At Risk of Winning (The Max Masterson Series Book 1) (2 page)

Masterson raised his hand to quiet him. “high blood pressure will be the end of you, ham! Whatever happened to the fearless young barrister who wasn’t afraid to take on the entire U.S. Congress, the Supreme Court, and anybody who had the stupidity to stand in your way?”

“I’m not young, I’ve never been fearless, and you’re asking me to do something that I have never done before. I’m referring you to someone who knows what they’re doing, and I’ll get you the best in the business for this sort of thing.” he felt his expression sour at the thought of having to take on a family law case. he’d rather sell used cars to the Amish. he looked away and then back at his scowling friend. “You old fart! I pegged you for many amazing accomplishments in your retirement, but I figured they would mainly revolve around something like circumnavigation of the Pacific Ocean in a sea kayak rather than taking on something as scary as parenthood. Can’t you act your age?”

“Never!” Masterson replied, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I want to leave this world with an heir.” his tone was sad, but determined. When an old politician is confronted, conversational tone converts to a voice broadcast from the diaphragm, loud enough to be heard by those sleeping in the back row. ham knew his old friend was serious in his intentions, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to render advice.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. By the time the press finds out, I want this adoption to be final. I don’t want to be subjected to endless months of so-called experts spouting their opinions about how what you’re doing is wrong,” ham said in a conspiratorial tone.

“I don’t care what they think. Never did, never will. A man has to follow his heart, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” The senator smiled. hamilton Bennett knew when someone had dug in their heels and the look on his old friend’s face showed a determination he hadn’t seen in a long time. Still, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle a buddy who had prevailed in every major battle of his life at a time when he was most vulnerable.

“I suppose this means that come tarpon season, you’ll wimp out and tell me that you can’t come down to the beach house because you’re too busy changing poopy diapers.”

“Mr. Bennett, our conversation is nearing an end. I know how much you charge by the hour and, being the fiscal conservative that I am, I’m not going to dignify that statement with a response on my dime. Get to work and make this happen. Oh, and don’t get any funny ideas about sending any of your lady friends over to assist in my time of need.” he grinned.

Somehow, Senator John “Minuteman” Masterson looked younger than his years. It was a contented visage, the kind a person acquires when they have accomplished a lofty goal. he rose from the chair and shook the hand of his old friend and advisor, who peered at him over the top of his reading glasses. The lawyer looked deep into his eyes and found a glint that he hadn’t seen in many years. Maybe he has finally found what he’s been searching for, he thought.

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ChAPTER ThREE

I knew when I took on this responsibility that it would be tough, but this is a job for a young guy, who can get up in the middle of the night without being trashed from sleep deprivation the next day, he kept telling himself. he paced the floor with baby Max, who he had named Maximum in line with his approach toward life: Maximum effort yields maximum results. This night, though, he was dragging. The nanny had retired for the night, and he had heard Max stirring in the nursery. It was situated down a short hall from the library, a throwback to the days when educated aristocrats prided themselves by the number of books they possessed. he called it a den, but it was really a research facility with wireless access to a state of the art mind-controlled computer, where he could display results on a large holographic screen situated on the opposite wall of the room.

Despite the room’s ability to allow him to focus on his millions of thoughts and ideas, the sound of a baby’s tiny voice was enough to direct his attention to his new son. he pulled the young boy from his crib and held him close, feeling the warm pounding of his heart against his chest. Even though Max was an infant, he had already learned how to get the attention of a retired United States senator, a task at which older and mightier men had never succeeded when he was on the hill. Little Max had bonded with the nanny from the first day, and when he wasn’t being fed or bathed by the nanny, he was with the lovely Adrianna.

