“The Tatishchev is stalking our nuclear subs,” said Katie.
“Because they don’t want us to know their own subs are right in our backyard,” said Steven. “This explains the presence of the Chiker. There are some serious Russki sharks circling our waters.”
“Mommy,” squealed the girls in unison. “It’s Steeeeeven.”
They ran to Steven, who put his coffee down to absorb the full-on assault of little girl hugs.
“He has this effect on women, big and small,” said Sarge.
Katie nodded in agreement.
“Ladies, today is Patriots’ Day. Why are you wearing pink and not the good old red, white and blue?” said Steven, holding each of their arms over their heads as they pirouetted.
“Because we are pretty in pink,” said Rebecca.
“Hello, Suzie Q,” said Steven, releasing Susan’s daughters.
“Good morning, Steven,” said Susan. “Nice to see that you dressed appropriately. Sarge was worried.”
“For good reason,” said Steven.
The digital keypad next to the elevator doors flashed. Only eight other people had the necessary security code to access the three upper floors of 100 Beacon, and six of them were inside his residence. He waited for his final two guests to step out of the elevator.
“Look at this homeless guy I found on the sidewalk.” Brad laughed. “I think he might be working undercover for Homeland.”
Brad hugged J.J. around the shoulders as the two men entered the Great Hall.
“Hi, guys,” said Julia as she greeted them both with a hug. “J.J., have you lost some weight? You look great.”
“He’s got a new girlfriend,” said Susan. “Right, J.J.?”
J.J. turned noticeably red from embarrassment. Sarge knew it was hard for him to be the center of attention when it came to personal matters.
“We’re just good friends,” said J.J. “Her name is Sabina. I first met her in the hospital at the Joint Base. We ran into each other recently and hit it off.”
Brad slapped J.J. on the back and grinned. “Another one bites the dust, which leaves just me and Steven in the single category.”
On cue, Steven and Katie stepped into the open.
“You spoke too soon, my friend,” said J.J. “It appears your counterpart has met his match.”
“Do I need to find Brad a special friend?” said Katie. “Maybe a nice girl out of the counterintelligence corps.”
“Forget it, I hear Brad has trust issues,” said Sarge. “Right, Brad? You wanna tell everyone about your visit from DHS?”
“First things first,” started Brad. “My love life is fine, thank you very much. Second, no spies, please. My motto is question everything; trust no one—but you guys, of course. I don’t need a spy in my bed or my head.”
“Okay,” said Susan. “No more coffee for Brad. It’s good to see you.”
“Are we all here?” asked J.J.
He glanced around the room and waved at Penny and Rebecca, who were stationed in front of the televisions.
“Not yet,” replied Susan. “Abbie had a campaign appearance at the annual Patriots’ Day breakfast in Lexington. After her speech, she was going to head this way ahead of the marathon traffic.”
“How did her campaign staff clear her schedule for the day?” asked Julia.
“Abbie told her staff she would be holding an all-day private fundraiser,” said Sarge. “I forgot to mention it to everyone. Let’s break out the checkbooks and bribe her campaign manager to leave us alone for the day.”
“I knew it,” said Steven. “Subterfuge.”
“C’mon, you cheap bastard,” said Katie, smacking Steven hard in the chest. “You never spend any money on me. At least help Abbie get reelected.”
“I spend money on you when we go out,” said Steven.
“No, you don’t, because we never go out,” replied Katie. “You just sweet-talk me into the sack.”
“Katie!” exclaimed Susan, pointing in the direction of the girls.
“No more diversions,” said Sarge. “Checks, please, but keep them below twenty seven hundred.”
Sarge gathered up the checks. The contributions were largely symbolic as both a show of loyalty and an excuse to commandeer Abbie for the day. Sarge’s phone buzzed, notifying him of a text message.
“I just received a text from Abbie,” said Sarge. “She’ll be here shortly. Her security team insists on escorting her up the elevator, but then they’ll ride down and wait outside. Unavoidable at her level. Why don’t we all gather in the study until I can send them back downstairs? How does that sound?”
