by Vince Flynn
“No, he’s over on the residential side talking to Mrs. Basset.”
Dorrell looked down at the ground and shook his head. Lortch put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Harry, it wasn’t your fault.” Dorrell looked up. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
When they entered the room, Stu Garret was pacing back and forth talking to Alex Tracy, the director of the Secret Service. Mike Nance was at the far end of the table, sitting by himself and observing the conversation between Garret and Tracy. Garret turned and stopped speaking as Lortch and Dorrell entered. The room fell silent and no one spoke for a moment. Director Tracy finally broke the silence.
“Gentlemen, please sit down.” Everyone sat with the exception of Garret.
Director Tracy looked at Dorrell. “Harry, are you all right?” Dorrell nodded his head yes, but said nothing. Tracy stared at him a while longer and went on, “Harry, have you met Stu Garret and Mike Nance before?”
“No.” There was another awkward silence while Dorrell waited for Nance or Garret to say something, but neither made the effort. Then Garret stepped toward the table.
“Agent Dorrell, we have been receiving reports all afternoon and we know the basic facts about what happened.
What we don’t know, and what I would really like to know, is, how did it happen?”
Garret said in one of his more confrontational tones.
“What do you mean ‘how’?” asked Dorrell. “I’ll tell you what I mean by how. I want to know how in the hell the Speaker of the House, the third most powerful man in this country, was killed in broad daylight while he was surrounded by a dozen Secret Service agents and police officers.” Garret leaned over, placed both hands on the table, and stared at Dorrell as he impatiently waited for a response. Dorrell looked at Garret and realized how this meeting was going to go. He’d heard all about Garret and his style, so he sat up a little straighter and prepared himself for the confrontation. It had been a long day and
Dorrell was not in the mood to be dumped on. His face tensed slightly as he spoke.
“Speaker Basset was killed because he refused to cancel a public appearance. He was warned that we could not guarantee his safety, and he chose to ignore our advice.”
“That’s bullshit, Dorrell. He was killed because you and your men didn’t do your jobs.
It’s as simple as that.” Garret banged his fist on the table. Dorrell rose out of his chair to meet Garret eye to eye.
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“Oh, no, you’re not.” Pointing his finger at Garret, he said, “I’m not going to sit here and let you hang the blame for this on me.” Garret interrupted Dorrell and shouted, “Agent Dorrell, you are in the White House, and I run the show around here. You will sit your ass back down right now and keep your mouth shut!”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re the king of Siam! I told him it wasn’t a good idea to go out in public, and he ignored me. I did my job, and if Basset would have listened to me, he’d still be alive!”
Garret looked over at Director Tracy and screamed, “I want this man fired right now!”
Without waiting for Tracy to respond, Garret snapped his head around to Lortch and pointed at Dorrell. “Get him out of here now! I want his ass thrown out on the street!”
Dorrell went to step toward Garret, and Lortch rose out of his seat, blocking him. “Harry, it’s not worth it.”
“Bullshit, I don’t need this crap. I’ve been around too long to take shit from this little
Hitler.” Garret looked back at Director Tracy.
“I want him fired right now! I want his badge before he leaves this building.” Lortch pushed Dorrell out the door and closed it behind him.
Dorrell was shaking and his face was red from yelling. “Jack, I’m not going to take the blame for what happened to Basset.”
“I know, Harry. I know, just relax.” Dorrell took a couple of deep breaths. “I haven’t lost my temper like that in years.”
“You’ve had a long day, and Garret doesn’t usually bring out the best in people.”
“I can’t believe that guy. Does the President actually listen to him?”
“I’m afraid so.” Back in the Roosevelt Room, Mike Nance stood and gestured for
Garret to follow him.
He opened a door at the opposite end of the room and walked across the hall to the
Oval Office. Garret walked around the large table and through the door. When he entered the Oval Office, Nance closed the door behind Garret and stood staring at him for a full thirty seconds while he waited for Garret to calm down. In a steady voice Nance said, “Stu, you’ve got to learn to control yourself.”
“Mike, this whole damn thing is falling apart. We’ve lost Koslowski and Basset. Do you know what our odds are for getting him reelected with those two dead?” Garret held up his hand and formed a zero.
“They’re zip, Mike. You and I are going to be out of a job next year.
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This whole thing is falling apart, and it’s because idiots like that Dorrell can’t do their job.” Nance looked at Garret and wondered momentarily if he really was nuts. “Stu, you have to get a hold of yourself. A lot of things could happen between now and election time.
Losing your temper doesn’t do us a bit of good. We have a lot of work to do tonight, so calm down. The important thing right now is to get the public behind us.
We have to find a way to turn this thing around. It’s not going to be easy, but we have to keep our heads.”
Garret nodded in agreement and Nance said, “Let’s go back in there and keep our cool.” Speaker Basset had left the Capitol’s underground parking garage in a black limousine less than twenty-four hours earlier.
