Authors: Vince Flynn
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 you I 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.” 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 congressmen 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 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 yearsâall 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 gravesâback 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 A.M. four caissons, each pulled by three pairs of white horses, arrived at the foot of the Capitol steps. Senator Olson stood off to the side and admired the precision of the young military men as they lifted each coffin off its catafalque and marched toward the door. As Olson moved to follow the last coffin out the door, a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. The thin, small senator turned to see the smiling and apologetic face of Michael O'Rourke.
“I'm sorry about last night, Erik.”
Olson reached up and patted O'Rourke's hand. “Thank you for coming, Michael. This means a lot to me.” The two men turned, walked out the door, and descended the Capitol steps.
One by one each coffin was carried by its special detail and placed on top of the black, two-wheeled carriages. As the last coffin was placed on its caisson, the order was given and a lone drummer started to beat out the cadence. Following military tradition, each caisson was followed by a horse and a soldier walking beside it. O'Rourke, Olson, and four of the senator's bodyguards fell in behind the last riderless horse. Another command was given and the procession moved out to the beat of the drum.
The street was lined with a large crowd of onlookers and media as the procession traveled down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House at a somber, dignified pace. The commentators covering the event for the networks commented at length that Senator Olson was the only one of the remaining 531 congressmen and senators who had elected to walk behind the procession. O'Rourke was dismissed by all as one of Olson's bodyguards.
The large, red-brick colonial was located on a secluded four acres of rolling Maryland countryside that overlooked the Chesapeake Bay. There were estates just like it up and down the coast of the Chesapeake, some smaller and some bigger. None of them, however, were as secure. Several years earlier, the owner had paid close to a million dollars to convert the turn-of-the-century house into a fortress. The bulk of the perimeter security system was composed of night-vision cameras, underground motion sensors, and laser-beam trip wires. The next line of security was in the actual construction
of the house. All the windows were double-paned, bulletproof Plexiglas, and all the exterior doors were triple-hinged, two-inch-thick steel, covered with wood veneer and anchored into reinforced-steel frames. Four bodyguards were present at all times.
The owner was Arthur Higgins. To those who knew him or had heard of him, he was known simply as Arthur. He had unofficially worked for the CIA since its inception, and over the last forty-some years he had done most of the Agency's dirty work. When Director Stansfield took over, Arthur was ordered to cease all association with the Central Intelligence Agency and all other United States government agencies. He had blatantly ignored the order.
In the large library of the house, Arthur sat at his desk and watched the TV coverage of the funeral procession. He knew each of the men who had been killed, several of them well. He felt no sorrow over their deaths, and that didn't surprise him. Arthur prided himself on being emotionless. He believed emotions were something that clouded one's judgment. But when the face of Senator Olson came on the screen, Arthur's eyes squinted tight, as he fought to suppress the anger rising up from within. Not many people in the world could elicit an instantaneous physical response from Arthur, but Senator Olson was one of them.
Just before the procession reached the White House, one of the commentators for CBS realized that the man standing next to Senator Olson was
not wearing a tan trench coat and sunglasses like the other four bodyguards. He was wearing an expensive black dress coat and a nice silk tie. After informing his producer of this obvious fact, the producer put his assistants to work trying to find out who this unknown man was. Minutes later, as the procession was arriving at the gates of the White House, CBS announced that Senator Olson was walking with Congressman Michael O'Rourke, who was also from Minnesota. The cameras were naturally drawn to O'Rourke's good looks, and the producers at every network scrambled to find out more about the unknown congressman.
The procession stopped in front of the White House, and the four coffins were taken by their special details and placed on four black catafalques in the East Room. The room was packed with leaders of foreign nations, ambassadors, U.S. Supreme Court justices, and a select group of U.S. senators and congressmen, with the families of the deceased politicians sitting in the first several rows of chairs. When Olson and O'Rourke entered the room, no chairs were left, so they stood in back with the other people who could not find a seat. After the last special detail had left, the congressional chaplain stood and read a long prayer for the repose of the souls of the four men. President Stevens then stood and gave a surprisingly short, somber, and nonpolitical eulogy. He spoke only of the tragedy of death before its time, the importance of prayer, and helping the loved ones who were left behind heal properly. He was followed by several senators and
congressmen, who mentioned some touching personal moments, but who also stayed away from saying anything controversial.
All of the politicians who rose and spoke avoided the subject that was in the forefront of everyone's mind, the subject that they were all afraid to broach, for fear of falling in the footsteps of the four dead men who lay before them. Senator Olson was the last to speak, and he directed all of his comments to the families of his deceased colleagues.
Once again, the flag-draped coffins were carried, one by one, out of the East Room, and this time were loaded into four black hearses that would deliver them to Andrews Air Force Base. From there, they would each be loaded onto a C-141B Starlifter for the flight back to their home states.
President Stevens was now taking the time to offer each family member his condolences as they stood to leave. The crowd was starting to filter out into the hallway, and Olson turned to O'Rourke. “Michael, I need to talk to the president for a minute. Would you like to meet him?”
O'Rourke looked down at his friend and then across the room at the president. “No, I'll wait here.”
Olson looked at the young O'Rourke, as he'd done many times before, and asked himself why Michael had decided to get into politics. “Have you ever met him before?”
“No.”
“Well, then come on.” Olson stepped away and waved his hand toward the president.
“I have no desire to meet him. I'll wait for you in the hallway.”
Olson knew by the look in the stubborn O'Rourke's eyes that it was worthless to ask a third time. The senator nodded his head and turned to make his way toward the president.
IT WAS DARK OUT WHEN O'ROURKE PARKED his dark green Chevy Tahoe in front of Scarlatti's apartment building. He was thirty minutes late. Looking forward to spending some time with her, he bounded up the steps. He could always put everything else out of his mind and relax when he was with Liz. O'Rourke knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened. Instead of greeting him with the usual kiss, Scarlatti turned and walked back into the apartment. O'Rourke picked up on the angry signal and tried to figure out what he might have done to upset her. He was almost always late, so it couldn't be that. He followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen.