The Invitation-kindle (3 page)

When schedules permit, Carol will sometimes visit briefly, to see how he’s doing. She greets her husband with a familial kiss.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Carol, How’s your day going?”

“I’m okay. I should be asking you that question. Your day’s more important than mine.”

“Both are important. How did your appointment go this morning?”

“The doctor says I’m fine…I don’t know.”

“Carol, I know you want children. So do I. We’ll keep trying.”

“We can wait. You have so much else to consider,” she says.

“Let’s do this. After the Olympics we’ll take a three day weekend, and get away for a while.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“The press says I don’t take enough time off.”

“I don’t know where you get your energy.”

“Well, it comes from being a happily married man.”

“Are you ever lost for words?” Carol asks.

“Only happened once.”

“When was that?”

“Why, when I first looked at you, dear.”

“You’re incredible. Well, I don’t want to keep you. Oh, I’m going to see your mother on Thursday.”

“I know, I called her last night. She’ll be glad to see you.”

“I wish she would come live with us,” Carol says.

“So do I, but she loves her independence, and her privacy, too.”

“I can understand that. Well, I’ll leave you to your work. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“What do you have for this afternoon?”

“I have that public service announcement for the Healthy Kids Initiative.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not long, maybe an hour.”

“That’s good. We’ll have a nice dinner tonight.”

“What time?” Carol asks.

“About six thirty, I think.”

“Sounds good, I’ll see ya then. Bye-bye.”

“Goodbye.”

With a parting kiss, Carol leaves her husband to his responsibilities, while she tends to her own scheduled obligations. After more than three years of living at the White House, and being at the center of political power, Carol has become familiar with the established routine of activity that now surrounds her daily life. Despite the seemingly unending demands on her time, and attention that she must regularly cope with, Carol has never felt so fully alive, or more convinced that her life, and work were meaningful, and worthwhile. Confident that her husband will win another term in office, she is optimistic for herself, her husband, and the country at large.

In a quiet suburb of Providence, Rhode Island, Phillip Garrett is having breakfast with his wife and twelve-year-old daughter. His occupation as a freelance photographer enables him to maintain a flexible work schedule, but work is not what he’s thinking about today.

He’s expecting a visitor this morning, a visitor from the FBI. We find him, his wife, and daughter readying themselves for another day. Not surprisingly, the subject of their conversation is what they might look to expect from the agent sent to interview him.

“Want some more coffee?” Phillip’s wife asks.

“No thanks.”

“Aren’t you nervous? I would be,” she says.

“Nothing to be nervous about. Actually, I’m glad to do this.”

“It’s kind of what you wanted,” she says.

“That’s right. Finally somebody’s taking me seriously. Once my statement’s on the record, I’ll be satisfied that I did all I could.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“I’m ready, Mom.”

“Did you get enough to eat Ashley?” Phillip asks his daughter.

“Yes Dad.”

“Two things you should never skimp on. Breakfast is one of them, and?” cues Phillip.

“I know, a good night’s sleep,” answers Ashley.

“That’s right, or there’s no point in going to school,” he says.

“Well, we better get going,” says Phillip’s wife, as the doorbell rings.

“That’s probably him.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Well, we’re going, so I’ll let him in.”

“Okay.”

“Come on, Ashley, You don’t want to be late for school.”

Rising to go she kisses Phillip, and says, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Ashley. Have a good day at school.”

Moments later he hears his wife greeting the expected visitor, and a few seconds later she presents him.

“This is my husband.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Honey. Drive carefully,” Phillip says to his wife as she exits. He turns toward his guest. “Mr. Colby, you made it.”

“I did. Mr. Garrett, it’s good to meet you, Sir.”

“Please sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“Want some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

As Phillip pours coffee, Agent Colby begins.

“Mr. Garrett, I’m here today simply to hear what you have to say. When we talked on the phone, I assured you that you wouldn’t have to worry about any possibility of self-incrimination, and I want to repeat that. Nothing you say here today will ever be used against you.”