He was now being returned in a black hearse. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, the back door was opened, and a special detail of six military personnel in dress uniform lifted the flag-draped casket out of the hearse and onto a gurney. After consulting with Speaker
Basset’s family, President Stevens had given the order to make arrangements for Basset to be included in the already planned ceremony for Senator Fitzgerald, Congressman
Koslowski, and Senator Downs. All four of the deceased had stated in their wills that they were to be buried in their home states.
With the obvious security issues arising from the string of assassinations, it was decided that it would be best to have Basset join his three fallen comrades rather than have a separate ceremony in two days. After a short elevator ride to the main level of the
Capitol, the gurney was discarded and the special detail carried the coffin down the hallway, across the cold, stone floor, and laid it on the rectangular, black catafalque. The four flag-draped coffins sat underneath the center of the Capitol’s large dome, each one pointing outward, marking the four major points of the compass. It was almost 10 A.M
and with the exception of a military color guard, the rotunda was void of all people.
One by one, the families were given a private moment alone, to mourn over the coffin of their deceased relative. Each family took about half an hour, and at noon the media was let in and allowed to start coverage of the event. The cameras started to roll, and the
Senators and Congressman filed in to pay their last respects. Just after 2 P.M the legislators were shuffled off into secure areas of the Capitol, and the doors were opened to the public. A steady stream of peoplefiled by the coffins until just after midnight, when the crowd started to thin.
Senator Erik Olson was sitting in his study trying to decide if he should go against the wishes of the President, the FBI, the Secret Service, and his wife. It was almost 1 A.M
and he couldn’t sleep.
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Too much was on his mind. He knew that the right and honorable thing to do would be to walk behind the caissons as the procession of coffins were moved from the Capitol to the White House. The daring daylight assassination of Basset had made every
Congressman and Senator realize just how vulne
rable they all were. Basset had been given more protection than any of his colleagues, and they’d still gotten to him.
Not only did they get to him, but they got away without a trace. The FBI and the
Secret Service were not taking any more chances, and the politicians who were still alive had become extremely agreeable in the wake of the recent events. Earlier in the day, when the final security arrangements were being made for the funeral procession, it had been decided by the Secret Service and the FBI that no one, not even family members, would walk in the open, behind the caissons. None of the senior Senators and
Congressman had argued. They were not eager to join the ranks of the fallen four. But for a variety of reasons, Olson felt that he should walk behind the caskets. First of all, it was a tradition that should be kept and honored, and secondly, he felt that someone needed to show that the government of the United States was not afraid. Someone needed desperately to look like a leader. Every politician in the country was cowering behind locked doors and bodyguards. Olson couldn’t blame them, especially the ones who had been unscrupulous during their time in Washington. The Senator from Minnesota had gotten along with all four of the dead men, but he held no false illusions about their character. They were four of the most unethical politicians in Washington. Olson was a historian by training and was more worried about the broad implications these murders would have on the future of American politics. History was the great teacher, he had always told his students. History repeated itself for many reasons. Mostly because people really hadn’t changed all that much over the course of modern civilization, and more so because history set precedents and gave people ideas. Olson did not want what was happening in his country to become a precedent. The events that had started the previous
Friday needed to be stopped and dealt with in a swift and just manner. There was no room in a democracy for terrorism.
Someone needed to stand up; someone needed to act like a leader.
Someone needed to walk behind those caissons tomorrow and show that he was not afraid. The silver-haired Swede pictured himself walking alone on the slow, one-mile journey and wondered if any of his colleagues would have the courage to join him. He started to mentally scroll through a list of names, searching for someone who would be bold enough to accompany him.
After a brief moment, a name popped into his head and he went no further. Reaching for his phone, he dialed the number. Michael patted Duke on the head and dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. As he picked up a stack of mail, he was relieved to see Liz’s purse sitting by the phone. O’Rourke quickly thumbed through the mail and then set the entire stack back on the counter. He yanked his tie off and started to unbutton his shirt as he headed for the stairs. Duke followed, and Michael stopped in the front entryway and said good-night to his canine buddy. It was late, he was tired, and he needed to talk to
Liz. Guilt was starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders. The young Congressman
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plodded up the stairs and into his bedroom. Liz was sitting on her side of the bed reading a book and wearing one of his gray University of Minnesota Tshirts. Michael smiled at her and sat down on the edge. Liz set her book down and took off her glasses.
“You look like crap, honey.”
“Thanks,” O’Rourke grimly responded. He dropped his face into his hands and groaned. Rubbing his back, Liz asked, “What’s on your mind?”
Without raising his head he said, “I’d like to tell you about it but I don’t think I can.”
Liz threw off the covers and swung her bare legs off the bed. As Liz pulled him upright and took his hands away from his face, Michael was cursing himself for the way he had phrased his last comment.
The worst thing you can say to a reporter is that you know something but you can’t talk about it. “What is bothering you?” asked Liz.
