by Tom Lewis
“Smitty’s. You were too busy checking your new hair-do to notice. You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He nodded, pulled the car up a few feet, got out, and opened my door for me. There were troops moving double time down the street, but none paid us the slightest bit of attention. We casually walked inside the building into a spotless office. Behind an equally clean desk, a young First Lieutenant rose to attention, ignored Mackenzie, and saluted me smartly. “Yessir, Colonel, can I help you?”
I spoke my already rehearsed lines in as even a voice as I could. “At ease, Lieutenant. You the OOD?”
“Yessir.” He was looking from my eyes to my JAG insignia.
I placed my much lighter briefcase on top of his desk, turned my head a quarter turn, and jerked my thumb backwards. “This is Sergeant Dunn. What’s going on out there?”
“I don’t know, sir. I heard there were unexpected VIP’s on base.”
“You here by yourself?” Praying he was, I tried to put a little accusatory condescension in my tone. It worked. The Lieutenant’s face colored a little. “Uh, no, sir. Sergeant Manley’s back in the blocks, but everybody else has gone out to see… Need me to get him?”
“No, that’s okay. We’re just here to collect a prisoner.”
Right away, the Lieutenant, whose nametag said he was Morris, J.M. stood a little stiffer. “Prisoner, sir? Which prisoner?”
“The civilian. We’re taking him off your hands.”
At this point, Lt. J.M. Morris remembered his duty protocol. “Sir, with respect, may I see some ID?”
Acting as if I was bored, I sighed, showed him my ID card and the authentic-looking documents written in the peculiar terse hieroglyphic that is military language. “I’m here to escort the prisoner to Washington, then represent him, but some very important people there are anxious to talk to him first.” I fished again in the briefcase and handed him the second sheet. “Here’s my authorization. You are to release him to my custody. Right now, if you don’t mind.”
By now, the young officer, studying my “orders” plus those Mackenzie passed to him, seemed very nervous. Agitated. It was plain he’d never seen release forms dictated and signed not only by his commanding General, but also countersigned by the Secretary of Defense himself. He kept staring at the orders Mackenzie had forged in Sergeant Lyman’s office as if he’d just been handed a court order committing his mother to an insane asylum. Joe didn’t help his disposition one bit when he said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Lieutenant, but we ain’t got all day.”
I took Joe’s cue and glanced at my watch. “Plane to catch. When the Joint Chiefs are in a hurry for something, they don’t like to wait.”
Lieutenant J.M Morris was clearly shaken. “But I… I mean we, have standing orders not to even let anybody know he’s back there, let alone release him, Colonel.”
Trying to show he was seriously taxing my good nature, I answered, “I know you do, Lieutenant. Or did.” I tapped the sheets lying on the desktop with an impatient finger. “These supercede those orders. Now, if you don’t want to add your name to a certain, very nasty list at the Pentagon, you’d better shag ass.”
That threat was more than enough. The blocks he led us into at a brisk pace were larger than in any jail I’d ever seen, not that I’d seen that many, and were as clean as any hospital. We passed several men in cells; some asleep, a few lounging against their walls. One or two of the more curious, hearing our footsteps, had come to their cell doors, but none said a word. We made one left turn, followed Morris down a well-lit corridor that smelled of fresh paint to a pair of steel doors. Neither had bars; only small sliding panels for observation and food trays. Cells for the hard cases. Not bothering to peep inside, Lieutenant Morris rapped on the right hand door, took a large key from his pocket, unlocked, then pushed the heavy door open. There were two men inside. One was a three-striper who looked like a Sherman tank. Had to be Sergeant Manley. The other man was my father, dressed in too-large fatigues. Both were sitting at a bolted-down metal table, facing each other, a chessboard between them, and both looked up with exactly the same open-mouthed, blank stares.
I got in the first words. “Hello, Batman, I’m your new lawyer, appointed by no less than President Fordham, and I advise you not to make one single statement. Get your things together. We’re leaving.”
Cal leaned back in his chair, winked once at me, and promptly ignored his attorney’s advice. “It’s about time, but can we spare two more minutes? I’m only one move from checkmate.”
