by Doug Walker
“Your parents were angry with you?” Lin Yi asked.
“Not at all. We were on the best of terms. Their life had arrived at a junction. They had always planned to move to the condo in the Big Apple. They waited until I could return and enjoy the farm, just as they had enjoyed it through the years.”
“And did you?”
“Certainly. I still do. It’s my home.”
“It’s empty?”
“No. I have an old couple living there. They have a kitchen garden; they actually feed the chickens real chicken food and they’re quite happy. The place is big enough for them and my family if I get another family. I do have a son, you know.” Brooking glanced at his watch. “Time flies. We’d best wrap this up.”
“One moment,” Mittman said. “Tell us how you made the journey from an Iowa farm to the White House.”
“Ok. Briefly, I had little to do on the farm, just keep an eye on the chickens, watch the corn grow. I took a hand in local politics, stood for the state legislature, was elected, ran for the lower house and won, then a U.S. Senate seat opened up. I devoted sixteen hours a day to campaigning and edged out my opponent.”
“In doing so you neglected your Congressional duties,” Mittman said.
“Yes and no. I had a good staff in Washington. None of them served my campaign. They took care of business and I could fly in for key votes. That’s the way the system works, or that’s the way it’s supposed to work. Then it was simply a step from the senate to the White House.”
“With Tina Geer on board,” Lin Yi said.
“Yes, Tina had graduated from Emory, really a wonderful university just outside of Atlanta. Big on liberal arts, health care and particularly research. She returned there after Stanford and began going through the chairs. She married, had a son, Benjamin Barley, was divorced, and had become chancellor when I realized the White House was a possibility. So, we balanced the ticket geographically, with a woman, and in the gray-matter field. She’s brilliant, and her mind is much more nimble than mine.”
“Is a nimble mind all you seek in a woman?” Lin Yi questioned, with a sly smile.
“It helps,” Brooking said, rising and offering his hand to each of the three.
CHAPTER THREE
“I understand you had a private press conference,” Tina said. She had dropped by his office unannounced for morning coffee.
“What I told you; the walls have ears.”
“So does Lin Yi, lovely Chinese ears. She seems to have taken an interest in you.”
“She called you to tell you that?”
“Few people call me directly, but she made an appointment. Was interested in our relationship and filling in the story she’s doing on you. Did she flirt with you?”
“What a question, Tina. She recognizes me as a global leader, so naturally there was some deference. Respect, the usual thing.” He knew she had been flirtatious, but he would never trade her in on someone like his vice president. For her age, which was his age, Tina carried herself very well. Red hair, which she continually touched up, short and feathery, about 5-6, 125 pounds, dark eyes on the greenish side, never boring or ill tempered.
“Well, you could have a lot of women. Presidents before you have done so. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not, Tina. Our relationship is solid. There has been talk, but with discretion, we can feed the flame.”
“Well, if you ever feel the need just tell me and I’ll stand aside.”
“I’m guessing there’d be a horde of horny bachelors and a few married Lotharios standing in line the following day.”
Tina smiled. “Let’s not let a good thing go over a brief climax of emotions. Now tell me about this wanting someone you can trust. Maybe I can help.”
“I went through that. Everyone seems to be grinding their own axe. And most can be bought either with cash or the promise of political advancement. So there are certain things I might like done with discretion.”
Tina gave him a curious look. “Are you talking black opts or wet opts?”
“Certainly not. There’s no one I really want to kill. Maybe shady opts. Certain things come up from time to time that I’d like to dig around and learn the source. But there’s no one I can trust to do such a job. I mean these things have been tried in the past, then one of the operatives tells all and down comes the sky.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Tina said, “Maybe I can help. I know this man.”
Brooking shrugged. “This man, that man, how can I trust any man?”
“He’s a ninja.” She waited for that to soak in, then said. “They have a certain code, a code to the death.”
The President laughed. “Do they charge by the hour?”
“Let me explain. If a ninja agrees to work for you, you become his master. Very much like a samurai, they are loyal to the death.”
“Really, Tina, I am not a moron. I know about ninjas. For one thing they are Japanese. For another it is a lost art. They are not around anymore because there is no work for them. It is an obsolete occupation. Like ah…” Brooking thought for a moment, “A knight’s page, or a king’s jester, or a samurai.”
A delicious smile crossed Tina’s face. “I know an American ninja.”
Brooking rubbed the side of his face, not in despair, but to gather his thoughts. “So you do,” he finally said. He valued Tina’s input and didn’t want to trash any of her convictions, no matter how outlandish. “So why would he want to serve me?”
“Oh, come on, Bruce. You are one of the most powerful and respected men on the face of the earth. How can you say such a thing?”
“You flatter me, Tina. You know everything about me. My strengths, my weaknesses. They say no man is a hero to his housekeeper. I’m not saying you’re my housekeeper, but I am saying you know me well.”
“Possibly it’s wise to underestimate yourself, Bruce. Now about this ninja.”
“Bring him on. I suppose if he knows the art of invisibility he won’t need an appointment. He will simply appear in my office.”