“Okay by us,” said Penny.
Everyone laughed at the unhampered audacity of a child.
“No, girls,” said Donald. “You guys stay here. We have some adult things to discuss. Sound good?”
“Okay, Daddy,” said their daughters.
Sarge politely herded everyone towards the study, watching curiously as the Quinns gathered up the brown-wrapped packages. Julia stayed with Sarge to greet Abbie. Was she playing hostess or guarding her turf?
The elevator opened, and one of the dark-suited members of her security team entered, followed by Abbie and the female member of the detachment. While in Washington, Abbie was provided around-the-clock security. When members returned to their home districts, they were on their own. Her father had arranged twenty-four-hour security—most likely the best in the business.
“Hey, guys,” said Abbie. She reached out to hug Julia before embracing Sarge. “Where is everybody?”
“We locked them in a closet with Steven,” said Julia. “May the strongest survive.”
“Abbie,” Rebecca squealed.
“It’s Senator Abbie, goofy,” corrected Penny. “Hi, Senator Abbie. Becca doesn’t understand politics like I do.”
“Well, Penny, you probably understand politics better than most people,” whispered Abbie, kneeling down to hug Penny.
She stood up and politely dismissed the security team. Sarge showed them to the elevator and sent them to the ground floor.
“Abbie, would you like coffee or juice?” asked Sarge.
“I’m fine, thank you,” said Abbie. “I’m excited about catching up with everyone. I imagine we have a lot to cover.”
Sarge knew their meetings would have to become more frequent. The world had changed significantly since their last gathering. In another nine months, it might be unrecognizable. As the day progressed, he would explain the dire necessity for making serious changes to their lives. A heightened sense of awareness was required moving forward. He motioned them towards the study, eavesdropping on the ladies. I hope they don’t compare notes. His brother shook his head as Sarge closed the door behind the women.
“You’re screwed, dude,” said Steven. “There will be no place to hide when those two are finished with you.”
“No doubt,” said Sarge.
Julia gave him a wink.
“Greetings, Senator,” said Donald. “Polls seem to be strong.”
“Thank you, Donald,” said Abbie. “When I ran six years ago, the campaign was very intense at this point. There was a lot of hostility among the electorate, especially against the rising voices of the Tea Party. We’re not seeing that yet. Everything seems to be on track for November.”
“What are your chances of being selected by one of the presidential candidates as a running mate?” asked Susan.
The question was bold, but they were a family and a team. Everyone spoke freely and honestly, without fear that their words might surface in public.
“It’s difficult to predict this early,” said Abbie. “The big government Republicans are starting to ease up on us, but we may still be a few election cycles away from an alliance outside of the traditional Republican mold.”
“I suspect you’re closer than you think,” said Julia. “I don’t see the Republican Party pulling off a presidential victory without a shakeup. Grabbing the libertarian base might be their o
nly hope.”
“I can tell you guys this, if my father wants me on either ticket as Vice President, it would happen. I honestly don’t know if I want that yet. Hyper-partisanship is still out of control. The Founding Fathers tried to warn us against the creation of a two-party system. One of my ancestors, John Adams, said he dreaded the division of the republic into strong parties. He predicted it would become the greatest political evil under our Constitution. He was right, and the polls show that a majority of Americans agree. The constant bickering and gridlock has poisoned the country.”
“The two-party system has fostered an environment of division between Americans,” said Sarge. “I have never seen people so polarized.”
“I agree,” said Donald. “Lincoln said America would never be destroyed from the outside. If we lose our freedom, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.”
Donald reached for one of the parcels labeled number one. He handed it to Sarge. “For you, my friend—a gift honoring the great success of your new book.”
Sarge removed the brown-paper wrap, taking in the first of the marvelous paintings. He remained speechless while Donald explained their significance.
“You’re looking at hand-painted reproductions of a five-part series of paintings created by Thomas Cole, an English artist that reached his pinnacle in the 1830s. The series is called The Course of Empire. They depict the rise and fall of an imaginary city.”
