A Triple Thriller Fest (37 page)

“Absolutely not, Colonel,” the president interjected. “We’re not dealing with those cutthroats. They killed the vice president, for crying out loud. If I could find them, I’d have them snatched and put in rendition. No contact with these IRA terrorists. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Pug replied. “There is one other option at my disposal. Madam Vice President, I believe you know this person also—Ambassador Molenski?”

“The Russian Ambassador to the U.N.?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was most helpful with the
USS Cherokee
incident a few years ago. Recently he assisted in helping me with some information about the IRA.”

“We’ll discuss it, Pug, and I’ll get back to you,” Prescott replied. “Meanwhile, keep us abreast of the developments with this Rawlings chap. Can you work with him?”

“It’s an unusual situation. He’s been developing a relationship with Agent Bentley, and his former brother-in-law is a member of the militia.”

“Oh? Did you say
former
brother-in-law?”

“Yes, ma’am. Rawlings’ wife was killed a couple of years ago in a skiing accident shortly after they were married. Kenny Bailey is her brother. He was shot and killed in a failed ambush on Captain Rawlings several weeks ago.”

The president spoke up. “Rawlings shot and killed his own brother-in-law?”

“No, sir. Some members of the Shasta Brigade shot him as he was trying to get on their plane before they took off. Rawlings killed the other ambusher. As far as Rawlings goes, Mr. President, Agent Bentley is convinced he’s in opposition to the secession and is actively working to prevent it.”

“So is Governor Dewhirst, Colonel,” the president chimed in. “But as you said, he’s ready to do what’s necessary to protect California. Be very careful how involved Rawlings becomes with the task force. I don’t think involving him would be such a good idea.”

“Understood, Mr. President. I’ll be in touch.”

“Good luck to you, Colonel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

* * *

President Eastman pressed the key to disconnect the speakerphone and leaned back in his chair as Clarene Prescott took a seat in front of his desk. She raised her eyebrows, revealing to Eastman her chagrin at his failure to inform Colonel Connor of impending military operational orders. Eastman watched her for a moment, assessing her agreement with his actions.

“I know, Clarene,” he said, raising his hands in a surrender mode. “We’ve left the colonel in the dark.”

“Pug Connor is a good man, and he’s worked in the dark before, but I’m surprised that you chose not to inform him.”

“It’s not a question of trust. You know that. Connor can be trusted, but there’s still the possibility that I’ll be able to abort the troop movement and stop this foolishness, and the fewer people I have to ‘stand down,’ the easier it will be. The JCS, however,” he said, shaking his head, “are dead set to move forward. We’ll bring Colonel Connor into the picture by Thursday night if things don’t change.”

“I think that would be fair, Bill. He’s walking a tightrope out there.”

“Yeah. Aren’t we all?”

Chapter 28

Modesto, California

Dan Rawlings lightly touched his brakes for the third time in as many miles and decided once again that utilizing cruise control on old Highway 99 was an impossibility. Ten miles west on Interstate 5, traffic flow was suitable, but the stop-and-go traffic, intersecting roads, and general limitations of 99 precluded such relaxing driving aids.

Crossing the Dry Creek Bridge at Galt, Dan ejected the CD, the sudden ensuing silence bringing Nicole to life from the twilight-zone nap she’d been taking since their departure from Dan’s apartment in Davis.

“Welcome to central California, Agent Bentley,” he said.

Nicole yawned and stretched her arms up and toward the back of the car before raising the seat from its reclined position. “Ever played this golf course?” she asked as they crossed the bridge and she observed the fairway extending out on both sides of the highway.

“Had one of my most memorable rounds here several years ago. Two under on the front and twelve over on the back side,” he said, laughing.

“Is that when you decided to forget turning pro?” she teased.

“Long before that, Agent Bentley.”

“What do you think Senator Turner really wants, Dan? Why do you think he wanted you to come down to Modesto?”

“It’s his home court. As to what he wants, I’m not certain, but he must have discovered I’ve been given the assignment to draft a constitution. He knows my stance because we debated the issue during the election—well, sort of debated. We were on the same podium, and questions were thrown at both of us.”