“That would be a convincing trick. I’ll see what he says about it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Several days passed and Brooking almost forgot about Tina’s ninja, remembering it now and then as a pipe dream. Then one day a figure standing near a window in his office caught his eye. He blinked because he was certain the person had not been there an instant before. Not a menacing figure. About 5-10, maybe 190 pounds, brown eyes, and brown, almost black hair.
The President reached for his phone to call security. “I can kill you before you pick up that phone,” the man said in a calm voice.
“You have a gun?”
“Ninjas don’t carry guns. I’m an old-fashioned ninja.”
Brooking’s mind worked quickly, realizing this was indeed Tina’s ninja. “So Tina somehow smuggled you into my office.”
“She helped. She got me a special tour pass.”
There were two common White House tours. One the public stood in line for; the second one was used if a voter dropped by their congressional office to learn how the government works, or doesn’t work, then they might be given a special tour pass. Neither tour came anywhere near the President’s office. Secret Service saw to that.
“She got you into the White House and you did the rest?”
“Correct, Sir. I understand you would like a friend. May I shake your hand?”
“Why not.” They shook and the ninja was waved to a seat.
“You’ve come at a good time. My schedule is clear this morning.”
“I know. Tina told me.”
“You and Tina seem to be on first name terms. She’s the vice president, you know.”
“I’m her personal trainer. I work in a gym a few blocks away.”
“So you’re a gymnast. That explains this ninja business.”
“I work as a gymnast, but I am a ninja, although I don’t do ninja things as a rule. When I was in school I did break a fellow student�
�s leg. But I didn’t do it in a reckless manner.”
“Of course. Why not just tell me your life story?”
“I’ll do that. But let me first say, to be the ninja for the President would be a great honor. It would honor my profession and my Japanese father, who resides among his ancestors. Tina has told me there might be a place for me.”
“Very well,” the President said. “How about beginning with your name.”
“My name is Tarot Jones.”
“Is Tarot a Japanese name?”
“No. Not that I know of. My Japanese name is Taro. I added the ‘t’ to more or less Americanize it. My family name is Jones.”
“You puzzle me, Tarot Jones. Maybe you should simply begin at the beginning.”
“I was a baby in a basket, not unlike Moses.”
The words “Holy Christ” crossed Brooking’s mind, but Tarot continued.
“You see, the basket floated. My parents made the unfortunate decision to be touring Japan near the sea when a tsunami hit. They were doubtless drowned, but my basket was washed ashore. Although Japan is densely populated in certain areas, mountainous and almost deserted in others, they say it’s a collection of villages. The villagers are loyal to their families. Adoption is unusual. So what to do with a gaijin infant?”
“Gaijin?” the President inquired.
“It means foreigner, or outsider. I was taken to a hospital and probably would have found my way to the American embassy in Tokyo, but I was claimed by a man everyone called Old Kaz. He became my Japanese father.”
“He adopted you?”
“No. He simply took me. You see he was a ninja, the last in the line of an old ninja family.”
“He stole you from a hospital?” the President asked in surprise.
“I was quite young at the time, but that’s the way I reconstructed it later. Of course it was a simple matter for him to do that. And nobody really missed me because I had no relatives to complain.”
“What about your surviving family in the States?”
Tarot nodded. “There were some, but no close relatives. They assumed I had died with my parents. So I was named Taro and joined a ninja family, a family of two. The training started when I learned to walk.”
“And you spoke Japanese?”
“Certainly. I couldn’t speak when Old Kaz adopted me. So I was definitely Japanese, pure and simple. I was definitely also a ninja. That’s why he had adopted me. But like many Japanese, I begin learning English in the third grade. My Dad could speak fair English and he encouraged me.”
“So you basically learned to kill.”
“No. No. That’s not a major part of ninja training. It came later. Invisibility, gymnastics, nimble movements, dodging.”
“But you said you could have killed me instantly.”
“Yes, of course,” Tarot said. “My Dad didn’t start that phase until much later. I was bullied in school. I ignored it for a time. You see they called me ‘half’ because they thought I was half Japanese, which wasn’t true. But I have the brown eyes, the dark hair and could be part Japanese. You know the Japanese generally do not have those slanty-slitty Chinese eyes. They are drawn to western eyes because of color. They think all westerners have blue eyes.
“Anyway, one day after school the lead bully and his friends roughed me up pretty bad, and Old Kaz noticed. Then began my martial arts. I had mastered many things and it really wasn’t much of a job to learn the basics, although I had much more to learn. But when the bully came at me again, I broke his leg as Old Kaz had instructed me to do.”
Brooking allowed himself a chuckle. “That should have gotten you tossed out of school.”
“Not so. The teachers and the principal knew me, they knew Old Kaz. He was feared and respected. The boy with the broken leg was a known bully and had bullied others. But two days later his father showed up at our house and Old Kaz invited him inside. He was quite rude and said he was going to have me put in jail, and file a lawsuit.
“Our house was traditional and the roof was supported by heavy poles, not unlike tree trunks with no bark. Old Kaz told the angry man to look at one of the poles. Suddenly there appeared three iron stars (shuriken) on the support, throwing weapons that can kill. The irate father was startled and turned back to Old Kaz, but there was no one there.
