industries. HII, along with General Dynamics, dominated the shipbuilding contracts for the United States Navy. With Morgan Global securing the necessary financing, Cabot Corporation expanded its shipbuilding capabilities and greatly increased its stature with lucrative military contracts.

  “I am well, John, and very proud of your daughter,” said Cabot. “However, there is one minor issue of which I must raise objection.”

  Morgan became uneasy. What could have upset my longtime friend and business partner?

  “What is it, Walter? How can I help?” asked Morgan.

  He watched as Cabot pulled a check out of his jacket and then promptly wadded it up and stuck it in his pants. Morgan was deeply concerned.

  “We Cabots are not accustomed to following a Lowell. Lawrence was shown in before me and this needs to be rectified,” said Cabot.

  Morgan began to feel a sense of relief as a big smile crossed Cabot’s face. Cabot pulled out his checkbook and with a stroke of a pen, presented Morgan with a check for two million dollars.

  “I know Lawrence gave you a check for a million dollars, thinking that would place him ahead of the Cabots. He was sadly mistaken. Please accept our check on Abbie’s behalf for two million dollars,” said Cabot proudly. “Perhaps next campaign, I will be the first to see you with hearty congratulations!”

  The two old friends shared a sincere laugh. Morgan extended his hand and as the two men shook, he leaned in to whisper.

  “Fret not, old friend, we both know that the Cabots talk only to God,” said Morgan.

  At this, Walter Cabot roared with laughter.

  “Never a truer word spoken, my friend!” exclaimed Cabot, obviously pleased with himself.

  Morgan was pleased as well. In fact, he would remember Cabot’s reaction and use the talk-to-God phrase before it was time to write the next campaign check.

  One by one, the old, wealthy families of Boston paid their respects and good wishes to John Morgan. The names were synonymous with New England gentry and would be familiar to anyone who had studied American History in high school—Hancock, Tudor, Warren, Bradlee, Crowninshield, Winthrop, Endicott, Peabody, Sargent, Adams and Morgan. Morgan greeted them all heartily and with genuine respect. They were more than his wealthy, powerful friends. They were members of an exclusive group of patriotic Americans dating back to the War for Independence. The members of these families were lineal descendants of the Sons of Liberty—our Founding Fathers.

  They were the Boston Brahmin.

  Chapter 17

  January 5, 2016

  Harvard Kennedy School of Government

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Sarge sat in silence as Steven navigated the G-Wagen onto Memorial Drive. He was deep in thought, weighing his personal life, career and “other” responsibilities. He envied Steven’s lifestyle, though it was consumed by excessive indulgences. Everyone has a way to relieve stress—
blow off steam. Steven’s life put him in life-threatening situations. Why shouldn’t he play hard after returning from a mission?

  Sarge didn’t have any life-threatening stresses—yet. His instincts told him his talents and services would be called upon sooner rather than later. So what is preventing me from having a balanced personal life with my careers—both of them? Is that what’s holding me back from a relationship with Julia? Sarge hated deep thinking and turned up FoxNews on the G63’s COMAND system.

  “So, with the support of my family, my colleagues and the lovely people of the great state of Massachusetts, I proudly announce my reelection campaign to finish the work I began six years ago in the United States Senate!”

  Gee, thanks, universe. Your timing couldn’t have been better. Sarge physically rolled his eyes and shook his head at this thought. Is Abbie the reason I can’t move forward with Julia? The two had practically grown up together after Sarge’s father died. Her dad was Sarge and Steven’s godfather. Sarge and Abbie had a serious romantic tryst a little over ten years ago. Abbie was practicing law at her father’s firm, and Sarge had just received his offer from Harvard. The two were made for each other in many respects, but Sarge always got the impression that her father disapproved of the relationship. Rising careers pulled them apart, which had made things easier for everyone. In the past few years, their work on the “project” had put them in close contact. Sarge still felt an attraction, but the spark was gone. The spark, however, was there with Julia.

  “Here you go, Miss Daisy, your tips are greatly appreciated,” said Steven, pulling up to the curb of the Taubman Building. “Have you spoken to Abbie?”

  “No, I didn’t know she was coming to town,” replied Sarge.

  He found it odd that she didn’t touch base. Maybe this was a quick trip for purposes of the announcement. He really couldn’t think of a reason for her not calling.

  “We don’t have anything to discuss right now, but we all need to get together soon,” said Sarge, reaching into the backseat and grabbing his briefcase.

  “Have a nice day at school, young man. Did you remember to bring your Scooby Doo lunch pail?” teased Steven.

  Sarge half turned back to him, holding up his free hand to distinctly show five fingers. “Talk to the hand, my friend,” he said. “This also means to be back here at five!”

  Sarge jogged towards the entrance of the Taubman Building before Steven could volley another round of bullshit. The tires squealed as Steven presumably took his beloved G-Wagen on a date from hell. He wondered if the living arrangement with his brother would survive until the spring thaw, when Steven would be back on the Miss Behavin’—where he belonged.

  Chapter 18

  January 5, 2016

  Harvard Kennedy School of Government

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Sarge lived for the sense of excitement ushered in by each new semester, a sure sign that he loved his job. He brought up the first slide on the screen as his new students filed into their assigned seats.

