My King The President

by Tom Lewis

  “Not one soul outside our family.”

  “Good. Keep it that way, please. I’ll get back to you soon. Promise.”

  “Whatever you say, son. Any idea when Mr. Cal’s comin’ home?”

  I took a deep breath. “It won’t be long, Lollie. We’re both really busy just now. You take care, and give my best to the Reverend.”

  I didn’t have time just then to speculate about Liz’s departure from Tryon’s Cove, or her destination. I called information, asked for Bethesda, Maryland, and requested the number for Betty Kucinski. After giving it to me, the polite recorded operator dialed it for me.

  “Hello?”

  “Miz , this is Jeb Willard.”

  “Mr. Willard? You ain’t dead?”

  “No, not yet. I’m sorry to spring such a surprise on you, but it’s vital I talk to your husband. Is he there?”

  “No, sir. He’s over at the gym, workin’ out. Under a different name, of course. Should be back in about an hour. Can I have him call you somewhere?”

  “No. Listen carefully, please. Members of President Fordham’s Secret Service detail will be coming to pick him up. Tell him I said not to worry. He’ll be safe. They’re going to bring him to talk to me. Maybe both of you.”

  “Bring us where?”

  “I’m at Camp David.”

  “You’re sure he’ll be safe?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Absolutely certain. You have my word on it, and the word of the President of the United States.”

  I paced the floor for hours, listening for the sound of a helicopter, a car, or the telephone. Nothing happened until well after midnight. Franklin came in, bringing with him a fleece-lined overcoat, scarf, and, bless him, a plaid hunter’s cap. I followed him to the door of the cabin named Laurel, waited while he knocked twice, then walked inside and found myself gazing into the warm brown eyes of Abigail McCarty.

  And the cold gray ones of Thurmond Frye.

  Chapter 21

  There wasn’t much time to react. I hugged Abby and whispered into her ear, “Thanks for coming. I’ll explain everything shortly. Let me talk to Frye first.” She gave me a silent, weak nod, and went into the bedroom where I assumed her twins were. I turned then to the FBI man whose gray eyes seemed to be full of unanswered questions mixed with unhidden contempt. I put out a hand, which he ignored. Instead, he did something quite remarkable and totally unexpected. He reached inside his coat, removed both his weapon and his ID wallet, which he placed on the table next to the sofa. Lightning fast, he wheeled back around and looped a right cross to my jaw that knocked me backwards against the door I’d come through. I was stunned more than hurt; glad he hadn’t put his whole weight behind the punch. “That’s for Mavis, you son of a bitch,” he growled. “No more games, friend Willard. Start talking, and this time you’d better tell me the truth.”

  “Okay, I had that coming,” I answered, rubbing my smarting jaw. “But first you tell me why you’re here.”

  “Orders. The President called my boss who ordered me to drop everything and personally escort Mrs. McCarty and the kids to the White House. President Fordham then commanded me to bring them here. Told me in no uncertain terms to cooperate with you!”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “Nothing. But you’d better. Otherwise, you and I are going to seriously tangle, even it costs me my job.”

  I raised both hands. “All right. Cool off and sit down, for God’s sake. This may take a while.”

  He parked it on the arm of the sofa, crossed his arms, and said, “I’m listening, and this had better be good.”

  I waited a couple of beats. “You know about Father Flaherty?”

  Frye raised one eyebrow. “I know he’s dead. Captain Kemp is going nuts, too. So is my team. What do you know about it?”

  “I was there. At the church, I mean. Probably no more than an hour after Hemiola cut his throat. But she’ll never cut another one.”

  “She?”

  “Yep. Hemiola was a woman.” Feeling I had no other choice, I told Frye about my two trips to south Florida, and what had happened on the second one. “…And that’s the truth, Thurmond, so help me God. You can call your people and Kemp if you want to. No sense in any of you spinning your wheels any longer over Hemiola.”