Michael turned and kissed her on the lips. She returned his kiss for a second, then grabbed him by the chin and pushed him back. With her most serious look she repeated, “What is bothering you?” Deep down inside, Michael wanted to tell her, but he had to be careful. This would have to be handled in stages. “What would you say if I told youI
think I know who the assassins are?” Liz opened her eyes wide.
“You’re not serious?”
Michael nodded yes. Tucking one of her legs up on the bed, she moved back a foot.
“You are serious.” Michael nodded his head again. “Who are they?”
“I don’t think I should tell you.”
“Why?” asked an incredulous Scarlatti. “Because knowing who they are might drag you into this, and right now there is no telling where it’s going.”
“Are you going to talk to the FBI?” Michael looked down at the floor.
“No.” Liz got down on her knees and looked up at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“You have to go to the FBI, Michael! You’re a Congressman!”
“Darling, I’m not going to the FBI … at least not for now. And I don’t want you talking to anyone about this.” Scarlatti frowned and Michael said, “Liz, I confided in you because I trust you. Don’t mention a word of this to anyone.”
Reluctantly Liz said, “All right, all right… I won’t say anything.”
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Liz reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. With a frown she asked, “Who are they?” Michael looked into her brown eyes and said, “For your own good I’m not going to tell you.” Liz began to protest but the moment was broken by the ringing of the phone. Michael looked for the cordless phone and realized it must be on the charger in the den. If someone was calling this late, it must be important. O’Rourke dashed down the hall and grabbed the phone. “Hello.”
“Michael, I’m sorry to bother you so late. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
It was Michael’s former boss, Senator Olson. “No … no, I was awake.
What’s up?” After an uncomfortable pause, Olson asked, “Michael, I need to ask you a big favor.”
“What can I help you with?”
“I’ve decided to walk in the procession from the Capitol to the White House tomorrow. and I was wondering. if you would walk with me?”
“I thought they weren’t going to let anyone walk.” O’Rourke had been given a memo at the office that described the agenda for the day’s events and stated that no
Congressman or Senators would be allowed to accompany the horse-drawn caissons to the White House.
“Michael, I am a United States Senator. No one is going to tell me I can’t walk in that procession. I’ve thought about it long and hard. I worked with those men for over thirty years, and although I didn’t particularly care for all of them, I still feel it is my duty to stand by them one last time.
Someone in this town needs to show a little courage.”
“Why would you risk your life trying to honor four of the most dishonorable men who have ever been elected to public office? They were a disgrace! I can’t believe you’re even considering it!” Olson almost lost his temper. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Michael.
If I had known you disliked them so much, I would not have asked you to join me.”
Without saying good-bye the Senator slammed the phone down. The line went dead and O’Rourke looked at the receiver, debating if he should call Olson back. He decided against it and set the phone down. He was torn between his loyalty to Olson and his disgust for what men like Koslowski had done to America and its political system. The thought of honoring them in any way made him tense with anger. The decision would be easy if it weren’t for the fact that Michael felt more indebted to Erik Olson than any other person in the world. Erik and Alice Olson had been best friends of O’Rourke’s parents.
After Michael’s parents died, the Olsons had stepped in to help fill the void for Michael and his younger brothers and sister. O’Rourke glanced over at a picture on the wall. It
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was of his graduation
from college, and he was flanked by the Olsons. O’Rourke continued to look at the other pictures and noticed that the Olsons were in many of them.
They had been there a lot over the last ten years-all of the birthdays and holidays where
Erik and Alice Olson had made the effort to act as parents for the parentless O’Rourke family. He drifted to another photo. A large, framed black-and-white his mother had taken just before her death. It was of the lake and woods in front of their family cabin in northern Minnesota. A fresh blanket of’ snow covered the frozen lake and hung heavy on the thick, green pine trees, weighing the branches down.
Taken after a snowstorm, the beautiful photo always reminded him of that sad time in his life. In the early years after his parents’ death, he had been tempted to take it down on many occasions because of the emotions it evoked, but he had kept it up out of respect for his parents and a belief that it was better to confront the pain and fear than run from it. As he stared at the photo on the wall, he thought about the funeral of’ his parents. He remembered standing in the cold cemetery, covered with snow, a crisp, cold wind coming out of the north and a dark, gray sky overhead. He stood over the graves while everyone else waited in the cars so he could say a last good-bye, alone. He couldn’t remember how long he stood there, only that it was cold and that his vision was blurred by the steady stream of tears that had filled his eyes. The memories flooded to the surface, and Michael remembered it was Erik Olson who had come to his side that cold day and led him away from the graves-back to his brothers and sister. Michael turned and saw Liz in the doorway. He held out his arms and they met halfway. Grabbing her tightly, he kissed her cheek and then whispered, I don’t ever want to lose you.”
FROM 10:30 A.M. TO ALMOST 11:30 A.M. SENATOR OLSON WAS
BESIEGED by everyone from his secretary to the President, all trying vigorously to dissuade him from walking in the procession. He stood his ground and refused to change his mind. The President called again just before the procession was to start, and after he failed to talk Olson out of it, the decision was made to let him have his way. At 11:55
