Authors: Tim LaHaye
A dozen Hewbright campaign staffers were crowded into the greenroom adjoining the stage. Their faces revealed a positive tension, a sense of anticipation and excitement. Senator Hewbright was about to deliver a speech on the economy to the convention of small business associations, a speech that would set the tone for his entire campaign. This was his Rubicon moment.
Senator Hewbright was seated in a semicircle of folding chairs, surrounded by his top advisors: national campaign manager, George Caulfield; his assistant, Katrena Amid; his domestic policy advisors, two of whom not only had PhDs in economics but also experience in managing Fortune 500 companies; his foreign policy guru, Winston Garvey; his assistant foreign policy advisor, Zeta Milla, and several others. In the corner was Agent Owens, detailed by the Secret Service to protect the senator.
In another corner, a small portable Internet television was tuned to several news channels in the quadrants of its screen, but the sound had been muted.
“Well, friends,” Hewbright led off, looking more relaxed than his staff as he lounged in the folding chair, “any last-minute advice for this old political warhorse before I deliver my five-point plan to save America from financial collapse?”
There were a few nervous chuckles. George Caulfield spoke first. “You’ll knock ‘em dead, chief.”
One of his economic advisors said, “Senator, this plan is wonderfully simple — voters will grasp it immediately — yet keyed to the five most important areas of our failing economy. I think we’ve got a winner on this.” Then he added with a smile, “And not just because I helped draft it …” A few polite laughs followed.
Caulfield pointed to the door leading to the mammoth convention hall. “We’ve got media from every news outlet out there. They can’t ignore us this time. Your plan to rescue America’s financial health is going to be the tipping point. Tulrude’s going to have to really scramble after tonight.” But as he spoke, the campaign manager pointed to the portable web TV in the corner. “Hey, Tulrude’s speech in Omaha is about to begin.” He called for someone to turn the sound up. The group turned their chairs around to face the television set.
President Tulrude was mounting the podium to an explosion of applause in the union hall. She made a few comments about her love of Nebraska and cracked a joke about the mayor of Omaha, who was seated on the dais behind her. When the laughter died down she began in earnest.
“I know the press reports indicated that I would be talking about national security tonight, but I have something more important to discuss — the state of our national economy.”
George Caulfield whipped around and threw a quick glance to Senator Hewbright, but the candidate looked relaxed, a little amused at the seeming coincidence.
Tulrude continued, “Tonight I am revealing the solution for our national financial tragedy. I inherited this state of affairs when I entered the Oval Office. But no matter — I am here to fix it. I assure you,” she said, clasping her hands across her chest as if in prayer, “that my five-point plan to save America’s economy will create a new financial renaissance in our nation.”
Caulfield thrust an index finger at the television screen and mouthed a word, but nothing came out. Then a look of fury burst over his face.
“Hold on, George,” Hewbright said, “give our opponent a chance. We don’t know what five points she’s talking about.”
As Tulrude delivered her version of the first two parts of her plan, it became apparent that they were the same as Hewbright’s, as if she had read it verbatim from the confidential Hewbright campaign playbook. Caulfield leaped to his feet, yanked his Allfone out of his pocket, and hit Multiple Quick-dial.
Hewbright was frozen. In an instant, his national campaign-intelligence manager in Detroit and his two assistants in Des Moines were all conferenced in.
Caulfield yelled into his cell. “Tell me how this happened!”
His intel manager in Detroit screamed back. “I’m watching right now. This is outrageous. I have no idea how Tulrude stole our five-point economic speech, but we’re going to find out.”
After clicking off his Allfone, Caulfield paced the room, waving his arms. “There’s a massive security failure in our organization. I’m telling you, there’s a strategic leak somewhere. This is criminal.”
Hewbright was no longer lounging in his chair. He was straight-backed and leaning forward with his forearms tightly on his thighs, his fists clenched. “No question about it, George.”
Katrena Amid was blinking and shrugging her shoulders. “Okay, is this some kind of Watergate break-in? Did someone from Tulrude’s outfit break into one of our rooms and get hold of our notes?”
Still stunned, Hewbright could feel the tension mounting.
Zeta Milla laughed coarsely at Amid’s comment. “Katrena are you kidding? This is the twenty-first century. Political operatives don’t have to do burglary anymore. Wake up —”
“Oh?” Amid shouted back, “then why don’t you tell us how they could have done this.”