  Frye pursed his lips, and sat for a while without saying anything. When he looked back up at me, he had a completely different look in his eyes. Almost human. “Jeb, I’m going to tell you something, and whether you go to jail for a long time or not depends on how close you can keep a secret. I know you think there is a big conspiracy behind President Tyndall’s murder, and I also know you don’t trust me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have run from us. Finally, I know you think Judge Koontz is behind that plot and is also responsible for the deaths of your friends.”

  He leaned forward, as if to emphasize how earnest he was and lowered his voice a notch. “I assure you I am not secretly working for Koontz. Just the opposite. I have been on his trail for almost three years now. I know all about the dwarfs, and all about how they got Tyndall elected. As I mentioned to you earlier, my team has been quietly working on something a lot bigger. Something we believe the Judge was up to that’s almost too fantastic to imagine.”

  “What?”

  “Jeb, with your journalistic experience, maybe you won’t have such a hard time believing what I’m going to tell you. I’m talking about an intricate plot to take over the government! For some time now, the highest officers of the FBI have suspected Judge Koontz was planning to literally become an American dictator, using President Tyndall as his front man. We thought Koontz and Tyndall were actually planning a coup. A military coup. Koontz would have been the brains, Tyndall the brawn. The mouthpiece.

  “We also think Tyndall’s wife knew about it, or at least suspected it, and after he was shot, was probably going to spill the whole pot of beans to you. Why, I have no idea. Your cute little ruse about those diaries caught the Judge by surprise. Forced him into some uncharacteristic, rather careless moves, and threw a monkey wrench into my investigation to boot.”

  I whistled my surprise, staring at him, until something clicked inside my head. “Wait a minute. You used the past tense. You said you thought, not you think. Have you people changed your minds?”

  “Had to, didn’t we? Nothing added up. If Koontz was planning a coup, why would he have Tyndall killed? It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes any sense. Besides, I didn’t have one shred of evidence. McCarty blew his own brains out, too, don’t forget. We couldn’t find anything at all connecting him to the Judge. Nothing whatsoever.”

  We both sat there for a while, eyeing each other. For my part, I was trying hard to absorb what Frye had told me. A plot to take over the government? How? When?

  Before either of us could say anything else, a discreet knock came at the door, followed by Agent Franklin’s announcement, “The other parties have arrived, sir, and supper’s ready over at Birch. If you’ll please follow me…”

  It was a strange, uncomfortable mixture gathered around the table. I made a quick mental list:

  One irate, high-ranking member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  One trance-like widow—a subdued, frightened twin on either side of her.

  One chattering common-law wife, who insisted on saying a lengthy, monotone table grace.

  One crew-cut, stiff-backed former sergeant whose body looked half the age showing on his wary face.

  Two affable Secret Service men who must have been instructed to keep a close eye on everyone present.

  And one very anxious former journalist whose throbbing jaw was keeping him from enjoying the decent meal, and reminding him of Cal’s advice not to trust anyone!

  Yet, I knew I had to start trusting somebody; otherwise I wasn’t going to get any further than this warm room! Also, I was going to have no chance to rescue my father, let alone try to unravel Thurmond Frye’s wooly ball of inconceivable conspiracy twine, which was harder to digest
than the baked chicken I was painfully chewing. With every bite, Frye’s bombshell went off again in my head. Overthrow the United States Government?

  After dinner, I at least had a few private moments to tell Abby about the note her husband had written to me, that I intended to attempt what he had asked me to do, something of the risks involved, and begged her to assist me with writing the diary.

  Surprisingly, she agreed to. “For two reasons, Jeb. Robby and Bobby. They’re my life, now, and for their sakes, I can’t afford to fold up. I’ll help you all I can.”

  “It’s going to be rough.”

  “After what I’ve been through? This will be easy. When do you want to start?”

  “Right here. First thing tomorrow morning.”

  I watched Franklin and his nameless partner escort her and the kids back to her cabin, then turned back to the others, addressing my first remarks to Betty Kucinski. “Betty, not to be sexist, but I’d like to ask you to keep the coffee pot going if you don’t mind.”

