Three hours later Wong advised of an incoming secure telephone call from Lao. Once all the lights and beeps indicated the line was secure, Song said simply, “Speak.”
“General Secretary,” Lao’s voice said with his computer encrypted voice sounding strange, “my computer people tell me that within the last hour, the American social media has exploded with homemade videos of the death of Walter Fontaine. He apparently died when an old convertible that had been used decades ago in one of his campaigns, crashed into a coffee shop down the road from the Fontaine estate in California. Claims on social media say the dead, naked body of a Chinese girl was in the back seat, partially wrapped in a sheet. The initial analysis of the videos appears to record Fontaine shouting out the phrase, “The Bitch had me killed,” just before he died from what my analysts believe was poisoning. From the black swelling and markings in the vicinity of his crotch, and the swollen face and black lips of the unrecognizable Chinese girl, it appears at least possible the girl may have poisoned him using lipstick during oral sex.”
“Lao,” Song said with a strained voice, “do the Americans believe we have assassinated the husband of their President?”
“General Secretary, it is too early to determine what the American’s think. That however, is a logical conclusion for them to draw. A lot depends upon who the Chinese girl is in the back seat of his vehicle and many other facts not currently available.”
After a pause for thought, Song said, “Is it possible this is the missing girl we discussed?”
“General Secretary, at this point, I don’t know.” Lao’s voice was low and tinged with regret.
. . .
The Mike Broehm House
Outside of Cronin, Kentucky
0745 Hours EST
Lauren called to Mike as he was coming out of the shower. “Honey, you might want to come see this.”
While toweling himself off, with crazy salt and pepper hair sticking up in all directions, Mike walked into the bedroom to see what she wanted. Lauren was rooted, almost spellbound, in front of the TV. Glancing at the screen, Mike could see the caption, “Walter Fontaine dead at 66.” The commentator of the only conservative national news channel said, “…and although details of his death have not been confirmed by the White House, initial reports from San Francisco seem to be in agreement that former Vice President Walter Fontaine was dying as he crashed his convertible limousine into a coffee shop less than one quarter mile from the Fontaine estate. Unconfirmed reports say the naked body of an oriental female was in the back seat and that Fontaine was babbling deliriously just before he died. Secret Service agents swarmed the scene within seconds and immediately began confiscating camera phones of several observers. We have exclusive video from a confidential source that took video at the scene and posted it almost immediately on social media.”
The screen changed to a somewhat grainy and bouncing video tape showing Walter in the front seat of the limousine, bathrobe flung wide open with his private area blurred out. The body of a woman could be seen on the floor of the back seat, partially uncovered by a sheet. The back of Walter’s head was pressed tightly against the headrest, eyes closed as he shouted, “I think the bitch had me killed!” Within seconds, his head slumped forward, he shuddered and appeared to die. The sound of car doors could be heard, footsteps running and the video blurred into scenes from a person running quickly from the scene.
Mike quickly pressed the record button and switched to one of the other major network news channels. Local morning program had been preempted and the morning show host scheduled to begin his broadcast at the top of the hour was seen speaking without his usual teleprompter. Across the bottom of the screen ran a tag-line similar to that seen on the conservative station. In a calm voice, the host said, “Former Vice President Fontaine had served with distinction, in public office, for over thirty years. In his role as Vice President, he was trusted by the President to work closely with the Senate and to cast the tie-breaking vote on over a dozen important pieces of legislation. There has not been any word from the White House yet concerning either the upcoming state funeral or how the President is enduring her grief.”
Mike continued to watch for another thirty minutes before satisfying himself the host would not even acknowledge the sordid details of Walter Fontaine’s death. Just to be sure, he changed the channel to another national news outlet and discovered the same somber and laudatory descriptions were being given concerning the former Vice President.
Just before Mike decided to turn to the conservative station’s recorded programming, the talking head on the screen became even more serious as he said, “Through unofficial sources in the White House, it has just been discovered that some parties unknown were publishing one or more staged videos claiming to depict the fatal crash of the former Vice President. These false depictions are reported to be an attempt to harm the reputation of the deceased. FCC Enforcement actions are on-going to remove these false videos. White House sources also indicate that any media outlet that shows them are, under the state of emergency, in violation of FCC protocols and will be subject to being shut down in the interest of National Security. The White House is expected to make a special announcement at 1:00 p.m.”
. . .
The White House
1332 Hours EST
Marc Baxter sat quietly in his office chair, having just turned off all of the televisions mounted on his wall. Press Secretary Towanda Jefferson had just given a fifteen minute press conference where she announced that by Presidential Executive Order, and in the interests of National Security, the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) was to insure that no false and libelous news concerning this tragic event was allowed to flow over the airwaves, through regulated cable or via cyberspace. Marc had feared the President would decide the Constitution no longer applied to her.
