“Calm down. I agree we can’t accurately pinpoint at this juncture exactly what is causing our economic pains, but for certain the healthcare bill deserves our attention,” Chase underscored.
“We do know for a fact,” Paolo said, “that out of all the people who enrolled for healthcare insurance, over seventy percent enrolled in Medicaid versus private insurance. So it’s clear the Medicaid expansion aspect of the bill has created huge deficits in many states.” Not being able to resist a good jab, he continued, “Hank, what about your beloved state? The city of Chicago alone was left with a sixty-two-million-dollar deficit. Thirty other states rejected the federal funds to expand Medicaid for their cities, not wanting to be forced under the federal guidelines.”
“Paolo’s right, and I’m sure once we research further, we’ll uncover other policy issues that have had a direct effect on the job market,” Chase concluded. “Besides, being the last man standing in the former administration, you, Hank, more than anyone, knew where the problems lay. Your knowledge will be most helpful.”
Hank remained silent. He knew that Chase was correct, for he personally was against much of what was included in the bill. But Baari was unrelenting on making the Universal Healthcare Act his legacy and refused much of Hank’s advice, pouring salt in the still-festering wounds. Hank was not alone.
“The immigration and energy policies can’t be ignored either,” Seymour stated.
“They’re all areas of concern,” Chase allowed. “But first we have to dive deep into the real job numbers to understand the magnitude of the problem we are setting out to resolve. We can’t be led by the headline analyses that are often figments of political imaginations.”
Seymour, with more vigor, insisted, “Whatever solution is proposed to the president, it must also have a corresponding marketing plan to ensure successful execution.”
Chase and Paolo were happy to ease back into their chairs, wanting to hear more from the marketeer.
Hank coaxed him to continue.
“Most people have tuned out and distrust anything coming out of Washington for good reason. Despair blankets the country. If the president is going to deliver a speech to jumpstart the country out of its malaise with plans to reenergize the economy, it needs to be understood by all and repeated often. Primarily by the younger generation, who are the most skeptical. Otherwise, what’s the point?” Seymour sensed that his brethren were buying his argument. He continued. “It would need a huge media blitz, including a website to be operational moments after the president gives his speech. Social networking must be used to the fullest capacity. It’s imperative that the message ring true founded on factual transparency, an element that’s not existed in Washington in the past. In the end, it will be all about the message.”
“Seymour, it sounds like you’ve signed on to lead the charge!” Paolo cajoled.
“I didn’t say that. I’m only pointing out that without a marketing campaign, a plan of that magnitude, meant to reach out and enlist the support of the populace—would fail. That’s how we succeeded to get Baari elected, not once, but twice.”
“There’s another point that mustn’t be overlooked,” Hank posed. “Seymour’s correct about conducting a full-fledged marketing campaign, but it would have to continue long after the president gives his speech. We’d have to commit to more than sixty-five days.”
Hank’s comment caused them all to slouch back into their chairs for a moment of scrutiny.
However, Paolo, not willing to let up, pushed the point. “There’s one person I know who could put together a believable and inspiring media campaign—and he’s in this room.”
Chase had been watching their expressions and had sensed they would all sign on. He chose to take the offensive. In a serious tone, he asserted, “We should hold our first session two days from now, when we can more accurately pinpoint the problems. Before then we should use the time to research various dimensions of the major issues and to agree on priorities. Then as each day proceeds, we can determine how to allocate our time, whether or not we spend our mornings to further research or move right into debating the current topic. Remember our purpose is to weed out specific ineffective policies and to formulate changes the president can adopt.”
“Excuse me, Chase, am I missing something? When did we agree to accept this insane assignment?” Seymour asked.
“We’ll let you tell Noble that he’ll be building the website,” Paolo teased, sensing that when it came to a vote, Seymour would make it unanimous.
Hank played along. “Okay, I’ll formally ask the question. Are we going to sign up?”
Silence took hold. Then each offered a grin of varying degrees in tacit agreement. The nonverbal answers became evident.
Then without missing a beat, they began to divide up the assignments.
“Hank, can you run through the numbers on the recent unemployment report?”
“No problem.”
15
THE BROTHERHOOD’S GAME PLAN
Noble looked over at the alarm clock. Through half-closed eyes he deciphered that it was 4:10 a.m. He also surmised he had been lying in bed wide-eyed for hours. In reality, he had spent the last few hours in a fitful sleep wrestling with his past demons. As he eased out of his haze, he evoked memories of sporadic dreams blurred in perspective. First, he recalled obsessing over the president’s dire words, and then contemplating aspects of his own life. Strangely enough, there was even one with Chase pounding the gavel, calling a meeting to order. Most troubling were the flashes of faces that kept reappearing. Natalie, Amanda, Max, but in no particular order—although Max’s face always seemed more in focus and calming.
He punched his pillow in frustration. He knew he would now have to wait a few more hours to discover whether or not he had failed on his pledge to the president. And if by some miracle, all the members of La Fratellanza were willing to take on this enormous undertaking—then the tension, without a doubt, would increase. There was only one acceptable outcome, a plan destined for success.
