8
THE SUN WAS DROPPING OVER THE WESTERN horizon, and dropping with it was the temperature. O’Rourke walked down the street with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a dark brown leather jacket. His left hand was wrapped around the handle of a .45-caliber Combatmaster made by Detonics. The palmsized pistol packed a huge punch. As a congressman, O’Rourke had obtained a special permit to carry the weapon. He wasn’t carrying the gun just because of the recent assassinations. He had started carrying it several years ago to protect himself against the roving packs of gang-bangers that roamed the streets of D.C. O’Rourke had been a bone-crushing defenseman for the University of Minnesota hockey team. With his size and speed, few people toyed with him on or off the ice, but the muggers of D.C. cared little about size. The second most traumatic event in O’Rourke’s life had proved that.
The thought of his friend’s mugging caused
Michael to tighten his grip around the handle of the gun. One year
earlier, Michael’s best friend had been shot and killed just two
blocks from the Capitol. Mark Coleman and O’Rourke worked on
Senator Olson’s staff and were roommates. One night Coleman was on
his way home from work when he was stopped by a twenty-two-year-old
crack addict. A witness saw the shaky young man walk up to Coleman
and, without saying a word, shoot him in the chest, grab his
wallet, and run. The police caught the man the next day. The
murderer had already been convicted of armed robbery twice but was
paroled early because of a lack of space in the D.C.
jails.
O’Rourke hadn’t been concerned that his
roommate didn’t come home that night. Coleman was engaged and spent
most of his evenings at his fiancée’s apartment. O’Rourke went into the office
late the next morning. He had just won his congressional seat the
previous week and was coming in to go over some transition notes
with Senator Olson. Michael entered the office with no idea that
his friend had been killed. The office personnel were gathered in
the reception area hugging each other and crying when Michael
walked through the door. O’Rourke stood in shock while one of the
secretaries told him the news. Michael looked around the room at
all of the people trying to comfort one another and instinctively
withdrew. He backed out of the office and left the
building.
When he got outside, he headed for the
Mall and walked westward, passing the Smithsonian and the
Washington Monument. Walking slowly, his mind flooded with memories
of his friend and his parents. After passing the Reflecting Pool,
he reached the Lincoln Memorial and stopped. He stood and stared
back at the Capitol for a long time.
O’Rourke stared at the large rotunda and
tried to grasp how a person could be shot and killed so close to
the heart of the government of the United States of America. He sat
on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial staring at the Capitol, trying
to make sense of a senseless death, trying to understand what was
happening to America, trying to understand why someone like Mark
Coleman, who had worked so hard, who lived honestly, whose whole
life was ahead of him, could be snuffed out by a worthless crack
addict.
O’Rourke thought of all the meetings he’d
sat in where fat-cat senators and congressmen threw
around billions of tax
dollars as if it were a Monopoly game—the money always going to
support some special-interest group whose endorsement would be
needed in the next election. When the subject of crime came up, it
was talked about with enthusiasm and vigor, especially when the
press was around, but behind the closed doors of committee meetings
the politicians were always more willing to spend money on farm
subsidies or defense spending than
crime.
The reality of life had smacked O’Rourke
harshly in the face that day. He looked at Washington and knew
there was no way he could make a difference. The corruption of the
system had become too entrenched, and even if there were thirty
other congressmen just like him, they couldn’t make a dent. The old
boys controlled the committees and with that the legislative agenda
and the purse strings.
O’Rourke had decided at that moment, one
year earlier, as he looked at the large dome of the Capitol, that
he was done with Washington. If he couldn’t make a difference, he
didn’t want to be a witness and accessory to the corruption of
Washington politics. The hell if he was going to stay in this town
and turn into one of them. Washington was built on a swamp, and as
far as Michael was concerned, it was still a
swamp.
As O’Rourke turned onto Wisconsin Avenue,
his mind returned to the present. He noted for the first time since
taking office that real change might be possible. The shocking
assassination of three of Washington’s most prominent political
animals was sure to force reform to the
forefront.
O’Rourke walked across the street to
Blacky’s Bar and entered. Glancing over the crowd, he looked for a
full head of black hair, and after two sweeps he found her. She was
sitting at the far end of the bar surrounded by a group of men
still in suits. The sight of her brought a smile to his
face.
An attractive woman walked up and grabbed
O’Rourke’s arm. “Michael, you’re late. You’d better get over there
and save her. The vultures are closing
in.”
O’Rourke continued to stare across the
bar. “Yes, I see that.” He looked down and kissed the woman on the
cheek. “Hello, Meredith, is she ready to kill
me?”
“Michael, you could show up at midnight
and she wouldn’t be mad. May I take your
coat?”
O’Rourke remembered he was carrying his
gun and politely said, “No, thank you.”
“Were things pretty tense on the Hill
today?”
“Yeah, there was a lot of extra
security.”
“Well, you be careful.” The owner squeezed
his arm. “Get over there and save her. I’ve got a booth ready for
you, whenever you’re ready.”