Chapter 24
I didn’t dare overplay my hand, but it was hard to keep my cool while we waited for Cal to nonchalantly finish off his stubborn opponent, and lean across the board to shake his hand. “Thanks for the game, Sergeant.” He stood, stretched and said, “I’m ready to go any time you say, Colonel, but I’d appreciate having my clothes back.”
I gave Lieutenant Morris a questioning look. In turn, in typical military pass-the-buck fashion, he faced his sergeant. “Where are the prisoner’s personal effects, Manley?”
Sergeant Manley’s already red face turned a shade redder, knowing that somehow, if something was wrong with this unusual release of a close guarded prisoner, he’d be the one who’d get the blame. “Sir,” he said, looking at me instead of his Officer of the Day, “Them clothes Mr. Doe was wearing when they brought him here ain’t nothing but dirty rags. He’d be better off wearing the fatigues.”
Joe Mackenzie took a step forward. “Not acceptable.” He looked at me. “Sir, I have to remind you we’ve got a plane waiting for us, but we can’t take the prisoner to Washington dressed like that. He’d be too conspicuous.”
“You’re right, Sergeant,” I said, an idea already coming to me. I’m only an inch taller than Cal, and I had never been more grateful for the Willard family height gene. Morris was almost my height as well, so I said, “Sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m going to need to borrow your uniform.”
The expected protest came in a hurry, but I stopped him in mid-sentence by quietly reminding him of the Pentagon black list. Within another couple minutes, Cal became another bogus army officer, grinning from ear to ear. From his new pocket, he extracted the key to his cell and handed it to me. His most recent chess partner suspected something was surely rotten in Denmark, but to his credit, kept his own mouth shut, no doubt surmising that list I mentioned also might very well apply to enlisted men as well as officers.
I gave him a hard look. “Where are the cell block keys, Manley?” I said while Cal was putting on Morris’ shoes.
“In the top right drawer in the front desk, Colonel.”
I nodded, and turned to Mackenzie. “Do your duty, Sergeant.”
Mackenzie unholstered his sidearm and pointed it at both men. “Lie down on the floor, please.” His tone of voice, along with his rapid movement of chambering a round produced instant results. Both hapless men hit the deck in a hurry. In the next moment we were out the door, and I locked it behind me. We started down the corridor but had only taken two or three steps when Mackenzie stopped. “Just a moment.”
We halted. “Why?” I wanted to know.
He reached for my shoulder. Right away, I knew what he was up to. In seconds, Cal had become the Colonel, and I was wearing the silver bars of a First Lieutenant. Quietly, taking unhurried steps, we walked past the cells back to the front office. The ring of block keys were exactly where the unlucky Sergeant Manley had said they were. I told Cal and Mackenzie to wait right there for me, then I walked back down to the blocks. By now, every single prisoner had heard the muffled screaming coming from the rear corridor, and were all standing by their own doors, bewilderment showing on every face. When I reached the middle of the block, I stopped and in a loud, slow voice, asked, “Who’s the senior man here?”
A low rumbling of voices answered me. “I am, Lieutenant,” came a strong voice from a cell three steps down to my right. “Staff Sergeant Willis, Andrew L.”
I walked
to his cell. “Well, Sarge, this is your lucky day. How’d you like to get out of here?’’ I raised my voice so they all could hear. “How’d you all like to get out of here?”
I expected a raucous positive response, and was surprised when no one volunteered an answer. I looked through the bars at the grizzled old lifer. “Willis, I’m going to do you all a big favor.” Raising my voice again, I said, “Men, Lieutenant Morris and Sergeant Manley are locked up in one of the cells in the back. No one is guarding the building. I’m going to give the block keys to Sergeant Willis here. I’m also going to give him a thousand dollars, all in hundreds. I’m asking that he wait ten minutes after I leave, then let any of you out who wants out, and to share the money equally. If Sergeant Willis, Andrew L. double crosses you, I’m sure each of you will remember it and find him somewhere, sometime, and will know what to do to him.”