Towanda’s canned speech at the press conference was the third shock of the morning. Having learned of Walter’s death late the previous evening, he had spent the entire night at his desk in the White House. At 9:15 a.m. the TV that showed the conservative news channel had suddenly gone dark, before blinking back on to show only a test pattern with the message, “Temporarily off the air.”
Ten minutes later Marc had received a call from one of that channel’s Washington correspondents who he knew from journalism classes at Columbia University. Instead of asking Marc the expected questions, he claimed to have a personal emergency involving his wife and asked if Marc could spare him just a couple of minutes. Marc had agreed to meet him two blocks from the White House at a sidewalk coffee cart.
. . .
When Marc arrived, he found his buddy standing near the cart. His buddy opened an opaque envelope, placed his own cell phone inside and motioned for Marc to do the same. With a sigh, Marc did so.
“Marc, were you aware the FCC just came over to our station and completely pulled the plug on us?”
The look on Marc’s face was answer enough. His buddy continued, “Yeah, I thought not. Some goons from Homeland Security waltzed in with the FCC guys and slammed us with an Executive Order to shut us down. They justified it by saying we were broadcasting a false video depicting the death of Walter Fontaine, which threatened national security. Can you believe that shit? In America? What the hell, Marc?” The exasperation was plainly written on his face.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Marc said honestly. “I mean, if the video is bogus, during this time of crisis it could be a threat to the stability of the gov….”
“Marc, buddy! Listen to yourself. Do you really believe that load of crap? Anyway, the truth is the video is absolutely authentic. I won’t give details, but first, it was posted within five minutes after the crash, so there was no time for it to be staged. Second, it was taken by a very rel
iable source, and I won’t even tell you any more about it. Just take it as gospel, it’s legit. Third, did you see it? It sure sounds like the bastard is accusing the President of having him killed. Jesus, Marc!”
Stunned and mentally exhausted, Marc found a moment of clarity before looking his buddy in the eye, before responding, “Look, I wish there were something I could do to get you guys back on line, and if I can, I will. Beyond that, well that’s all I can do. Listen, thanks for this. I mean it.”
With a hint of fear in his eye, Marc’s buddy said, “This is off the record and will be just between us, right?”
“Yes,” Marc said, “and I mean that. Now can I have my phone back?”
Reluctantly, the man handed Marc his phone, turned and walked slowly away.
. . .
Marc now sat in his office contemplating the PEO shutting down the conservative station in light of his President’s actions, what he knew about Walter as a liability and all the rest. It was no great leap to believe Walter had been killed at the order of the President.
He was startled from his thoughts by Burt sticking his head in the door. “Heh, Marc. Want you to sit in on a meeting at 6:00 p.m. Oh, and by the way, Towanda isn’t invited, okay?”
Coming out of his reverie, Marc said, “Uh, okay. What’s it about?”
“God, man. How long has it been since you slept? We need to decide if the Chinese are responsible for Walter’s death. Get some coffee or something!” Burt shook his head and headed off down the hall.
Taking Burt’s advice, he went to the canteen for coffee.
Chapter 51
The New Year - Plus Forty-Three Days
The White House
1813 Hours EST
For the past twenty minutes, Marc, Burt, CIA Director Brad Pittson, NSA Director Donald Clayborn, and Secretary of Defense Carlton Hathaway had learned all the known details about Walter’s death from the Secret Service Director and the Homeland Security Director. For unexplained reasons, the FBI Director and had not been invited nor had his agency been involved in the investigation. All anyone present knew was that this was at the order of the President.
Katherine arrived soon after the briefing had been delivered. She looked terrible, with large bags under her eyes and fatigue written all over her face. Contrary to looking sad, an angry fire was flashing in her eyes.
Looking at Burt, she said, “Anything new that I don’t already know?”
Burt took a deep breath, sighed and after another moment for thought, said, “No, Madam President. I believe you’re aware of all the details that have been presented just now. May I say how sorry I am that you have to go through this?”
Her response was a look of near contempt. “Oh, can it, Burt.” She forced herself to stop before she said how much the bastard deserved what he got. The only problem was how difficult he had made it for her on his way out.
“Gentlemen, I want to know what, if anything, the Chinese had to do with Walter’s death.” Looking at the Secret Service Director, she said, “You’re sure it was our maid, Lu Lu in the car with him? Did he have sex with her?”
The bluntness of her questioning only mildly surprised those present.
“Madam President,” said the Homeland Security Director, in a slightly embarrassed voice while looking at his hands on the table, “the preliminary autopsy of the maid found traces of semen in her mouth. Her lipstick container was found in Mr. Fontaine’s bedroom and has been sent to the FBI Laboratory. They have informed us that it will be about twelve hours before they can provide a definite description of the presumed poison. The most experienced examiner I spoke with said there are several chemicals that can carry almost any liquid substance through the skin quickly, to be absorbed by the victim. His best guess was that one of those transfer chemicals had been used to inject the poison into Mr. Fontaine. My people are in the process of running down all of her relatives for interviews, along with pulling all available information from her phone records, E-mail and everything else we can think of. I have received no updated results from the investigation since entering this meeting. Oh and Madam President, the FBI is quite a bit better at this sort of thing than Homeland, and they have significant resources and primary jurisdiction. Shouldn’t I turn the investigation over to them?”