“Everything in politics is driven by new media technology. Even in the so-called Third World countries, geopolitical movements are being formed at the speed of light through Allfone links and insta-news feeds. First in the Middle East and now in South and Central America. By the way, Katrena, that’s my area of expertise.”
Hewbright’s brow was wrinkled. He was riveted to Zeta’s every word. “So, what’s your theory?”
“If it was up to me,” Zeta said softly, “I would have your IT chief
check every one of your key media-tech devices, starting with your Allfones. Hank, did you put those five points onto the memo-memory-drive of your Allfone?”
“Yes,” Hewbright said, finally breaking his silence, “but it’s encrypted — super secure.”
Caulfield hit his Quick-dial again. In a second he had their traveling media-tech man on the line. He had been eating a fast-food burger out in the hallway of the convention center. In three minutes he came huffing and puffing into the greenroom, his tie loosened and the remaining half of his burger in a wrapper in his hand.
In twenty minutes, after working on the senator’s Allfone, the IT guy summoned Hewbright and George Caulfield to the corner of the greenroom to talk. Speaking in a terse whisper, he said, “Okay. Senator, I’ve run through all the programs on your memo-memory-drive, and here’s the deal. I’m pretty sure — no, cancel that — I’m absolutely sure that your Allfone’s been hacked.”
Caulfield looked around the room until he spotted the Secret Service agent. He said to Hewbright, “Can we bring Agent Owens in on this? I think it’s a criminal matter.”
Hewbright shook his head. “I don’t think so. Secret Service is solely for physical protection. They don’t get into criminal investigations of political dirty tricks. That’s the FBI’s territory.”
The IT guy handed Hewbright back his Allfone. The senator looked down at the device. “Well, George,” he said to his campaign manager, “we’ve got an enemy in the camp — and I’m talking very, very close by.”
Cal had been down in the hotel’s fitness room, working out with free weights. Physical conditioning had been one of his regular routines for the last few years. After that he stopped by his hotel room to check his Facebook page on his laptop. A Captain Jimmy Louder was reaching out to him. Cal had to think a minute. Then he remembered.
Oh, yeah, you’re the pilot that my dad helped to rescue. You just got the Medal of Honor. Cool. I’m absolutely friending you
.
After Cal finished adding Captain Louder to his Facebook, he ambled over to his mother’s room and turned on the Internet TV. After all, of the two televisions in their suite, hers had the bigger screen. Now he was standing in his sweats in front of it. He and Abigail had extended their stay after her meeting with the former federal prosecutor. She asked her former law firm in D.C. if she could use their offices to crank out some quick legal papers on Joshua’s case while she was in town, and her former senior partner and sometime personal lawyer, Harry Smythe, was glad to oblige.
Silently, Cal had been struggling with something. After Virgil Corland had shared his suspicions that Tulrude’s physician — and probably Tulrude herself — had plotted to sabotage his medical recovery, Cal planned on sharing the information with his mother. But things kept getting in the way. He hadn’t told his mother about his meetings with Corland. Up to now Cal didn’t think he needed to check
in with Abigail before responding to Corland’s surprising invitations to meet. But now that a former president was accusing his successor of attempted murder, Cal thought now might be the time to consult with the acting chair of the Roundtable — even if that person was his mother. He also thought he should mention his Facebook contact from Captain Louder.
Just then something jumped off the TV screen. Cal couldn’t believe it. “Hey, Mom — look at these pictures. Another earthquake …”
Abigail glanced over. The camera was panning over downtown Minneapolis. Then it focused on a skyscraper — the fifty-seven-story IDS Tower. The tower swayed and shimmied, and the upper floors began to collapse. The video camera caught the very moment when the windows began to shatter, sending a shower of glass onto the street below.
“Can you believe it?” Cal asked. “Earthquakes in Minnesota!”
Abigail’s face looked grim, but she was surprisingly unperturbed. “Yes, I can,” Abigail said quietly from the wrap-around couch. Her eyes darted back to her Allfone. “I certainly can believe it. We’re going to see more of it, Cal. Add it up. We’ve had three major earthquakes in the U.S. in the last two months.”
She reread the text in the little window of her Allfone. There was a tilt to her head, as if it had grown heavy from some invisible burden. Cal glanced away from the TV long enough to notice that. He asked what she was reading. Abigail explained, “First, I’ve got a copy of the motion papers filed by the Department of Justice, asking the court of appeals to strike the affidavit I just filed with this new evidence of prosecution misconduct in your dad’s case — moving the court to disregard it completely. You know, all that information I received from Harley Collingwood.”
