31
“He hath awakened from the dream of life –
’Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit’s knife.â€
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)
Shortly before noon Hawthorne sat in the Oval Office, conscious of the two highly conspicuous Secret Service agents spaced out on his left near the cream wall. Because there is a gap of two feet between the Oval Office’s walls and its famous round carpet they preferred to stand on the carpet. It provides more friction than the highly veneered wooden floor that covers the gap
.
Hawthorne had already shocked Wilburforce and Jacobs with the news about Dennison, but he was not finished.
‘Michael’s my son?’ asked Wilburforce weakly.
Hawthorne nodded. Tears swelled in the President’s eyes. ‘A son? I have a son.’
‘Yes, the lab results just came through.’
‘But how, I mean, how, how could,’ stammered the President.
‘We’ve put the time of conception at during the campaign trail four years ago. Aitken was part of the election team. I guess he caught you at it without you two knowing. Some hotel somewhere.’
The President buried his head in his hands and shook his head in remorse. His voice was slightly muffled as he spoke. ‘It was just a couple of times, no more than that. We were all stressed out, our wives too.’ Small pools formed on the desk between his elbows. ‘Larry seemed to have endless energy and would always be up until the small hours, either drinking with the influentials or planning. Sheila was lonely and I felt powerful. I can’t put it simpler than that.’
Jacobs still could not believe it. ‘But how could Aitken have known for sure about Michael’s paternity?’
‘Aitken managed to get samples himself and routed it through Wisconsin PD,’ explained Hawthorne. ‘Walsh came up with that match, too.’
‘Well ain’t we just one big happy family,’ sneered Jacobs at the President in a rare display. He turned to Hawthorne. ‘Just what do you plan to do with this information?’
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t give a dick about who sits in that seat. Most people in this country are beginning not to either. There are no true visionaries that will occupy that seat anymore, no true leaders. No one to aspire to. You all bend like a straw poll in the political wind. All it’s come down over the years is a few tax dollars and instead of attracting as many supporters as possible, you try to offend as few voters as you can, merging and blurring from one administrator to another.’
Wilburforce looked up at him and began to open his mouth but Hawthorne cut him off.
‘The only person that will be affected by this is Michael Fane, and I for one am not going to condemn him to a life under the microscope and long lenses of the media. As far as I’m concerned, this information is irrelevant. I would suggest you never tell the Vice President either.’
Wilburforce stared at visitor. ‘You mean I have to watch Michael grow up and never let him know I’m his father?’
‘Consider it the punishment. Anyway, if you had any paternal feelings for the boy you’d let him live in innocence.’
‘So what should we do with the Dennison issue, Mr. President?’ asked Jacobs.
Wilburforce’s sad, almost tearful face looked up at his Chief of Staff. ‘I’m resigning.’
Jacobs laughed in disbelief. ‘You can’t! Not after all we’ve been through!’
‘Let me put the question back to you, Owen. What the fuck would you do? How the fuck do you spin this one? Sorry about the language, Hawthorne.’
‘None taken.’
Jacobs remained silent and bowed his head in contrition.
‘Agent Hawthorne,’ began the President. ‘I must apologize for the difficulties we’ve placed in your way. I hope you can understand and forgive me.’
‘Yes I can,’ replied Hawthorne with honesty. ‘But I agree with Jacobs, there’s no reason for you to resign. You had nothing to do with Aitken’s murder, and I don’t think the American public will think that way either.’
‘Look,’ explained the President, ‘If Robert had never been assassinated, I would never have had a chance of a second term, with or without his giving that speech. I do miss him, you know,’ he said with regret. ‘The public won’t want a President who first picks an attorney general that shows a complete lack of faith in God, and who then chooses his murderer as his replacement. It doesn’t make me out to be a good judge of character does it?’
Hawthorne could not argue with the fact.
‘It’s as it should be,’ continued Wilburforce. ‘I’m going to step down this afternoon and give Larry a crack at the whip. Christ I owe him that much, though he’ll never know it. Who knows, maybe something good will come of it.’
One of the trusted Secret Servicemen placed his finger to his ear. ‘He’s here, Mr. President.’
Wilburforce straightened his tie and sat up straight. ‘Send him in.’ Everyone tensed in the room.
The gleaming face of the immaculate and confident Victor Dennison entered the room.
‘Good morning, Mr. President,’ he said, stumbling over the last word as he caught sight of Hawthorne and the Secret Service agents. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘Why, Victor? Why? Did you never think you’d be caught?’ sighed the President.
‘Me? ’ cried out Dennison. He looked at Hawthorne, his eyes full of accusation and hatred.
‘You bastard,’ he spat. ‘You’re trying to pin this on me? Are you mad?’
‘Are you quite finished? Sit down,’ barked Wilburforce. Dennison’s eyes never left Hawthorne’s as he took the cushioned chair on the other side of the President’s desk. The Secret Servicemen spread their legs slightly apart. It was not a common occurrence for The Boss to be face to face with an assassin. Although the X-ray machine had shown he was not carrying any weapons there was no telling what he was capable of.
‘What crock of shit has he been feeding you?’ Dennison asked the President.
Wilburforce’s head was almost trembling with fury at his betrayer. ‘Those convenient stomach cramps that excused you from a formal function that evening. We’ve checked. No one else had a problem with the food.’
‘It was stomach cramps,’ glowered Dennison.