O’Rourke weaved his way through the crowd
and stood behind the pack of cruisers salivating over his
girlfriend. He took a deep breath and watched for a moment.
O’Rourke placed his hands on the shoulders of the two men closest
to him. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
The two men turned around and made some
room. Liz was wearing a white blouse, short black skirt, black
nylons, and black suede heels. A smile spread across O’Rourke’s
face, and he stepped forward to kiss her on the lips. Then brushing
his nose along her cheek, he whispered, “You look
great.”
She smiled, wrapped her arms around his
waist, and pulled him closer for another kiss. After several
moments, O’Rourke grabbed her by the hand and said, “Meredith has
our table ready. Let’s go be alone.”
The couple walked over to the open booth
and sat down across from each other. O’Rourke grabbed her hands and
stared at her. He loved her eyes. He loved everything about her . .
. her thick, black hair, her olive skin, her sharp mind, her great
sense of humor, but he especially loved her eyes. Despite his bad
attitude toward Washington she had managed to work her way into his
heart. Liz was bright, she was aggressive, she was caring, she
loved kids. She was everything he wanted. Liz Scarlatti had entered
his life a year ago, and even though the last thing he wanted was a
relationship, he couldn’t resist her.
They had met at a small blues bar in
Georgetown. It was a busy weekend night and they happened to be
standing next to each other when the band struck up a sultry
version of “Sweet Melissa” by the Allman Brothers. The female lead
of the band sang it in a slow, seductive way that brought the
entire crowd into a rhythmic sway. Standing by the edge of the
dance floor, O’Rourke bumped a little too hard into whomever he was
standing next to, and when he turned to apologize, there was
Liz.
The apology never got out of his mouth. He
stared in awe at what he had no doubt was the most beautiful woman
he had ever laid eyes on. His face was frozen, eyes open wide, lips
parted slightly. Liz looked up at him with her big brown eyes, and
that was
it. O’Rourke felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he couldn’t
move. Luckily for him Liz didn’t freeze. She slowly took the beer
out of Michael’s hand, set it on a ledge, and then grabbing him by
the hand, she led him onto the dance floor. The rest was
history.
Over the next year their attraction grew
into a serious love affair with marriage on the horizon. There was
only one problem at present—Michael wanted out of D.C. and Liz
wasn’t sure yet. She liked her job less and less every week, but
hadn’t grown to hate it yet. She had worked hard to get where she
was and wasn’t quite sure she was ready to give it up and move to
Minnesota.
Scarlatti smiled at O’Rourke and asked,
“So, did you see me on TV yesterday?”
The smile disappeared from O’Rourke’s
mouth. “What was that all about? You know how much I hate
publicity.” O’Rourke changed his voice and started to mimic her, “
‘Mr. President, Congressman O’Rourke says your budget is stuffed
with more pork than a Jimmy Dean sausage.’ Come on, Liz, I had
reporters calling my office all afternoon.” O’Rourke had been mad
as hell yesterday when he saw her get up at the press conference
and quote him, but now, sitting in front of her, all that anger was
gone.
“Well, I’m sorry, Michael, you’re a public
figure, and what you say is news.”
“First of all, I’m not eligible, and I
have no control over what some flighty gossip columnist writes.
With you, that’s a different story. All I’m asking is that in the
future we keep our relationship a little
more private. What is
said when we’re in bed together stays between you and
me.”
Scarlatti leaned forward. “If that’s what
you really want, I will respect it, but I’ll never understand your
aversion to the press. You’re the only politician I know who
consciously tries to stay out of the
limelight.”
“Liz, we’ve been over this before. Let’s
not go over it again.” Michael gave her a forced smile and then
said, “By the way, congratulations! You looked very good yesterday.
You were the only one who challenged him. The rest of those pansies
rolled over and gave him nice, easy
questions.”
“That’s why they get called on. Those
press conferences are the biggest scams. The president calls on the
same people every time because he knows they’ll toss him a nice big
fat one.”
The president was sitting behind his desk
in the Oval Office wearing a dark suit, striped tie, and white
shirt. Pieces of Kleenex were stuffed between his collar and neck
as a woman stood over him and applied makeup to his face. Stu
Garret loomed over the other shoulder and read off a list of
last-minute reminders. Ted Hopkinson was in the midst of a final
check to see that everything was in place. In five minutes they
would be live in front of the nation.
Garret waved away the woman who was doing
the makeup. “That’s enough. He looks fine! . . . Now, Jim,
remember, start out looking somber. We want to show them that
you’re in pain. Stay kind of slouched over during the first part,
like you did during the last rehearsal. When we get to the last part, about
democracy and the founders of this country, I want you to become
more stiff and rigid. Sit up straight, but don’t pound your fist on
the desk like you did during the last rehearsal. It comes off a
little too strong. Just stick with your old standby. Pull that arm
in tight and shake your fist at the camera. Not too fast. Shake it
slow and deliberately, like you’re emphasizing every word.” Garret
mimicked the move.