I took the envelope out of my pocket, counted off ten hundreds, laid them down on the floor in front of Willis’ cell in plain sight of at least half a dozen of the others, then handed him the keys, saying, “Here you are, my friend. Wait ten minutes, and if I were you, I wouldn’t think of crossing your mates. Besides, if you do, I’ll find out about it and come back and take care of you myself even if they don’t. You read me?”
Willis stared at me through the bars. “Yessir. I do. Loud and clear. Ten minutes it is, sir.”
I took my time walking back to the office again, hoping my knees weren’t knocking. In less than five minutes more, we were on our way to the main gate in the staff car. I was pretty pleased with myself for thinking of the extra diversion the mass escape might create, but more pleased that I hadn’t had to use the phony diaries at all. They were still in the briefcase.
It took only twenty minutes for Joe Mackenzie to drive to a big mall in Fayetteville. While he waited for us in the car, we bought Cal an off-the-rack suit, shirt, tie, socks, and shoes at one of the men’s stores there. Within an hour after leaving the stockade, we were back inside Air Force One. When we were once again closeted in the dining room, and with tears streaming down my face, I hugged Cal fiercely. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had. . .
Air Force One took off immediately after President Fordham returned, she chatting easily with a still purple-faced Connie Ferris. We were ignored again, to my relief, but we hadn’t been in the air more than half an hour before Bert Franklin quietly led us back to her private cabin. She had changed clothes for the third time and looked fresh. But this time she didn’t offer us chairs. Instead, she shook Cal’s hand first, and then embraced Joe Mackenzie like a sister. “Sergeant, can you still drive as well as you used to?”
A wide smile split his crimson face. “Yes’m I b’lieve so.”
“I don’t doubt it. I can’t put you back on active duty, but I may find a job for you on my staff when we get back home.” She then turned her attention to Cal. “Mr. Willard, you’ve got quite a son here, and my guess is he takes after his father more than he would admit. I don’t have time just now to listen to the full story of your abduction. That will have to wait until tomorrow, at breakfast. What I can do, however, is promise you a nicer place to sleep the next couple of days than where you were. In fact, I think you might be rather comfortable in the Lincoln bedroom. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a few calls.”
Chapter 25
The ubiquitous Bert Franklin shook me out of sleep seemingly moments after I had crawled into bed, destroying a fragmented but nice dream of Liz aboard LAST WORD. “Sorry, Mr. Willard. Can you be ready in thirty minutes? The boss is on a pretty tight schedule this morning.”
I sat up. “What time is it?”
“After six.” The way he said that implied it was already very late. “Your clothes and shoes have been taken care of. You’ll find everything else you need in the bathroom.” I was on my way to it before he closed the door behind him. For a second or two, I had practically forgotten where I was.
Monsignor Ralph Curtis’ raiment, shoes, and a fresh shirt—starched collar and all—were neatly laid out on the sofa, and my first solid thought when the jet of shower water hit my head was how thorough the White House staff must be, to have its own self-contained laundry and dry cleaning facilities. The spacious guest room I had been given for the night had seemed much like one in the Mayflower, except for the decor and too-short bed, which I had been too tired to pay much attention to. I wondered, while shaving, if Cal had actually been able to go to sleep in the Lincoln bedroom. I would have been too much in awe. I finished up my toilette two minutes before Franklin’s soft knock came. Cal was with him, bright eyed as ever, dressed in his natty new clothes. Where he’d obtained the red bow tie was a minor mystery.
Agent Franklin led us down the corridor to an elevator, which dropped quickly to the basement, where yet another surprise waited for me. I had been in the White House many times in the past, but only into the public and pressrooms. I knew the grand old mansion had undergone more face-lifts than the Gabor sisters, and over the years, significant internal surgeries as well. Still, I was totally unprepared for the glimpse—which is all Cal and I got—of the twists and turns of the White House bowels. An electric golf cart type vehicle was waiting, and with Franklin driving, we went whizzing down one branch of several well lighted and climate controlled concrete tunnels I had never known existed. He explained, “This takes us underneath Pennsylvania Avenue to the basement of Blair House. The boss hasn’t moved into the White House yet.”
