“If that’s the case,” Amanda spoke up, “why offer us anything at all?”
“Because it’s easier,” Augmon replied simply. “And because so much else is at stake. I am on the verge of a truly extraordinary achievement. When Elizabeth becomes president, she will do something her late husband stubbornly and shortsightedly refused to do—lift the human rights ban on China. When she does, I will be free to make my satellite communications deal with the Chinese government, for which I will ultimately earn over one hundred billion dollars.” He began to pace back and forth in front of the windows, caught up in the mounting excitement of his own words. “Can you people even fathom the concept of a hundred billion dollars? I sincerely doubt it. And would any of you believe me if I told you that the money, in and of itself, is not even the point? I sincerely doubt that as well. How could you? But the fact is that here is a new currency in today’s world that matters much more than money. That currency is
information
. Who controls the airwaves. Who decides what people know. That’s where the true power lies. I am about to become the most powerful man in the history of the world. I will control what billions and billions of people watch and read and
think
. As a result, I will control what they do. I will control their governments. I will control
them
. And believe me, that is not science fiction. That is reality.” He came to a stop now, running a hand distractedly through his hair. “That’s why I’m prepared to make you this offer. And that’s why you’re going to say yes.”
Carl glanced at Amanda. Then at Father Patrick and at Nora Adamson.
“Don’t think too long, son,” Augmon said. “You’ve done remarkably well. But the bottom line is that all you’ve got is guesswork and innuendo. No one will believe one word of it. Especially coming from a wanted and dangerous criminal such as yourself.”
“Maybe not,” Carl acknowledged. “But they
will
believe the results of the DNA test.”
“What DNA test?” Augmon asked slowly. “On what?”
“On the remains,” Nora Adamson said hoarsely, motioning to Father Patrick once more.
When he opened the door, in walked a frail, ancient black woman. Elizabeth drew in her breath sharply at the sight of her. Until this moment, she had felt quite certain it was all going to work out. That these people would be happy to take what they were being offered. That they were as greedy as everyone else and it would all be okay. But she knew instantly who this old woman was. She knew because her left eye had a perfectly round dark ring around it, as if she had once been branded.
And she knew what Momma One-Eye was carrying in that splintered and rotting wooden crate, its precious cargo partially covered by a worn, faded blue blanket.
Elizabeth knew. And this knowledge was like a severe body blow. It rocked her, and for a moment Elizabeth Adamson was barely able to breathe. She closed her eyes, struggling to regain her composure, her resolve. Telling herself that her lifelong dream was not melting away. Willing herself to believe this.
It cannot be. I will prevail. I am Elizabeth Cartwright Adamson, the most famous and beloved woman in the entire world. I have not come this far to be undone by these small, desperate people. I have worked too hard. And I am too close. So very close …
Momma One-Eye was gently laying the crate down on the desk, a murmured prayer escaping from her lips. The she opened the box. And they all stared at the tiny, fleshless skeleton inside.
“Say hello to my baby boy, Lizzie,” Nora said, her voice choked with emotion. “Say hello to my poor baby Gideon.”
“The DNA on his remains will match Tom Adamson’s,” Amanda said, her own voice low and steady. “Proving he was Adamson’s brother. And Nora’s son. Proving that this story is true.”
“A grandstand play,” Augmon said dismissively. “And a wholly implausible one at that. There can be no such test. In a few short hours Tom Adamson and his DNA will be buried for eternity. You can’t stop that from happening. No one can. And there isn’t a judge in the land who would agree to have the president of the United States exhumed on such flimsy evidence.”
“They kept a supply of President Adamson’s blood under lock and key at Bethesda Naval Hospital, for emergency purposes,” Amanda told him. “They do that for every sitting president. And it’s still there.”
Augmon looked at Elizabeth. She met his gaze and nodded. And with that nod, it was as if she deflated, sagging as all hope escaped form her body.”
“We can give Gideon a proper Christian burial,” Momma One-Eye said to Nora. “In consecrated ground. So’s your baby can finally rest in peace.”
“Yes.” Nora nodded. “So he can. And at long last, so can
I
.”