Hopkinson approached and pulled the
Kleenex out from under the president’s collar. “Sir, you know the
routine. Please don’t touch your face, your shirt, or your tie. The
makeup will smear and we’re going to be live in minutes.”
Scarlatti and O’Rourke were glancing at
their menus, and discussing the assassinations, when the subdued
roar of the Friday-night crowd dropped to a hushed silence. When
they looked up, the president’s face was on every TV in the bar.
Several people made sarcastic remarks and were shouted down by the
other patrons. The president started to
speak.
“Good evening. I will be very brief and to
the point tonight. It is with deep sorrow that I come to you, to
discuss a great loss to our nation . . . the tragic deaths of
Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs. . . .
These three great statesmen have given over eighty years of service
to the people of America. During that time, they fought with
passion for the things they believed in: freedom, democracy, and
the welfare of every man, woman, and child in America. Their careers
were long and illustrious. Between them, they authored hundreds of
bills that have helped make America a better place to live and
work. Their leadership, guidance, and wisdom will be greatly missed
in the hallowed halls of Congress, and I will greatly miss their
friendship.” The president looked down for a moment and paused. “I
would ask all of you, my fellow Americans, to keep Congressman
Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, Senator Downs, and their families in
your prayers. They were not perfect; none of us are. Yet they
overcame their imperfections and gave everything they had to their
country and their fellow countrymen. For this, we will always be
indebted to them.” The president paused again, his face drawn,
staring into the camera.
“We, in the nation’s capital, are in shock
over the senseless, violent murders that were committed this
morning. We are a very close group. Many of us have worked beside
each other for decades. I, myself, have known Congressman
Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs for over thirty
years. I have met their wives and children. I have watched their
children grow up, get married, and have children of their own. It
is extremely painful for us to see three men, who have given so
much, struck down in one senseless flurry of violence.” Again, the
president looked down and paused for a moment. When he looked back
up, he picked up a piece of paper and held it up to the
camera.
“Many of you are aware of this letter that
was received by the media today. The FBI has informed
me there is a very good
chance this letter is from the group that committed the murders of
Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs. The
FBI also believes there is a very good chance this letter was sent
as a piece of disinformation, sent to lead the investigation in the
wrong direction. Due to the investigation taking place, I cannot
expand on this any further. All I can say for now is that FBI
director Roach has assured me that the terrorists who killed these
defenseless men will be caught and brought to
justice.”
The president waved the letter in the air
and sat more upright. “The people who committed this crime
represent the antithesis of democracy. They represent tyranny. What
happened this morning was not just the murder of three important
politicians. It was an attack on the United States of America. It
was an assault on the ideals of democracy. Our country was founded
by men and women who fled the tyranny of monarchies and
dictatorships from all over the world. They made America a place
where everyone could have a say in how the country was run: a
government for the people, by the people, and of the people. Over
the years, we have fought in countless wars defending freedom and
democracy. Millions of American men and women have died so that we
could continue to live free, to have a say in how our government
works, so that democracy could flourish!” The president became more
animated.
“The cruel and inhumane murders that were
perpetrated this morning represent what those millions of Americans
died fighting against. They were acts of
tyranny, the harsh,
violent, and forceful rule of the few over the many. Democracy and
diversity have made America great. We are great because everyone
has had a say, not because a militant few have shoved their beliefs
and ideals down the throats of the rest of the country. Even if the
demands of this letter were genuine, which we do not think they
are, I could not accept them. If you, the American people, want to
make changes in the way your government is run, those changes must
take place in a peaceful and democratic way. They must take place
within our current legislative and legal system. You have chosen me
to be your president, and I have taken an oath to uphold the laws
of this land and to protect the national security of
America.
“The people who committed these crimes are
terrorists and cowards. I will continue the policy of my
predecessors. I will not deal with terrorists. The FBI, along with
the cooperation of our other law enforcement and intelligence
agencies, will hunt these animals down and put them behind bars.
Many Americans have died fighting for democracy. Congressman
Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs are three more
names that will be added to that long and noble list. They were
patriots who not only believed in democracy and freedom, who not
only lived and enjoyed the fruits of democracy and freedom, they
were men who fought for democracy and freedom so the rest of us
could enjoy it.
“The deaths of these three great Americans
are a tragedy and loss to our entire nation, but America is a
country that has suffered many losses in her long
and glorious battle to
sustain freedom. Throughout our history we have been faced with
great trials and tribulations. We have, as a nation, always risen
above these obstacles and emerged stronger! Next week, we will, as
a nation, bury these three honorable men. We will mourn their
deaths as a country, and then we will do as they would have
wished.” The president picked his right hand off the desk and
clenched his fist. Continuing to speak, he slowly thrust it
forward, toward the camera. “America and democracy are too big and
good to be brought down by tyranny. We will push on, we will
persevere, we will overcome!” There was a long pause as he
continued to stare into the camera and let the words he’d spoken
hang, and then in closing he said, “Good night, and may God bless
each of you.”