We were shown into a cheerful south side dining room where a large table was immaculately set, but only for two. Cal and I, silently glancing at each other, sat down, and allowed ourselves to be served juice and coffee, then a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs and, wouldn’t you know it, grits! Neither my father nor I have ever been shy about eating, so we dug right in, and were maybe half finished when Helene Fordham came in, first telling us not to get up, then apologizing that she wouldn’t be able to join us. Fresh dark circles showing under her eyes showed she hadn’t had much rest, if any, and she wasn’t smiling. “Seems I’ve got a little emergency on my hands this morning, boys, trying to head off a strike by the mass transit people in New York. If busses and trains stop running there, the city could be paralyzed for God knows how long, which could definitely ruin a girl’s day. Were you comfortable enough last night?”
“Absolutely,” Cal said, “And thank you, Ms. President. It was a real honor.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry I have to postpone our chat. Bert Franklin will take care of you, and I’ll be back in touch as soon as possible. I will probably be back here by tonight. Meantime, is there anything you need?”
“No, ma’am. We’re fine,” I said.
“Good. Finish your breakfast, then.” Turning to leave, she produced a theatrical sigh. “It really does smell good! Anyway, I know you have a lot to catch up on, so stay here as long as you like.”
She left, but Cal and I both had lost our appetites. The blank-faced maid cleared the dishes away, leaving a pot of coffee on the table. Cal leaned forward. “You suppose it’s all right to talk here?”
I shrugged. “I can’t think of any place safer. You want to go first?”
He frowned. “They weren’t right wing militia rednecks, Jeb. Before two of them dragged me out of the cave, blindfolded me, and stuck me with a needle, a flare went off and I got a good look at them. I know camouflaged battle dress when I see it. Those guys were crack troops. Like Green Beret’s or Rangers or whatever they call elite commando forces nowadays. The stuff they shot me up with worked fast, though, and I woke up in that cell at Bragg.”
“How did you know where they had taken you?”
“I didn’t, not for a day or two. It didn’t take me long to make buddy-buddy with Sergeant Manley, first over checkers and then chess. He was pretty talkative after a while, although he didn’t have any idea who I was or why I was there. He also hinted, after I let him beat me a couple times, that there was fresh scuttlebutt of a lot of hush-hush Ra
nger training going on in a part of the base that had been closed off. Said that two or three of the other prisoners in the stockade were in there only because they’d asked a few out of school questions.”
“I’m sorry it took us so long to get you out.”
“How’d you manage it, anyway?”
I pulled a face. “Mostly blind luck.” I told him about my second trip to south Florida, and of the ghoulish scene on board Cancelossi’s yacht. “I don’t know how Cancellosi knew where you’d been taken. That old man has contacts you wouldn’t believe, and power to match.”
“I would believe it,” Cal said. “Cold-blooded little bastard, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. He told me he’s dying. Doesn’t have much time left. Neither do we. I swear, Cal, I don’t know what to do next, and I’m also worried about Liz.”
I related my phone call to Lollie. Cal dropped his chin down on his chest, toying with his coffee spoon, and I knew, from past experience, to shut up then, and wait until he’d sorted out whatever thought he was wrestling with.
He didn’t speak for several minutes, then, without raising his head, said, “Son, you remember when you were working so hard on your Boy Scout stuff, before you got your Eagle Badge? Remember the memory quizzes I used to run you through?”
I remembered all too well. Cal had a unique way of teaching me awareness and perception. He’d place a number of small, trivial and unrelated items on top of the table, such as a button, a fork, a snapshot, a pencil, a piece of thread, as many as two dozen simple odds and ends. He’d allow me to look at them for ten seconds, then close my eyes and tell him what I’d seen. After many anemic tries followed up by lots of practice, I got better and better at it. That training in memory retention and recall had stood me in good stead many a time in my adult life. I wondered why he’d brought it up now. “Sure I do. Why?”