“Just when I need her, my girlfriend takes off to visit her mother,” he commented to the baby, who was gleefully pulling his hair. Adrianna was more than a girlfriend, and if she had heard his description of her place in his life, there would have been hell to pay, but he was confident that Max wouldn’t tattle. A certified teacher, she spent several hours each day with the little boy, who already displayed high intelligence. At eighteen months, the little manipulator constantly sought the comfort of his new father and his alluring companion. When the nanny and Adrianna weren’t around, the senator assumed parenting duties of the little boy by default.

“Did you miss me?” he looked down at the little guy, who smiled at the sound of his voice. “You heard me working, didn’t you?” he carried him tenderly down the hall and placed him on his lap in front of the screen. Before them flashed images of colorful Sesame Street characters, who talked directly to the little boy conjured from the senator’s previously stored memory. “hi, Max!” said Ernie. Max laughed, clapped his hands in delight, and immediately threw up in the lap of his esteemed father. As the fetid liquid dripped from his lap onto the ornate Persian rug, the senator jumped up and ran in search of a towel, holding his baby boy in front of him at arm’s length. As he dashed down the hall toward the pantry, Max giggled at the game he had created.

“What do they use to clean this stuff up? Powder? No! The white bottle!” he sniffed, and the ammonia fumes nearly took his head off. “That ought to do.” he placed Max in his crib and ran down the hall to the waiting mess. The leak on the leather chair was easy to wipe away. It was the puddle on the rug that took some rubbing. he poured more of the liquid onto the stain.

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The next morning, when the nanny arrived to assume her matronly duties, she found the old man in his bathrobe, the little boy asleep in his arms in the plush leather recliner of the den. The boy’s head rested against his chest. She looked down at the white oval on the rug and shook her head. That spot won’t be coming out anytime soon, she thought, shaking her head. Tenderly, she pulled Max from his father’s arms, while the senator slept in apparent bliss. After his son left his arms, his forehead creased. A bad dream again, she thought as she stared at the screen in front of the recliner. Images of men in identical suits, milling in the Senate chamber with angry faces, filled the screen. She tiptoed back to the nursery, the little boy sleeping openmouthed, his head on her breast.

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ChAPTER FOUR

In the plush comfort of the recliner, Masterson’s mind slipped back to the Washington years. The dream was as clear as if it was happening in real life. The voices were distinct, and the colorful details of the setting were real. The monitor flickered for a moment, and then the scene was vividly displayed on the screen before him, recorded from his brain waves. The neural monitor was still monitoring his brain waves in his sleep, and although the event was ten years in the past, his memories brought the details back to life.

The senator conducted all of his life’s activities on the hour principle. During his term in the Senate, many years ago, the idea of a filibuster to block a bill was so repugnant to him that he voted against his own party just to avoid sitting through the long hours of monotony. he earned the nickname “Minuteman Masterson.” Although the description lacked the accuracy he would have required if he had coined the phrase, the name stuck. his friends from the Senate, old colleagues from the press, and even the president of the United States referred to him as Minuteman.
In his meetings of the Senate Intelligence Committee years before, the senator could see the writing on the wall. Anyone who used the internet, drove a car, voted, talked on a cell phone, or went to the doctor was subject to surveillance by the government and the agencies that were created for that purpose. Privacy for Americans was disappearing, and Senator Masterson openly displayed his contempt for anyone who chose to assault the basic rights of law-abiding people. he fidgeted through day after day of classified briefings by law enforcement and national security agencies, all designed to erode the freedoms of the people who had voted him into office. The legislation before his committee expanded the type and amount of information that government could squeeze from records, extract from conversations, and extrapolate from everyday activities in the search for terrorists.

“I have heard all of this talk about how you need to root out these terrorists in our midst, Director.” The senator addressed Adam Pryor, director of homeland Security, as he had on hundreds of previous occasions, and his disdain for the man was legendary among his peers.

“What I want to know, for the umpteenth time, is how do you decide who you gather information about. From what I’ve heard, that big computer in that big building in my home state of Florida is busily gathering information on every man, woman, and child in our great country, and then it filters out the bad guys based upon profiles of the words they use . . . isn’t that right, Mr. Director?” he had long ago stopped masking his tone to temper his words.