Noble tussled a few more times with his pillow, trying to induce sleep, until it became impossible. “Dammit,” he called out. He was quick to empty his head of all thoughts and force himself out of bed. As he tossed on his robe, sudden visions of hot coffee replaced the unpleasantries. He quietly eased open his door, cognizant of the others sleeping nearby, and crossed the reception hall. As he headed toward the kitchen, he was suddenly startled by four shadowy figures seated at the round table.
“Pull up a chair,” Hank invited.
Without offering any small talk, Chase plunged in with an outline of the discussion points from their overnight meeting and described how they had divided up the various responsibilities.
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Noble. “Chase?” he questioned warily, looking for confirmation.
“I’m in,” he acknowledged.
Noble scanned the faces of the others.
Hank threw up his right hand and pledged, “I’m in as well.”
“I’m in,” Seymour averred.
Paolo repeated the same two words in unison.
A few minutes of eerie silence filled the room, as those two little words brought back memories of an earlier time in the spring of 2007. Having followed their own rules, they took a vote whenever any doubt loomed as to whether they should continue to carry out their far-fetched plan. Basically, if one person opted out, the group would cast a vote—the majority decision would be honored—and, as agreed, it would be all or none. There was one desperate time when Simon handed each of them a piece of paper, saving one for himself. They were to cast a vote either to end the game or to continue to the finish line. At that point, they had already invested seven years in grooming Baari. With their orchestration, he had become a U.S. senator, and the time had come to enter him into the presidential race. Each member brought to mind a vivid memory of casting his own ballots and listening with apprehension as Paolo read them aloud. IN, IN, IN, IN, IN. The sound sti
ll resonated in their ears. Ultimately, even with all the doubts Paolo had at the time, he could not bring himself to part with his brothers. In fact, he had read his ballot first, not knowing how the others would vote.
Hearing how Paolo had voted this time brought it all back.
“The entire country will be indebted,” Noble stated, with disciplined reserve, even as his heart was racing. He took a deep breath and then urged, “Chase, please continue.”
“We have the distinct advantage of having members of the Baari administration present.” He cast a glance in the direction of Hank and Paolo. “So we’ve reached total agreement as to which areas are most crucial in terms of potentially affecting the unemployment rate and the creation of jobs. As we debate each topic, we will clarify whether it presents a positive or adverse effect and then decide whether it requires further focus. In due course, we will attempt to identify ways to stimulate the economy, by spurring employment through monetary and fiscal policies.” Chase paused for a brief moment to scan his notes. “At first pass, it appears the major areas are immigration, the Universal Healthcare Act, and various energy policies, including climate change and the vaunted cap-and-trade legislation—acknowledging they are inextricably entwined. We also recognize that other topics may surface and will address them accordingly.” He then looked at Seymour, signaling him to chime in.
“There is another aspect we need to consider.” Seymour explained, “A speech alone will not have much impact unless the ordinary citizens grasp the concepts. Therefore, the president will need a major marketing campaign to work in tandem, giving the public the opportunity to follow along with his solutions to turn the economy around, say, a scorecard if you will. A constant flow of messaging must reach the young and the old to convince them of the validity of the president’s plan in real terms, allowing the private sector time to demonstrate actual results.”
The group sat back, waiting for Noble’s reaction.
“I like it!” Noble asserted, not requiring a second thought. “The only change I would make is that when we sell it to the president we refer to it as a ‘communications campaign.’ The president will want the public informed and not to feel as though they are being sold another bill of goods. The scars from the Universal Healthcare Act rollout are still healing. ”
“Point taken, but the techniques will be basically the same,” Seymour said.
“But this time around no astroturfing. There will be no mis-information; only honest messages will be conveyed,” Noble warned, and then he softened his tone. “You realize, however, if the president buys into the concept of a full-blown campaign, he will expect you to remain here after he makes his speech to provide guidance in the early stages? It could be a matter of weeks.”
“We surmised as much,” Hank said, with a slight shrug.
“Great! Any ideas for a name?” Noble was thus far pleased with the outcome.
Seymour cocked his head and looked at the others. “I hadn’t given it any thought until you posed the question. But considering we are here for our own redemption—how about the Renaissance 2017 Project?”
“Brilliant,” Paolo commended, accompanied with a pat on the back.
The others wholeheartedly agreed.
“Oh, Noble,” Seymour grinned, “I forgot to mention, you get to program the website.”
Noble glanced at them for a moment, and then retorted, “Silly me, I didn’t see that set-up coming.”
They all had a good chuckle and then Chase requested, “Can you get us copies of the Universal Healthcare Act? Unless, of course, you want to print us copies.”
“I’d rather spare another forest from being cut down to provide the paper.”
“Funny, Noble. Two quips in one day. I didn’t know you had such a sense of humor,” Hank teased.
Noble ignored Hank. “I’ll inform the president of your decision and have copies of the healthcare plan delivered to you within the next few hours.” Completely satisfied, and much more at ease, he solicited, “Anyone for a cup of coffee?”