Donald and Susan quickly unwrapped the rest of the paintings and gave them to the others to hold for viewing.
“Imagine an ideal world in its natural state, untouched by mankind,” said Donald. “This first canvas is called The Savage State. It is symbolic of our planet in its pristine, unblemished condition. It features a beautiful valley, wildlife, a pristine river and only primitive people.
“The second painting is called Arcadian,” said Donald. “This painting reveals the development of the land, but with a slow, controlled approach. Notice the structures are very primitive, and the scene is sparsely populated.”
He took the third painting from Steven.
“Next in the series is the Consummation of Empire,” said Donald. “Obviously, ancient Rome is the subject of this work. This painting exudes luxurious self-indulgence, much like the Roman Empire at its peak in around 100 A.D. Notice the ornate architecture and the elaborately dressed inhabitants. The harbor is bustling with ships and the marketplace is full of activity.
“The fourth painting is called Destruction. Art historians believe this painting suggests the fall of the Roman Empire around 400 A.D., at the hands of the Vandals. The dark storm clouds envelop the city as the seas rage, rocking the ships back and forth. The towers have fallen, and the city is generally war ravaged. Notice the dead and injured who have fallen as a result of the destruction.”
Donald handed this painting to Julia and then lifted up the last canvas—turning it for everyone to see its detail.
“Finally, the artist referred to this painting as Desolation, which represents the empire years after its destruction. The city is in ruins, and natural vegetation has taken over the majestic structures. The imaginary city depicted in Cole’s artistic works has come full circle.”
Sarge surveyed the room as everyone hung on Donald’s last words.
“I prefer to call it TEOTWAWKI—The End Of The World As We Know It.”
“All empires collapse eventually—there have been no exceptions,” said Sarge.
“That’s why we are all here,” said Donald.
Chapter 53
April 18, 2016
Top of the Hub Restaurant
Boston, Massachusetts
“Welcome to the Top of the Hub Restaurant, gentlemen, and may I wish you a splendid Patriots’ Day,” said the tuxedo-clad maître d’.
Morgan nodded as he entered the restaurant with Walter Cabot. The Top of the Hub occupied the upper floors of the Prudential Tower and offered breathtaking views of Boston’s skyline and beyond. On clear days, the Atlantic Ocean glistened in the distance beyond the inner harbor. Closer below, the Charles River dominated the cityscape, giving upscale diners unobstructed lines of sight to many of Boston’s iconic landmarks. Foremost among them, the ornately constructed Longfellow Bridge stared up at the most connected or lucky patrons seated near a window in the northeast corner. Inspired by European design, the bridge opened in 1906, featuring eleven steel arch spans supported by ten concrete piers. Four ornamental stone towers flanked the central span, providing the bridge’s most notable feature. Today, the splendor of the Boston landmarks would take a backseat to the Boston Marathon, which was unfolding just below them along Boylston Street.
Morgan was in good spirits. His choice of the Skywalk Observatory for this private meeting was a change of pace from the usual venue at 73 Tremont. Lofty goals require a lofty locale. Without exaggeration, he knew that today’s discussions would shape world events. The maître d’ led Morgan and Cabot into a private room with seating for nine. A long rectangular table had been positioned next to the window—elegantly adorned with white tablecloths, candles, crystal glassware and fine china. In addition to sparing no expense for their endeavor, he had insisted on total privacy for the meeting. The restaurant’s management understood that once lunch was served, they were to remain outside the private dining room until summoned.
They were greeted upon entry by Lawrence Lowell, who was seated closest to the door. He set his cocktail on the table—after finishing it with a long swallow. Never too early for a cocktail, right, Lawrence?
“John, it’s good to see you,” said Lowell. “Cabot old man, you are looking well.”
Lowell was heartily shaking Cabot’s hand. The Lowells and Cabots were the epitome of New England aristocracy—New England First Families.