‘As Deputy Attorney General you already knew about Leving and the Library Awareness Program, as did I,’ continued the President. ‘It was a nice trick. If it had not been for Hawthorne’s frankly pain-in-the-ass tactics you would have got away with it.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Wilburforce ignored the question. ‘That cell phone you purchased may be wireless but it had a noose that will find its way around your throat. And last of all your personal disk space not only had a copy of Robert’s speech, but downloaded web pages that showed the layout of Montebello and details of the drug used to bleed my friend to death,’ sneered Wilburforce.
Dennison started to reply, he face crimson with anger, but Wilburforce put his hands up as if to push him away. ‘Don’t bother with that “I did it for you†crap. It’s embarrassing enough.’ The President turned to Hawthorne. ‘Did I miss anything out, Agent Hawthorne?’
‘Psyche profile, Mr. President.’
‘Yes, well I don’t put great store in those things. And if one word gets out about Michael I’ll make sure personally that you go to the chair, Victor. Luckily I understand it’s not painless. Do the honors would you, Sam?’ It was the first time that the President had ever used Hawthorne’s first name. Hawthorne liked it, even though this man was not going to be in office at the end of the day.
Dennison had become a pitiful sight. He seemed to have decreased in stature, his back bent, his shoulders slumped, a man with no energy and no future.
Hawthorne stood up and hauled the lifeless body to its feet. Dennison stared blankly at the President as he allowed his body to be manhandled. Hawthorne reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He expertly slapped the first around a thick right wrist before twisting Dennison’s arm behind and reached out for the left arm.
‘Victor Bartholomew Dennison,’ he recited, ‘you’re under the arrest for –’ All hell broke loose at that moment.
Dennison’s body suddenly came to life and it seemed to Wilburforce in that instant that Dennison’s eyes shook in their sockets.
*
Einstein once proved that time was relative to the observer, and to those in the Oval Office the second that followed seemed to take an excruciating eternity.
*
Dennison struggled free of Hawthorne’s grasp with powerful bear-like movements and lunged for the President’s desk, picking up a small solid gold letter-opener that was placed precisely in the middle of the desk one inch from, and parallel to, the President’s writing pad. It was extremely polished and extremely sharp.
*
A split second later both Secret Servicemen started to move their right hands to their revolvers tucked in their holsters under the left armpit.
*
Hawthorne had to quickly put out his right foot to stop himself from falling and turned to face Dennison. It occurred to him that the President’s protection team had positioned themselves in advance such that he would not be in the line of fire. He hoped they could get their shots off in time.
*
Jacobs assumed the crash position in his chair, convinced that one of the bullets would otherwise be whistling past his ear.
*
Dennison’s body arched back. His bloody right hand, holding the killing instrument by the blade was already behind his head and was primed to throw it at Wilburforce’s chest five feet away. Dennison started to roar as his hand arced down.
*
Wilburforce sat in his chair paralyzed.
*
Hawthorne saw a chance. He reached up to Dennison’s hand as it descended and yanked on the second handcuff that dangled uselessly from its wrist, hoping to spoil the timing of the throw and have the knife embed itself harmlessly in the desk. It was too late. It had already left Dennison’s hand.
*
After years of intensive training the Secret Service have prepared for every eventuality to such a degree that all defensive movements are pure reflex. In this particular situation the two men become ‘Target’ and ‘Take Out’. In the White House canteen they are referred to as Dumb and Dumber.
Take Out is designated as the agent nearest the potential threat and his task is to neutralize that threat. Target is the agent nearest the President and his assignment is to prevent whatever implement was being used reaching the President. Under normal circumstances this would be a bullet-catching job, but it was impossible for Target to get in the way of the knife in time. There was another option.
*
Dennison died instantly as the first dumdum bullet from Target destroyed his left ear and ricocheted around the inside of his skull.
*
At the same time, bullets from Target’s automatic sped across the gap and across the President’s heart, hoping to provide a shield from the oncoming knife. One of the bullets nicked the side of the knife an inch from his chest and deflected it into the President’s left biceps, pinning his arm to his chair. Wilburforce looked first at his bloody arm and then up at Hawthorne, a look of disbelief on his face. ‘Monday mornings, eh?’ he said and promptly fainted.
*
Ten minutes later the scene had calmed down. Two medics had already cleaned the wound to Wilburforce’s arm and professionally administered a local anaesthetic and bandages. He would soon be on his way to George Washington to have stitches.
Nobody had remonstrated Hawthorne for the close call on the President’s life. Wilburforce had kicked himself for insisting on facing Dennison personally.
After Dennison’s body had been taken away, Hawthorne studied the carpet where it had fallen. He was amazed at just how little blood had seeped out of it. It was in stark contrast to the manner of Aitken’s death.
‘You know,’ he said to Wilburforce as the President waived aside the two medics that had entered the Oval Office carrying a stretcher, ‘Charlie’s going to kill me for not taping this.’
‘Owen,’ Wilburforce called out.
Jacobs ran to his side. ‘Yes, Mr. President?’
‘I know it’s against protocol, but give Hawthorne here a copy of the tape, edited of course. I think he’s deserved it, don’t you? Hawthorne had forgotten the so-called secret camera that recorded everything inside the Oval Office.
Jacobs beamed. The broadcast would turn Wilburforce into the nation’s hero, valiantly confronting the assassin. The President recognized the look.
‘Don’t get any ideas Owen, I’m still resigning in a couple of hours,’ he sighed. ‘In fact, I’m going to quote Robert’s speech to the nation word for word. He was right. There’s too much damned violence in this country and the time for lullabies is over.’