“Mr. Colby, I’m a lawyer. You know I don’t believe that. It doesn’t matter. I’m not worried about incriminating myself.”

“Why did you stop practicing law? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I was an in-house corporate attorney for almost fifteen years, the kind of job that law school graduates dream about. I made a lot of money. New owners came in, and I was asked to do certain things that I thought were unethical, so I quit. I became a freelance photographer. I don’t make as much money, but I’m a lot happier. But you didn’t come here to talk about my photographs.”

“No, I didn’t, Mr. Garrett, although I wish you success in that venture.”

“Thank you. Shall we start then?”

“Sure. Where, and when did you first meet Ken Myers?”

“I met him when we were freshman at Princeton. That was some twenty-six years ago. We shared a small apartment for almost three months.”

“Were you friends?”

“I’d say so. We were on a first-name basis, so, yes.”

“Please go on.”

“I thought it was odd, how little he seemed to sleep. He would stay up at night reading his books. I don’t mean the way you, and I read books. He was a speed reader. I mean a phenomenal speed reader. One night I saw him read three college text books in less than two hours, but it`s the way he was doing it that was so strange.”

“How’s that?”

“His physical action was so automated. I never once saw him yawn, even though he was up half the night with his books.”

“Maybe he was just extra diligent when it came to studying.”

“He wasn’t studying. Studying is when you grapple with something you’re trying to understand. What Myers was doing was effortless. He was comprehending the material as quickly as he read it, and that was at very rapid speed. He was like a machine or something.”

“Did he know that you were observing him?”

“No”

“Did he have any other friends you knew about?”

“None that I was aware of, and he never wanted to go out with any of us, to a football game, or a party, not even on weekends. He was essentially a loner.”

“Let me ask you. From the time you knew him at Princeton, what is the one thing you remember most about Ken Myers?”

“That’s easy. There was another student whose parents lived about a two-hour drive away. His name was Mike Tanner. Once or twice a month he would drive to his parents’ house, and stay for the weekend. One time he asked me to go with him. I was glad to get away for a weekend. When he came to pick me up, Ken was there, so I introduced him. As soon as he looked at Mike Tanner his expression changed.”

“How so?”

“His face seemed flooded with empathy and concern. He shook his hand.”

“You mean Ken Myers shook your friend’s hand.”

“That’s right. At the same time he put his other hand on Mike`s shoulder, almost to reassure him in some way. When I told him we were going up to see his parents for the weekend he immediately asked if he could come with us.”

“You didn’t expect that.”

“No, I was completely shocked. I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to say. Before I could say anything Mike said, ‘Sure, come with us there’s plenty of room.’ I told him again we’re going to visit his parents, thinking that might dissuade him. It didn’t. He just said he was ready to go, so he got a few things, and the three of us got into Mike’s car and started driving. It was strange. Myers was very clear in asking to ride in the front seat that night. I remember that. So, we’re riding along, and they’re doing most of the talking. I’m sitting in the back seat thinking to myself; what’s going on? This is the same Ken Myers who prior to that never, I mean never, went anywhere. Anyway, we drove on into open country. The week before it had rained for six days straight. It was about 8:30 on a Friday night. It was dark. I had no idea where we were. We made a turn on to a secondary road, and drove about a mile, when I heard Ken say to Mike ‘please stop the car for a minute,’ so Mike slows the car to a stop. I’m in the back seat wondering what’s going on. Then Ken reaches over, and takes the key out of the ignition, and just looks at Mike. A few seconds pass. Then we hear this enormous crash. , Mike says, ‘Oh God I think that’s the bridge.’ ‘What bridge?’ I said. Then Ken gives Mike the ignition key, and says, ‘go very slowly.’ So we slowly make a turn in the road, and see the river in the headlights. A section of the bridge we were about to drive over had just collapsed. We wouldn’t have had a chance. There is no doubt in my mind that if Ken Myers didn’t ask him to stop the car that night we would’ve drowned.”

“And you think that Ken Myers knew that was going to happen?”