With that, Nora slowly stood up. She undid the top button of her blouse to reveal a concealed microphone tucked inside her collar.
“Thanks to the computer skills of one of your brighter young
Journal
employees,” Amanda told the stunned Englishman, “this mike is sending a wireless signal back to a Netphone. The Netphone is linked up to the Web. This entire conversation has been going out live over the Internet. Word for word.”
“No … you didn’t …” Elizabeth could barely force the words out of her body. She was overwhelmed by a tremendous feeling of emptiness. She was melting away. Becoming nothing. No one. “You didn’t … you couldn’t …”
“Every C-Span junkie inside the Beltway will be on to it by lunchtime,” Amanda went on. “By tomorrow the whole world will know, thanks to the information revolution that you, Lord Augmon, are so proud to be in the forefront of.”
“It means nothing,” Augmon sputtered. “It’s inadmissible in a court of law. You can’t record us without our knowledge or consent. It’s illegal.”
“So sue us,” Amanda said.
“We’re not in a court of law,” Carl pointed out. “We’re in the court of public opinion. Rumor, innuendo, suspicion … it’s
all
admissible. Hell,” he said with a smile, “it’s the
news
.”
The Englishman cried out now, an incomprehensible cry, the cry of a wounded animal, and whirled. He lunged at Nora and tried to wrench the microphone off her. Carl stepped between them and slammed the mogul roughly into a chair. Augmon gazed up at him, his face a mask of pained bewilderment. His voice seemed small now, and far away. “You can’t even comprehend what I have achieved, can you? The sheer brilliance it took to engineer it. The clarity of vision. The unmitigated balls. No one did what I did. No one else
could
do it. Just
me
. If you’ve ruined it …” For a brief instant Lord Lindsay Augmon, the most powerful media titan in the world, looked like nothing more than a little boy who had just found out he would not be getting the bicycle he had wanted for Christmas. He slumped there in the chair, defeated, for a long moment before he said, “How could you do this to me?”
Carl crossed the room, his hands reaching for Augmon’s throat. The mogul shrank from him in terror, positive he was about to be strangled. Carl’s fingers briefly lingered on the Englishman’s loose flesh; he could feel the heat emanating from the skin and the fear causing the pulse to throb. Then he gently and neatly straightened the knot in Lord Augmon’s sober navy silk tie.
“How could I do this?” Carl repeated. He thought about how easy it would have been to have gone along with the billionaire’s scheme, how he could have had everything he’d ever wanted, for himself and Amanda. Money. Luxury. Prestige. Power. Then he thought about the terror he’d lived through. The death and destruction he’d seen. And he thought about what would happen now to the people in the room who had caused it all. Then he smiled at Lindsay Augmon. A boyish, winning smile The smile that first won over Amanda Mays. It had been a long while since Carl Granville had smiled that way. “Lord Augmon,” Carl said, “It was my pleasure.”
July 16—August 24
Partial transcript from the July 15 ANN all-day coverage of the state funeral of President Thomas Adamson:
JOHN BURROUGHS, network anchor:
The sun is nearly setting and the president’s final procession is nearly finished. In just a few moments. Thomas Adamson will be buried and his family, his countrymen, his mourners around the globe will begin their new lives without him. As we prepare to watch the president’s coffin placed in the ground, my own feeling is that we should watch in silence, letting our own thoughts and emotions settle. I, for one, don’t know how many more words I’ve got in me at this late hour. We have all heard many words spoken here today. Words that have elicited memories heroic and tragic, political and personal, and that have had enormous impact both immediate and historical. But of all the words we’ve heard on this sad day, of all the raw emotions we’ve witnessed, none have been quite so moving as the final eulogy delivered by Father Patrick Jennings, the pastor of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, where the funeral service took place.
Father Jennings, as many of you are aware, was the center of quite a bit of intrigue this past week when he disappeared suddenly and mysteriously. There are still many questions about his disappearance—as well as his unexpected reappearance—that need to be answered. And there are allusions in the eulogy to truths that will be revealed and guilt that must be expiated. Those allusions will also certainly be further illuminated as time goes on. But the gist of his words needs no further explanations. They need only be repeated and heeded, as I am certain they will be.