  She hoisted herself out of her chair with a good-natured grunt and headed for the kitchen. I looked at Frye and Mackenzie, heaved one big sigh, and said, “Gentlemen, we have to sit down and hold ourselves a war council. Big time role-playing.”

  For the first time, the burly ex sergeant spoke, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Can we smoke ’em if we’ve got ’em, sir?”

  I took my place again at the table. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Sarge.” My eyes traveled from his smiling face to Frye’s unsmiling one and back again. “Okay, guys. Sarge, you’re General Tyndall. Thurmond, you’re the Judge. We want to take over the government. How do we do it? What’s our first step?”

  “Organization, Frye said without hesitation. “Meticulous military planning. I have a feeling the Judge had his organization man picked out long before Tyndall’s election.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Cornelius Ferris. What do you think, Sarge?”

  “Makes a lotta sense. Ferris was also a four-star Marine General, Chief of Staff during the last administration, and the man who kept the military together through all the downsizing and cutbacks that had been done for twenty years. Everybody knows he was one of Tyndall’s best and oldest buddies.”

  “Right on,” Frye said. “Not the charismatic, hell-for-leather leader Tyndall was, but the best brain, the best strategic planner the military has ever had. And now, he’s the Secretary of Defense.”

  “And,” I pointed out, “The only one of the dwarfs who is still alive. Has to be a good reason for that. Okay. So, Koontz knows the only way he can get it done is by using the military. How does Ferris manage it?”

  Sergeant Mackenzie leaned back in his chair. “Wouldn’t have been hard for him to do. Most of our troops are back in the States now. Scattered all over the country. Wouldn’t have been all that tough for Ferris to plant secret units in every command, which could be mobilized in hours. Tactical stations in every single state, every major city and airport. Maximum mobility, plus placing trusted commanders in every key position; Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. Even the Guard.”

  “Must have taken him years to set it up,” I said.

  “Probably as many as five or six,” Mackenzie added, shaking his head. “Some of us old time lifers suspected something big was in the works, but nobody knew nothin’ for sure, and none of the career guys I knew was about to ask too many questions. When I had that little stroke, it was really a blessing. I had drove Tyndall to see Ferris privately lots of times, but I never saw him meet with Koontz so much as once.”

  Frye commented, “Their communications schematic had to be just as sophisticated as all the rest. Besides, my guess is the Judge never let the right hand know what the left hand was doing, until maybe the last moment.”

  “All right then,” I said, “We’ve got all the pieces in place. All systems ready to go. What’s the trigger? What starts it?”

  All three of us sat there several minutes, brains working overtime. Finally, Frye said, “It would have to be some big calamity. Some gigantic crisis. Big enough for Tyndall to clamp down hard. Declare national emergency and invoke military law.”

  “Phony terrorist attack?” Assassinations?” I ventured.

  “Possibly,” Frye nodded, but it would have to be one—or more—done on an unimaginable scale.”

  I shuddered, thinking of any number of grim possibilities. Impossible possibilities. I hated to ask, but did anyway. “So, what’s the absolute worst scenario you can think of? What would be big enough to make Tyndall give the ‘go’ word?”

  Nobody spoke right away. I was certain they were, like I was, having a hard time conjuring up a mental image of an induced disaster large enough to declare martial law. Finally, I pushed a little. “Thurmond, what’s the worst thing you can think of?”

  Frye’s gray eyes got harder. “H-bomb explosion. Sabotage at Los Alamos. Maybe also at Oak Ridge, simultaneously. Or two or three nuclear plant meltdowns.”

  “Terrorist attacks in several major cities,” Mackenzie offered. “Bombings, with fires and rioting, maybe including Washington. The White House, maybe at a time when Tyndall was somewhere else.”

  And with his wife still in there. It was a bone chilling thought. “What about a germ warfare agent?” I whispered. “Poisoned water supply, maybe in New York, or Los Angeles. Millions would die.”