Chase looked at his watch; it was 6:45 a.m. “Not for me, thanks. Mr. Sandman is beckoning. I’m going to hit the sack for a few hours of shut-eye. What do you say we reconvene at ten o’clock and then spend the day doing our homework? We can then begin the jobs discussion the day after tomorrow as agreed.”
“Works for me,” the others chimed in as they retreated to their respective suites.
Noble remained alone at the table, while his stomach did a few somersaults. They’re all good to go, he thought. Amazing! He couldn’t have been more pleased. He was a bit surprised, though, that Chase had taken the lead and appeared more resolute. Aside from his emotional wobbles at times, Chase was the most honest and levelheaded individual in the group. Most important, he was a numbers guy and believed the numbers never lied.
“Yes! We are good to go!” he exclaimed aloud.
Given the time, Noble chose to wait another fifteen minutes before making the crucial call. First, he’d call Stanton to request that he deliver the monstrosity of a healthcare plan that had a pass-first-read-later instruction for the Congress, according to the then-Speaker of the House.
He glanced again at the wall clock—the decisive moment had arrived. He took one deep breath and placed another call—this time to the President of the United States.
16
BEAUTY ABOUNDS
After an exciting week in Florence, Natalie and Mario arrived safely in Rimini on schedule. It was 4:55 p.m. to the minute and Enzo was there to greet them. He spotted them getting off the train, a beautiful American woman with a young boy in tow.
“Ciao bella,” Enzo welcomed, with the Italian cheek-to-cheek kiss. “Your brother forgot to mention how exquisite you are my dear.”
“Grazie,” Natalie replied, slightly flushed.
“And this must be Signore Mario.” He offered the young master a firm handshake.
“Piacere mio,” Mario replied.
“Ah, si parla italiano?”
“Si, signore. Mio babbo mi ha insegnato.”
“Your father is a very good teacher,” Enzo replied, and then noted Natalie’s confused expression. “Would you prefer I speak English, my dear?”
“Yes, and please call me Natalie.”
“Certamente; I mean, certainly. And please call me Enzo.” Enzo patted Mario on the shoulder and said, “You must be a little tired from you trip. Let’s get you to the hotel so you can rest a while.” He reached over for Natalie’s luggage and directed them toward his car, which was waiting just outside at the curb.
The official-looking black car impressed both Natalie and Mario, especially when the driver stepped out to help them into the back seat. Enzo sat up front. Natalie knew all about Enzo and his relationship with Noble. How he first worked alongside Hamilton on the sting operation in Florence and then later he worked with Noble on the European New Year’s Eve assassination attempts. However, she was still she curious to learn more about this interesting man, thinking Noble may have left out some interesting tidbits.
“The Republic of San Marino is the oldest independent city-state in the world,” Enzo explained and then remarked, “Its first governing body dates back to 1243, although the city’s first historical documents date back as far as 885.” It was obvious that Enzo was proud of his knowledge as he continued to pontificate. “Geographically, San Marino is located in the country of Italy, but technically wedged in between two Italian regions, Emilia Romagna to the northeast and Montefeltro in the Marche to the southwest, but she still remains independent.”
Although he sounded more like a travel guide, Natalie asked, “What brings you here from Lyon?”
“There are roughly thirty-thousand inhabitants here, but Interpol’s role is vital in promoting cooperation between San Marino and other member countries. But I always delight in coming to this beautiful, charming medieval treasure. Even if it’s for the usual business.”
They had been on the road only a short time wh
en Natalie spotted a sign that read “San Marino.” Soon after, the car veered right and began the ascent up the twisting country road. As the car continued to corkscrew up the mountain, Natalie sensed they were about to reach the top. “Mario, look back. You can see how high up we are,” she urged.
“In a moment, we will arrive at the top of Mount Titano, where you’ll be able to have a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view. You’ll even be able to spot the Adriatic Coast, near the train station where I met you,” Enzo continued.
About ten minutes later, their car pulled in front of the Hotel Titano, named after the mountain. While the driver stayed in the car that blocked the narrow street, Enzo carried in the luggage. Natalie and Mario followed behind.
“I’ve taken the liberty of making reservations at one of the best restaurants in San Marino. It’s the Ristorante Righi, just up that street. I’ll meet you here in the lobby at ten to eight.” He then quickly checked them in at the reception desk.
“Thank you Enzo, but you’ve been so kind to arrange this for us. We don’t want to impose on you any further.”
“Please, it’s my pleasure. At dinner we can discuss some sights for you and Mario to take in tomorrow. Although you’ll find San Marino very easy to maneuver.”
“Thank you again.” She relented. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Enzo dashed out to the waiting car, and the bellman directed the two American visitors to their room.
Rested and feeling energetic, Natalie, Mario, and Enzo walked out of the hotel, turned left onto the narrow, stone street, and then walked up the steep hill less than a half-city block to an open plaza.
“This is the Piazza Libertà and that is the Public Palace,” he said, pointing toward the end of the square. “Come with me.”
They followed Enzo across the square, although they were both curious as to the direction. They had noted as they entered the plaza that they were heading away from the row of restaurants lined up on the opposite side. But within seconds, they had reached the edge of the square and lined up to lean against the waist-high, ancient stone wall. Then they peered to the right.
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