As President Adamson’s body is being brought into Arlington National Cemetery now, allow me to quote from the end of Father Jennings’s magnificent oration: “Let us all understand that death is not an eraser. It does not remove the deeds or the meaning that existed in anyone’s life. It does not make poor men rich or great men fallible. And when death comes, let us not romanticize its presence or the person it takes from us. Let us see death for what it really is: a border that we all must cross, a border that, more than any other, defines the lives we are able to lead. Do not mourn for those who cross over. Rather, reflect on the definition they’ve left behind. It is the only truth we are able to know here on earth. When the definition is great, then celebrate it. When it is lacking, then learn from it and improve on it. And use it to make your own definition more truthful and loving and miraculous.”
And now, let us watch and pray as we say farewell to President Thomas Adamson …
Transcript of ANN’s live broadcast of Elizabeth Adamson’s June 17 press conference:
ELIZABETH ADAMSON, former First Lady of the United States:
What I have to say is probably going to surprise quite a few people. But it should surprise no one. The events of the past several days have been overwhelming, to me, to my country, to the entire world. The country has lost it’s leader, the world has lost a symbol and a voice of reason, but to me, the most overwhelming thing is that I have lost my husband. I find it rather extraordinary that so many people seem to think that I can replace Tom Adamson. But I’m here before you now to tell you that I cannot. That I will not. I’m not qualified, I’m not prepared, I’m not able in any way imaginable
To those of you who are disappointed, I am flattered. I appreciate your support and your love. But I will not be running for president of the United States. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.
Thank you. Good night. God bless.
From page five of the
Washington Journal
, July 22:
SECRET BURIAL AT SEA
Washington, D.C.,:
A Hollywood film crew, scouting underwater locations for the movie
Mission Impossible II,
discovered a body today at the bottom of the Potomac River. Divers on the crew came upon a strange sight—a nearly new Sub-Zero refrigerator on the river bottom. Curious, the crew raised the refrigerator and, when it was opened, discovered the body of a man.
Police have not released any information as to the state of the body nor ventured any theories as to how it came to be buried in its strange tomb, but say there are several leads and expect identification momentarily.
Front-page story in the
New York Times
, July 29:
AUGMON TO SELL U.S. HOLDINGS
by Amanda Mays, Special Correspondent to the
New York Times
Amidst numerous rumors, allegations, and the threat of a developing scandal that threatens to bring down his empire, Lord Lindsay Augmon has confirmed that he will be selling off his vast media holdings on the United States. Expected to be included in the sale are the Apex Studio, which includes Apex Films, Apex Animation, and Apex Television Productions; the Apex Broadcasting Network, including ANN, the twenty-four-hour all-news network; and all of Apex’s publishing holdings, including its book, newspaper, and magazine divisions.
Lord Augmon did not return phone calls for this story. In a statement released to the press, he blamed the sale on the restrictive business and economic policies of President Jeremiah Bickford, which he said “seem sure to continue now into the next century, thus making expansion and profit growth impossible. It is a tragic by-product of President Bickford’s shortsightedness that businessmen with vision must now move their businesses to foreign soil if they are to prosper and thrive. I hope the president can live with the damage he is inflicting on the American economy and its workers.”
Lord Augmon’s statement made no mention of the explosive and controversial transcript of his “confession” that appeared on the Internet on July 15 and which prompted the ongoing investigation of his involvement, along with that of former First Lady Elizabeth Adamson, in various crimes, including the alleged murder of Secret Service agent H. Harrison Wagner. He has previously denied the veracity of the transcript saying, “It is the ultimate recklessness, a hoax that proves the danger of communications tools when they are democratized to such an extent that any and all censorship is precluded.”
The wide-ranging investigation is being led by Special Prosecutor Philip Arnold. Mr. Arnold, who was appointed by President Bickford soon after the transcript was transmitted on the World Wide Web and after this paper reported accusations made by novelist Carl Granville, himself recently cleared of any involvement in the allegations, declined to comment.