  GLOBAL GOVERNANCE

  +

  ECONOMIC POLICY

  The course, similar to his last semester’s offering, focused on the interrelationship between global entities: nation states; international organizations such as the United Nations, the World Trade Organization, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank; along with multinational corporations and civil activist organizations like Anonymous. Students would discuss the international economic impact these entities interplayed, ultimately focusing on their relationship to the United States economy.

  “Good morning, everyone, please find your seats,” said Sarge, finding a few familiar faces in the crowd—like the ever-present Miss Crepeau.

  Everyone settled in their seats, and as was his custom, he surveyed the faces to determine who was serious and who was simply following daddy’s orders to be there. They all look remarkably serious. Maybe they’re paying attention to the news.

  “I see many new faces this semester and look forward to meeting you. After class, I would like students new to my lectures to schedule an appointment so we can discuss my expectations, and yours,” said Sarge.

  “This class is the second in a series of lectures on the topic of global governance. Last semester, we narrowed the topic to the subject global governance in the context of new modalities of modern warfare. This semester we will focus on world economic policies. Let’s start with a recap of the concept of global governance. I’ll pick on some old hands first—Miss Crepeau,” said Sarge, already identifying the teacher’s favorite.

  Miss Crepeau had recorded a near perfect score on last semester’s final. Sarge had an inner debate about how to deal with a young female student who was clearly enamored with him. Most professors would push her away to deter any appearance of impropriety. Sarge decided to encourage her through classroom attention and avoid personal contact outside of class. She was a gifted student, and he did not want to discourage her. Gotta hide this one from my brother.

  “Yes, Professor Sargent,” said Miss Crepeau.

  “Provide a summary of the global governance movement,” said Sarge, adding, “in one hundred forty characters or less.”

  The Twitter reference brought muffled laughs. Imagine if all conversations required the speaker to maintain a strict 140-characters-or-less policy. People might engage in real dialogue.

  “Global governance refers to the complex conduct of international affairs. Without a global government, the concept relates to the different ways governments, organizations, institutions and businesses administer their affairs,” said Miss Crepeau. “The theory allows for consensus-forming among these various entities, which generate formal and informal guidelines affecting governments and multinational entities.”

  “Thank you, Miss Crepeau,” said Sarge. “We live in an interconnected world. Without a single government to establish the necessary laws governing this interaction, some level of cooperation must be achieved; otherwise every nation would build a wall around their borders, both real and virtual. Of course, politics plays a significant role.”

  There were a few mumbles exchanged between the members of the class. His students were well tuned to politics. Statistics suggested that half of his students would hold public office sometime in their careers.

  “On the left side of the political spectrum, global governance under a one-world government is appealing, because it helps protect the poorest nations, which often fall prey to stronger nations or international organizations.

  “Conservative thinkers argue that this neoliberal approach is a direct threat to the independence of the nation state, and thus its sovereignty. Therefore, a balance must be achieved, in our interrelated world, to satisfy the political objectives of nation-states while maintaining the sovereignty of those who wish to remain independent.”

  Sarge surveyed the room. Everyone looked interested, so he opened the discussion with questions.

  “For those of you who are new to my lectures only, who has a question?” asked Sarge, watching as over a dozen hands flew up in near unison.

  “Excellent. Let’s try it this way. I will point at each of you, and as I do, please provide your question concisely. Remember, one hundred forty characters or less. I know you can do it, tweeps.”

  Sarge wanted to determine if there was a consensus question, and this also enabled him to determine what each student’s political leanings were. The students, one by one, fired off their interrogatories. The issues were anticipated—fairness, wealth transfer, socialism, border protection, level of participation. One young man mentioned nation bullying, piquing Sarge’s interest. The issue of alliances and building of global powers across nation-state boundaries intrigued Sarge.

  “Mr. Ocampo, you are new to my lectures, right?” asked Sarge.

  The young man appeared unsure of himself. Sarge decided to give him some confidence.

  “Yes, sir. I am a first year law student and in the dual-degree program. I was app
roved to take this course as a first year elective,” said Ocampo.

  Sarge recognized the surname. Marcos Ocampo was the grandson of the former United Nations Under-Secretary of Economic and Social Affairs. At twenty, he was the youngest law student at Harvard, and probably the youngest student in Sarge’s tenure. This young man grew up in a household where these topics were regularly discussed. Sarge decided to test his mettle.

  “Mr. Ocampo, lawyer-in-training, what do you mean by nation bullying?” asked Sarge.

  “Well, Professor Sargent, most people might associate the word bullying with larger, wealthier nations asserting their will upon the smaller countries who don’t have the same leverage in international matters. I believe the concept of global governance allows for just the opposite. Smaller nations may band together to force the wealthier, more powerful nations to participate in global governance initiatives against their will,” said Ocampo.

  “For example,” interjected Sarge. He liked Ocampo already.

  “One example is global shaming,” stated Ocampo. “The United States is continuously accused of being the root cause of global environmental issues because of our reliance upon fossil fuels. Our country must react by enacting laws or promulgating regulations restricting the ability of our businesses to operate. Many times, these laws are not reciprocally enacted in other countries—like China, India and Russia—who are just as guilty of environmental abuses, if not more so. The increased regulatory apparatus in the United States places our businesses at an economic disadvantage on the world stage.”