“Thank you, Lawrence, and you look well also—for an old man,” said Cabot with a deep-throated chuckle.
Morgan surveyed the room over the two men, each of whom stood several inches shorter. He was pleased to see that everyone was present. Tardiness was a sign of personal weakness, a trait that could not be tolerated in this circle. Especially today. The attendees, in addition to Morgan, included the eight members of the executive council—all descendants of America’s Founding Fathers. Endicott, Tudor, Winthrop, Bradlee, Peabody, Adams, Cabot and Lowell. Morgan wanted to have a brief chat with each of them before delving into official business.
“Hello, Henry,” Morgan said to the great grandson of former Secretary of War William Crowninshield Endicott. “I hope all is well.”
“Yes, John, of course it is,” said Endicott.
He leaned in to whisper in Morgan’s ear. “Thank you for arranging the meeting with the Saudi prince. We have formed an excellent working relationship. They have quite an appetite for our advanced weaponry. Perhaps they will use it on the Iranians since our commander-in-chief won’t.”
The Endicott family name was synonymous with warfare throughout the world.
“I was glad to help you, Henry,” said Morgan. “Please give my regards to your blushing bride.”
The men laughed at Morgan’s reference. Endicott was on his third wife. The new Mrs. Endicott was younger than most of his children. He approached Samuel Bradlee, who had just retrieved another cocktail from one of the waiters.
“Samuel, you old codger, how’s your golf game,” greeted Morgan.
Samuel Bradlee was a former Secretary of Defense and a direct descendant of Nathaniel Bradlee—one of the key participants in the Boston Tea Party. He was very well regarded among the group and had taken on the unofficial role of social coordinator.
“Still hittin’ ’em straight, John,” said Bradlee. “I nearly got a hole in one the other day. I guess if one plays enough golf, he’ll get lucky. Even a blind squirrel will find an acorn once in a while, right, old friend?”
“And a broken clock is right twice a day, Samuel. Glad to hear all is well,” said Morgan.
“Listen, John, I want to thank you for everything yo
u’ve done for my nephew,” said Samuel. “He’s thoroughly enjoyed his tour as 1st Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment’s commander, but the Marine Corps has a tendency to move its personnel around—and Brad is due for a reassignment. My brother likes having him close by, and I think you will agree his position could be advantageous at some point.” I know, Samuel, who do you think put him there in the first place?
“Do not concern yourself with this, Samuel,” said Morgan, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’d make a fine commanding officer for the 25th Marine Regiment, located right at Fort Devens. Brad will have a long tenure at Fort Devens.”
“John, it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. Thank you,” said Bradlee.
The catering manager approached and stood inconspicuously to the side, waiting courteously for them to finish their conversation.
“Give me a moment, Samuel,” said Morgan, acknowledging the manager’s presence.
“Sir, is there a particular time you would like lunch to be served?” asked the manager.
Morgan looked at his watch, noting that it was 11:40.
“Begin your preparations now, and have all courses except dessert delivered before noon,” said Morgan.
“Very well, sir. We will commence immediately,” said the manager.
Morgan wanted to speak with one more guest before lunch was served. He found Paul Winthrop stuck in a conversation with Lawrence Lowell.
“Lawrence, may I borrow Paul for just a moment?” said Morgan. “Lunch will be served shortly.”
“Yes, absolutely, John. It is so good to see you again, Paul,” said Lowell before he flagged down the waiter for another cocktail.
Morgan turned his attention to the descendant of one of Massachusetts Bay Colony’s earliest settlers, and its first acting governor.
“Paul, thank you for coming,” said Morgan.
Winthrop’s cousin, Henry Winthrop Sargent III, was Morgan’s best friend, and father to Morgan’s godsons, Sarge and Steven. Morgan felt a special kinship with the Winthrops and Sargents.
“I want to apologize for not keeping you in the loop regarding the matter in Switzerland last month. You do understand why the course of action was necessary?” Morgan examined Winthrop carefully while he answered.
The Loyal Nine Page 24