“Well, Senator, we don’t use the information we gather against law-abiding Americans.” Minuteman Masterson had his opponent on the ropes, blissfully aware that Pryor would never be comfortable with his persistent grilling. The director was obviously weary of the subpoenas generated by the committee chairman.

“Well, once again, we have gone full circle. You gather the information about law-abiding citizens. You never throw it away because you don’t know when down the road you might need it, and I’m supposed to sit here and take your word that somebody in government won’t abuse this invasion of my privacy . . .”

“Senator, I only meant—”
”Don’t talk while I’m summarizing your testimony, or I will have you bound and gagged. Do you understand me?” he leaned back in his chair and continued, “. . . and the privacy of all Americans, because the government would never do that sort of thing, is that your testimony?”
“Senator, I am here under subpoena, and I have been sworn to tell the truth, and as God is my witness, I—”
“Don’t bring God into this. You will someday meet your maker, but today, you’re mine. I don’t trust you or any of the people who have their security clearance to tap into that information, to steal my words and use them against me, and neither should anyone who has had their privacy stolen by their own government,” he pronounced loudly. “You are excused from this subpoena, but you are subject to recall at any time I decide to have your sorry ass back in this committee room.” Masterson slammed his large notebook shut with a bang. The other committee members jumped at the sound but sat speechless.
The memory was displayed on the large screen before him, and even though he was dreaming, the experience was as real as if it had happened seconds before. The sound of the notebook startled him awake, wondering for a moment where he was, and he sat in silence for a long time. Rising at last, he directed the machine to sign off and walked down the hall for his morning coffee.

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ChAPTER FIVE

Masterson rowed his titanium and carbon rowing shell on the mirror-smooth surface of the Potomac as he had done many times before. he thought back over the years in which he had presided over the Senate Intelligence Committee, its constant challenges, triumphs, and disappointments. his fitness regimen called for three times on the water each week, but he was lucky to get in two with his busy schedule. The graphite oars feathered the surface into ripples that quickly disappeared, a repetition that lulled his mind into a state of alert relaxation. he took a mental inventory of the path that had brought his beloved country to the precipice. In one decade, beginning with the terrorist attacks of 9/11, a series of “government reforms” were launched.

Over the ensuing years, the massive intelligence and military community gained the ability to hear and see anyone at any time or place. They had access to medical and psychiatric records, sealed court files, internet data galore, even library cards. They knew where you were going, who traveled with you, what you charged on your credit card, and what you ate for dinner. They developed devices that could see through walls, and surveillance devices were standard equipment in all of the electronics in the home. The intelligence community was massive and eminently capable of intruding into the lives of Americans, and did so, on a continuous basis.

By the time he left Congress, Masterson had voted against thirty bills that gave the Department of homeland Security increased powers to intrude, but his nemesis, Pryor, had prevailed. Masterson was a member of a small minority who refused to rubber stamp the new laws. his terms in the Senate saw the president’s national security advisor morph into the secretary of intelligence, a position that controlled the combined might of the FBI, NSA, and CIA. All of it was legislated into existence to deter terrorism and promote national security, but the unintended effect was that they could direct their attention to anyone anywhere, and law-abiding Americans lost their right to be left alone.

he steered the rowing shell toward the dock. It happened every time; each time he thought back over his gradual loss of control of the committee—his own domain—he rowed faster until he reached his maximum heart rate, and the day’s exercise came to an end. he seethed at the thought that he had presided over the stealthy erosion of a right he had taken an oath to uphold.

After twenty-four years of distinguished service representing the state of Florida from Pensacola to Miami, he had finally reached the point where he had enough of politics. It resulted mainly from his failed attempts at passing legislation that protected the privacy rights of Americans. Every man, woman, and child in the nation lost the ability to be free from random surveillance by the government, and as long as he had a good breath in his body, he would not give up.