“Yes I do. Why else would he take the keys out of the ignition?”

“Did you ask him?”

“Both of us did.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he thought he heard something cracking.”

“Did that sound plausible?”

“Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“We were in the car. The windows were rolled up. It was raining. The motor was running. We didn’t hear anything.”

“What did you do?”

“We called the State Police, and told ̓em what happened, then we turned the car around, and turned on our four way lights to warn others until the cops came.”

“And then?”

“Mike called his parents to let ̓em know he was okay, and then we drove back to campus.”

“You didn’t make it to your friend’s house that weekend?”

“No way, we were spooked. We didn’t want to cross any bridges in the dark, not that night. We went straight back the way we came. I was pretty shook up. Seeing that river was unnerving.”

“Sounds like a harrowing experience,” Colby says.

“It was. I couldn’t sleep that night.”

“What was Ken Myers reaction?”

“Completely unaffected. Mike and I were still jittery when we got back. We asked him to come with us to get something to eat, but he just wanted to get back to his books, and that’s what he did.”

“Did you ever make the trip again?”

“We did, several times.”

“But not Ken Myers?” Agent Colby asks.

“He wasn’t interested. Mike asked ̓him to come with us, but it never happened. It was bizarre. For the entire time I knew Ken Myers, and granted it was only three months, but still, the only time I heard him express any interest in going anywhere for any reason was that night when the bridge collapsed.”

“So you’re saying Ken Myers had some kind of foreknowledge about the bridge collapse.”

“I’m thoroughly convinced of it. I’ve thought about it a lot. When I introduced Mike to Ken Myers, he had a strange reaction to him.”

“Myers had a strange reaction.”

“That’s right, before Mike said a word it was like he was in, some kind of heightened state of perception. It’s hard to explain.”

“By the time this happened, you were already in the habit of observing Ken Myers, weren’t you? At least discreetly.”

“That’s correct. And sometimes not so discreetly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I transferred to another school after my first semester, so I knew we would be parting company fairly soon. I was curious about this guy from the start, but after the incident with the bridge collapse, I was beside myself trying to figure ̓em out. I mean, wouldn’t you be curious?”

“I suppose I would be.  What did you do?”

“I, uh, did something that most people would consider ethically questionable.”

“What was that?”

Hearing no response, Agent Colby reassures Phillip.

“Mr. Garrett, nothing you say here will expose you to any future legal jeopardy. I assure you the FBI is not trying to build a case on something that happened between two college freshmen twenty-six years ago.”

“One night I told him I would be gone for the night, which was not unusual. I had a friend who had a house off campus. That afternoon when Ken was not there, I placed a hidden camera on the shelf, and recorded over four hours of him sitting alone, as usual.”

“Was he reading?”

“He was. What I did was, just to make sure he’d be sitting there, I got a book from the library, not just any book. I got the Yale version of ‘
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
’. I don’t know if you’ve ever read Shakespeare in the original but, uh, it’s not what you’d call light reading. The book is nearly fifteen hundred pages long. He read it in less than three hours.”

“You recorded this?”

“Yes”

“Do you still have the recording?”

“I have both the original DVD and the recording equipment I used. Please take all of it. Your technicians will have an easier time confirming its authenticity.”

“That would be great if you could do that.”

Rising, and walking to the hallway closet Mr. Garrett takes a medium-sized cardboard box from the top shelf and hands it to Mr. Colby.

“Here, take it with you. See what you think it means.  I’ve watched it dozens of times. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I can assure you I’ll do that.”

“Mr. Colby, I want to say this. I am not in the habit of recording people without their knowledge. I have never done so before or since.”

“I believe you.”

“I wouldn’t have been talking about this at all, but for the fact that this guy is now President of the United States. I feel obligated to tell people about my experience with him. I’m not writing a book, or some tell all exposé. I haven’t been paid a dime to talk about this with anyone. I’ve been on four radio talk shows, and I paid all my own expenses. The local TV station did a story on me about two months ago.”