  We spent another two hours mock-planning doomsday events, and when we ended the session and went to our separate quarters, I wondered if the others had as much trouble as I did getting to sleep…

  And so, I set about writing my first piece of fiction. For the next two days and nights, I worked feverishly at constructing a series of diary entries, incorporating occasional ghoulish hints of national catastrophe into mundane events of the McCarty family’s everyday life. Those were tearfully supplied by Abby, whose job of reminiscing personal anecdotal information (which only she and Mac could have known about) was certainly rougher than mine. Ignoring my writer’s cramp, I filled one notebook completely, and was three quarters through the second one when Franklin barged in to tell me we had one hour to pack up and leave.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “The President called, Mr. Willard. Said for us to drive you and Mr. Mackenzie to Edwards. Right away.”

  “Edwards?”

  “Edward’s Air Force Base.”

  “What about Frye and the others? Are they coming, too?”

  “No, sir. They’re staying here. My instructions are to bring only you and Mackenzie.”

  “Why Edwards?”

  Franklin shook his head. “I don’t know, sir, unless you’re going on a trip with the Boss. Edwards is where she keeps Air Force One.”

  Chapter 22

  Besides the spastic scurrying I’d been forced to do from place to place and state to state since Mac’s funeral, my past air travel experiences had been considerable. I had flown in all types of aircraft, from little Pipers to the redesigned Concorde; occasionally (when somebody else was picking up the tab) in first class. I was also familiar with Boeing’s magnificent double-decker 747 models, but the 747-200B monster (given the official military designation as VC 25A—Air Force One) was a whole ’nother ball game. Talk about your home-away-from-home! Nothing I’d ever seen could come close to it. I was in total awe from the moment Franklin drove into the gargantuan maintenance complex at Andrews which serves as the big bird’s nest, until the moment President Fordham summoned Mackenzie and me, shortly after take-off, to her “flying Oval Office.” On the way, trying my best to ignore the mildly curious glances of the other passengers, including the scowling Secretary of Defense, his aide, a few of the Presidential staff, and several select members of the press corps, I had the distinct feeling that the same people who had designed the interior of Cancelossi’s plush yacht had also done the job here.

  I knocked gently.

  “Come in, please… Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.” The President’s tone was warm. Cordial, although her
face showed she hadn’t had much sleep. Making ourselves “comfortable” wasn’t hard to do. Mackenzie and I both took chairs that practically swallowed us whole. “This is some treat, ma’am,” I said.

  With a wry smile, she replied, “The plane? Yes, it’s quite a step up from what I’d been used to, but I remember it well from—before. I wish there was time to tell you about her modifications, but we’d better get down to business. I suppose you noticed the other people on board, including Secretary Ferris.”

  “I saw him,” I answered. “He didn’t look too happy, either.”

  “He isn’t. You should have heard the howl he put up when I called him at five o’clock this morning and told him I wanted to spring a surprise visit to several military installations. Keeping in mind that our primary mission is to get to Fort Bragg, I told him I wanted to briefly drop in on a few random bases on the east coast, namely, the Naval base at Norfolk, the Marine base at Camp Lejeune, and Seymour Johnson Air Force base at Goldsboro in your home State. I also told him that if we have enough time, I want to continue on down to Fort Benning. He doesn’t know it, but I’m going to change my mind about Benning soon after we leave Goldsboro. I’ll bet he called Koontz right after I hung up.”

  “And his next calls would be fast ones to the commanders of those bases,” Mackenzie added.

  Eyes twinkling, she smiled at the former sergeant, acknowledging his intelligence, then said, “Sergeant Mackenzie, I’d also be willing to bet you have some idea of how we can get Jeb’s father out of that Fort Bragg lockup.”

  “Yes’m, I do, but it will take a little time. How long will we be on the ground at Goldsboro?”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “Three hours, max.”

  “I’ll make sure you’ll have them. I don’t intend to ask you what you have up your sleeve, but I’m guessing it isn’t strictly by the regs.”

  Mackenzie shifted in his chair. “Not exactly, no, ma’am, but I’m gonna need to talk to the senior NCO on base there, whoever he is.”