Katherine rose and turned her back to hide her nearly incapacitating apprehension, before building into a rage and turning to him. “No! I ordered you to do it and I expect you to get the job done!”
Glaring around the table, she could see the faces laced with both concern and disbelief bordering on anger. After a deep breath, she said, “I won’t go into it, but I don’t trust the FBI at this time to do the investigation. Any problems with that decision?”
No one responded.
“Good,” Katherine said. “I ask again, did the Chinese do it?”
Pittson responded first. “Madam President, I received a direct call from MSS Director Lao, who expressed his sympathies. In an unusual move, he also denied any involvement or knowledge by his government. He went so far as to say doing something so outrageous was counterproductive to China’s goals. I have to say, Madam President, he made a convincing case for no involvement by his people. Also, the CIA did develop several poisons capable of doing this sort of thing. We even invented the felt-tipped pen to deliver it back in the 1960s, but in the last two decades, knowledge and ability to access these materials has devolved to the capabilities of almost anyone with an advanced chemistry degree. There are a few known cases where drug cartels and organized crime organizations have used this method of assassination. Of course, any one of dozens of countries have the ability to do this, but politically it would be suicide for them to do so. Madam President, I would start with extensive investigation of your known political enemies.”
Each of those present echoed Pittson’s conclusion. With something akin to relief, Katherine dropped her head and said to the Homeland Security Director, “Do that Director. Task the FBI if you must, but insure that your agency remains in charge of the investigation.”
With a nod received from the Director, she turned to Marc.
“Whiz kid, what do we need to do to A) let the country know we don’t think it was the Chinese that did this, and B) keep the country’s attention off the sordid details that got the bastard killed in the first place?”
Marc had known the question was coming and he took a deep breath before responding. “Madam President, your PEO shutting down the conservative news station and stifling the entire Internet has been and will continue to be extremely counterproductive. Many people believe the order is both unconstitutional and an illegal seizure of power by the executive branch.”
Marc stopped talking and waited for the anticipated explosion. The others around the table looked at Marc with new respect, considering he had just said what they were all thinking.
Instead of the expected explosion, Katherine said, “Okay, I see your point. What do I do about it?”
After a stunned moment of silence, Marc said, “Madam President, you should immediately lift the PEO and have the FCC remove all restrictions from all news organizations.”
A quick glance showed Katherine looking at him with a thoughtful expression and not rage. “Next, Madam President, you should address the nation and apologize for the well-meaning but incorrect information about your husband’s death. We can ignore any statements made by the government concerning the video being staged, but we will need to acknowledge the video is accurate and come up with our own narrative that fits the video. Maybe the maid was off her medications and hated Mr. Fontaine for rebuffing her perceived affections. Middle Eastern terrorists had been looking for a way to strike back at you and had blackmailed her into trying to poison Mr.
Fontaine.” Marc looked around the table for ideas or suggestions.
Katherine said, “That’s why I hired you Whiz kid. You work with my professional Secret Service Director,” she paused to let sarcasm drip from her voice, “and get a story that will fly. I will deliver it tomorrow evening. Oh, and Burt, have the FCC back off on all the censorship.” She then rose from her chair and walked from the room.
Clayborn looked over at Marc and said, “Boy, don’t know how you managed it, but you may have just saved her and us from making the worst mistake of our lives. Keep that up and you’ll go far.” Nods of agreement were made around the table.
. . .
Mike Broehm Residence
Outside Cronin, Kentucky
1900 Hours EST
Mike had gathered what he now considered his command staff at his house, including Sean and Linda, Peter, Fred Callahan, Rollie McDermott, Lauren and Mrs. Onie Lisle, whose husband, Jim, had died three years earlier. Over the past several weeks, Onie had stepped in to help Mike handle the day-to-day issues involving the neighborhood and would prove to be invaluable when the power was cut off. The purpose for this meeting was to discuss the death of the First Man and the Fontaine administration’s reaction to it. Linda and Sean were the last to arrive.
“Mike,” Linda said, “you might want to flip on your favorite news channel.”
With a questioning look on his face, Mike walked to the TV and turned it on. Unlike thirty minutes earlier when all he had seen was a test pattern and short message, now he and all present watched with interest as the lead evening commentator for the news channel read his statement. A banner flashed at the bottom of the screen that said, “President rescinds illegal order.”
The Final Proclamation (An America Reborn Thriller Book 2) Page 27