“Dan, if he doesn’t already know who I am or what I do, I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Understood. At least he’s chosen to meet us on relatively neutral ground. Modesto has this wonderful tradition of summer concerts in the park. They have a completely amateur band, usually about a hundred members or so, and every Thursday for six weeks in the summer they provide an open-air concert. When I was a young boy, my father lived in Modesto, and each year when I went to spend the summer with him we’d attend these concerts, although I was more interested in the playground equipment and snow cones than the music.”

“Boston Pops comes to Modesto,” Nicole said.

“You could say that, but maybe not quite so formal.”

About forty-five minutes past Stockton, Dan pulled off Highway 99 and headed for downtown Modesto, where he found parking more difficult than he’d anticipated. They ended up parking about two blocks away and walking to the amphitheater. They passed hundreds of people who were already lying on blankets on the grass, their small hibachis smoking and picnics in process, ranging from buckets of KFC to barbecued ribs. The semicircular stands had blankets draped over whole sections of seats in a sort of honor system for reservations.

Dan spotted Senator Turner center left, down front, and led Nicole to the politician. Turner saw him approaching across the crowd and stood, smiling broadly as he shook hands with people who were filtering through his row toward their own seats.

“Assemblyman Daniel Rawlings,” Turner said, somewhat officially, “welcome to Modesto. Let me introduce you to our esteemed mayor. Steve La Barbera, meet Daniel Rawlings, one of our newest state legislators, from Yolo County, and, of course, one of California’s newest authors.”

“Of course.” Mayor La Barbera smiled. “A great read, Mr. Rawlings. But as you well know, Stanislaus County offers all the wonderful benefits you extol for Yolo County in
Voices in My Blood.”

Mayor La Barbera was a tall, trim man with a full beard and thick hair, both of which were fully gray. He was quite distinguished-looking and from initial impressions, cordial. To be expected, Dan thought, in a political role.

“I’m sure it does, Mayor. Perhaps I’ll have to broaden my horizons for my next effort. Let me introduce Nicole Bentley. Ms. Bentley graciously accepted my invitation to come down to hear the famous summer concert series in the park. Coming from New England, she’s looking forward to a West Coast Boston Pops special.”

Turner and the mayor greeted Nicole, who remained silent, but smiled pleasantly.

“Well, when you start your next novel, you come on down, son,” the mayor said, “and we’ll convert you to the merits of our lovely valley. I understand you and the senator have some light business. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go greet a few of the guests we’ve invited tonight.”

“Certainly, Mayor,” Dan replied. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. Malcolm, I’ll see you in a few minutes. You’ve got your fire and brimstone ready for the crowd, I presume?”

“Just a little hometown talk, Steve, nothing more,” Turner said, at which La Barbera laughed.

“Malcolm, if John Phillip Sousa can’t stir ’em up tonight, I know I can count on you. I’ll see you later, Mr. Rawlings. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Bentley.”

Turner gestured to the bench, and Dan and Nicole joined the senator as he resumed his seat.

“It was good of you to invite us tonight, Senator. I’ve had the pleasure of attending these concerts before, some years ago, but Nicole hasn’t. I hope you don’t mind my extending the invitation to her this evening.”

Turner glanced admiringly at Nicole. “Mr. Rawlings, I’d have been disappointed in you if you hadn’t taken the opportunity to promote our central California traditions. Ms. Bentley, you’re most welcome.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Nicole replied. “It really is lovely outside this evening.”

“Senator,” Dan said, “how can I be of assistance?”

“All in good time, my boy, all in good time. This is an evening for enjoyment, and I merely wanted you to catch the flavor, or perhaps the fervor, of our local residents. We’re all staunchly supportive of the movement, you know,” Turner said, glancing around the rapidly filling stadium. “Notice anything unusual, Dan?”

Upon entering the circular amphitheater, Dan had immediately noticed the presence of hundreds of California bear flags, as opposed to the American flags the concert attendees had traditionally carried over the years.