“There had been no sound. I was still there, so I suggested the man return the following day. He was confused and kept looking around, which gave me an opportunity to do the vanishing act. We never saw the man again, and I was never bullied again.”
Brooking was impressed. Tarot was believable. “Mrs. Geer mentioned loyalty. Do you have some sort of oath?”
“What Tina mentioned was a type of employment. In the old days a ninja was like a samurai, loyal to his master. Of course, if I accepted employment, the same type of relationship would prevail. My life has been quite indifferent, drifting. The job of personal trainer is a hoot. That is I’ve spent my lifetime up until Old Kaz’s demise in that sort of work. Training, dieting, the proper path, that’s been my lifestyle. But now I would like to make a difference. Do something for our country. Your ideals, as far as I know, tally with mine. But I cannot see into your heart.”
Brooking tried to absorb what Tarot had said, but he needed time. He finally replied, “I’m not certain where that leaves us. I trust Tina totally, and I tend to trust you. Give me room to talk to Tina. She obviously has something in mind, and your being here seems to be the first step. She is many things to me. One of them is a caring mother.”
“You could do worse in your choice of mother.” Tarot rose from his seat.
“I actually have a mother and a father. They schooled me much as Old Kaz schooled you, but in a different way. Then they cut me loose, just as you were cut loose. But they are still alive and more or less camping in a place called Gobekli in a remote area of Turkey. What a change for folks their age to go from a Manhattan condo to a rough camp far from civilization.”
“What is civilization?” Tarot questioned.
“What indeed. We live in a jungle. I’ll have a Secret Service person escort you out. No questions asked. How you got in will remain a mystery.”
CHAPTER FIVE
When Tarot was gone, Brooking reflected on the lax security around the White House. The guards at the gate were often joking and cutting up among themselves. Members of the Secret Service often acted like small-town cops, carrying out their duties by rote. The fact is nothing much ever happened, and the elaborate security members were bored.
A small, swift plane loaded with explosives could easily penetrate the air space and crash into the White House or Capitol building before protective aircraft could be scrambled. From five miles high, a small military-type plane would fall like a ray of sunshine. Even aloft an Air Force pilot would hesitate shooting such a plane out of the sky. A thousand thoughts would be rushing through his brain. Then hindsight as usual would be 20-20.
But nothing could be done except occasionally attempting to jack up the troops to keep them alert and on edge. Everyone had his job.
If Brooking might single out one enemy it would be John Joe Conner, minority senate leader. He was a kingpin in the narrowly divided upper house who held in his hand the one lethal tool, the filibuster, that could block any legislative incentive the President proposed.
John Joe, as he was known on the Hill and throughout the nation, was a short, pudgy man, balding, red hair with a comb over, the mustache of a dandy, fancy dresser and disdainful manner.
He fully realized he was in the catbird’s seat and enjoyed every minute of it. He could make deals and he could break deals and he did so with impunity. He had the mentality of a bully, which got Brooking to thinking about the story Tarot had told him, breaking the bully’s leg. Might some higher power have sent Tarot to him at this particular moment?
He decided to ask Tina for a drink or two late in the day and a hair-down session over the multiplicity of problems. He would get a bowl of peanu
ts or pistachios as snacks. They would reach a solution.
Before he could call her, J.O.P. Quirk dropped by his office to report on his recent visit to several Asian countries. The President sometimes wondered what the J.O.P. stood for, but apparently no one ever asked. He was the well-respected secretary of state and had served in the Congress for several terms, famously as the chairman of the Armed Services committee.
As the meeting was winding down, Brooking said, “As world traveler and your former work with the military, could you tell me how many military units we have stationed abroad?”
“You mean military bases, Sir. All services?”
“I suppose so?”
“No.”
“Any estimate?”
“Hundreds, maybe more than a thousand.”
“Tell me, Quirk. Are we in danger of being attacked?”
Quirk smiled. “Of course not. Who would do such a thing?”
“I can’t imagine. With your help and with that of Congress, I’d like to pare down that number, maybe to a point where we could easily count them.”
“Don’t try that, Mr. President.” Quirk struck a serious note.
“Why not?”
“Lobbyists would be all over you and all over both houses. The military is serious business in this country.
“Too serious, Quirk. It sops up money like a giant sponge, money for personnel and particularly money for military gadgetry. Why should we be the world policeman, if indeed we are? For all our military might we seem to screw up badly abroad.”
Quirk became defensive. “Don’t blame me, Sir.”
This was exasperating. “I’m not blaming you. This has been going on long before you and I arrived in Washington. At least since World War II. Reagan helped it along. He used to do a snappy salute like he was a military man. He dodged military service in World War II, unlike real stars like Stewart and Gable.”
“Reagan was a national hero, Sir. Don’t forget that.” Brooking wondered on what factor Quirk based that statement. The cold war ended because the Soviets were facing bankruptcy. Their system simply didn’t work. Quirk had done well as a glad-handing secretary of state, but he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.