“A bit more nationalism perhaps, Senator.”

“Exactly, son. Exactly my point. Now, you’ve got a wonderful opportunity in front of you for such a young assemblyman. Would that I could start my career over again with such a promising future.”

“Senator, it’s not really—”

“Don’t make light of it, son,” Turner interrupted. “Your name will go down in history. Your family has played a significant part in the formation of both the nation and the state. If my sources are right, that illustrious group of ancestors includes the William Whipple you wrote about in your novel. He’s actually your sixth or seventh great-grandfather, isn’t he? And an original signer of the Declaration of Independence? They were traitors, you know, all those folk who signed that document. But once they had succeeded in their objective, they became patriots. And now you, Mr. Rawlings, have the opportunity to take your place among your family lineage at the forefront of history. Quite a privilege.”

Dan glanced briefly at Nicole, for whom Turner’s revelation that Dan was related to a signer of the Declaration of Independence was news.
Voices in My Blood,
being fiction, hadn’t defined any actual relationship between the primary characters and the author, leaving it to the reader, as is so often the case in a novel, to determine truth from fiction.

They were joined again by Mayor La Barbera, and all sat watching the band, which was assembling on stage. The conductor appeared on stage, eliciting a large ovation from the crowd, who assembled to enjoy not only an evening of music but also gathered in anticipation of some political fireworks—something Senator Malcolm Turner had promised in the news releases he had made available to the local media for several days prior to the concert.

For the next forty-five minutes, the band played a number of light classical selections, march music, and show tunes, with an emphasis on California history. The entire program had the effect of heightening the mood of the crowd. Following a moving rendition of “Goin’ Home,” from Dvorak’s New World Symphony, the conductor announced that immediately following the next number, the band would pause for intermission and Mayor La Barbera would say a few words. A rousing Sousa march brought the first half of the concert to an end, at which point Steve La Barbera took the stand as the band departed the stage.

“Evening all,” La Barbera said in a casual, down-home manner, to a smattering of applause. “Earlier this afternoon, I took some time to stroll the downtown area, ‘kicking tires,’ so to speak, and who do you think I discovered? Well, I had thought that our national interests were being protected by our esteemed congressional representatives on the job back East, but I bumped into none other than Senator Malcolm Turner. Yep, right here in Modesto. Now for those of you who don’t know Senator Turner—” La Barbera paused, smiled at Turner, and scanned the audience. “Well, maybe there’re none of those here tonight,” he said to a round of laughter. “He does come home once in awhile to check in and get his marching orders before we send him back to the jungle in Washington. But we’ve got him tonight, and given the developing events in our great new nation, I think we ought to hear a few words from him. What do you think?” he said, raising his arms toward the sky to elicit response from the crowd.

A section of the audience, comprised mostly of men seemingly unified in their intention, immediately rose to their feet, applauding loudly and whistling.

Nicole took Dan’s hand and leaning into him, whispered, “Well orchestrated, as any good concert should be.” Dan just smiled and squeezed her hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” La Barbera announced, “I give you Senator Malcolm Turner.”

As Turner waited for the applause to die down, he smiled and shook the mayor’s hand, gesturing to the audience to please hold down their accolades. As the noise finally subsided, Turner moved to the microphone.

“Fellow Modestans, Stanislaus County residents, and guests, I didn’t come here to speak to you tonight in any formal manner, but given the import of events in which we find ourselves, I just want you to know how proud I am to be from Modesto. How proud I am of my heritage and the values my father taught me as I was raised on a farm right down the road from where we sit. But what I mainly wanted to say tonight really has nothing to do with me personally. Tonight I want to introduce to you someone we have recently come to know, and someone I can assure you we will all get to know much better as this year progresses. Someone whose name will go down in California history as he participates in the formation of this great endeavor in which we find ourselves.”

Dan could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck. Turner was going to use this forum to force Dan to acknowledge his assigned role, preempting the governor. It was political hardball, and Dan had been caught off guard. Not until Nicole placed her hand on his arm did Dan realize how hard he’d been squeezing her fingers as tension grew within him.