“That can’t be a surprise.”
“No, not really,” Abigail said. “They’re arguing that the information is blocked by attorney-client privilege between Collingwood and his prior employer — the United States government.”
“So, is there more?” Cal asked.
“I also just received an instant-memo from the court, an order for a hearing.”
“Is there a date for oral argument?”
“Yes. I filed for an expedited hearing, asked that the date for oral argument be moved up as quickly as possible.” But there was a look of desperation on her face. “Now I feel pretty foolish. I filed that request yesterday with the court. At the same time I filed the affidavit from Collingwood about the blatant corruption by the attorney general’s office.”
Something didn’t make sense to Cal. “Wait a minute. What’s the problem?”
“I didn’t think it would come so soon. I thought I would have some time to figure things out.”
“Like what?”
“The security entrance at the U.S. Courthouse in Washington. How am I going to get into the building, get past security, to argue the case? I don’t have a BIDTag. They’ll stop me at the scanner, and I’ll be taken into custody. I’ll never get into the courtroom.”
Now it was starkly clear to Cal. He had been an informal law clerk for the Roundtable while he was waiting to start law school. So his mother had brought him into the inner workings of her wrangling with the first criminal-defense firm that had represented Joshua. Now he saw the handwriting on the wall. He wondered whether his mother regretted having terminated her husband’s last set of lawyers. Yes, they had been begging her to talk to Joshua and to pressure him into accepting a plea deal. When Joshua learned about that, he instructed Abigail to dump all of them. But now Cal realized that those lawyers would at least be able to appear before the hearing that was now only three days away.
Cal thought out loud, “Mom, without a BIDTag, you’d have to be a Houdini to appear at the oral arguments yourself, seventy-two hours from now.” Cal grimaced. “Wow.”
Abigail hit the Quick-dial function on her Allfone and called her husband’s previous lawyers. She asked to speak to the partner in the office who had been handling Joshua’s case until Abigail had fired him.
She drummed her fingers while she was on hold. She motioned for Cal to conference-in with his own Allfone. He snatched his cell and clicked into the call. After listening to a few more minutes of Muzak, the lawyer picked up. He asked Abigail why she was calling. She explained about the appeals hearing coming up in seventy-two hours. “Things have changed dramatically. I’ve filed an affidavit from Harley Collingwood, a former member of the prosecution team. This is what we’ve been looking for. A confession, proving that the attorney general’s office coerced false testimony from a key witness.”
“And now you want us back on the case?”
Abigail swallowed hard. “That’s why I called. I need you to argue it. Oral argument is scheduled in three days. I realize this is extremely short notice, but you’re the only ones — besides me — who know the details of this case.”
She didn’t have to wait long for the answer. “My partners and I half expected something like this, Abby, a last-minute plea to come back in. I just don’t think this is going to work.”
“You mean you’re not willing to make it work …”
“Something like that.” Then the lawyer halfheartedly added, “Why not ask for an extension?”
“I can’t. I’m the one who had asked for this hearing to be expedited. Now that they granted it — beyond anything I could have anticipated — I can’t retreat. It would make our case look shaky.”
“Sorry, Abby. Wish we could help you. But no one in this firm wants to touch your husband’s case with a ten-foot pole anymore. It’s too messy.”
Abigail said good-bye and clicked off her Allfone. She turned to Cal. “I suppose you’re going to say, ‘I told you so …’? You and Deb have questioned my decision to not get tagged.”
“I know you think it’s a biblical stand,” Cal said. “Don’t you worry that Deb and I did get tagged?”
“I explained it to you. You need it to get into law school and Deborah for her work.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
She shook her head. “Pray and then show up at the courthouse in
three days. If I’m blocked from arguing your dad’s case, I’ll go to jail, I suppose.”
Cal stood up straight. He ran his hands through his hair. A thought occurred to him. An all-important magic act was now starting to formulate in his head. “Mom, listen. I’ve got an idea. First, my mother’s
not
going to jail. Neither is my dad — especially for a crime he didn’t commit.”
Abigail gave a smile that was half pride, half wonderment.
Cal strode toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my laptop.”
“And?”
“I’ll tell you when I find what I’m looking for.”
At the door, he stopped as one more thought struck him. “Just answer this — are you willing to go all the way on this?”
“Meaning what?” she asked.
He shot back an answer that made sense only to him. “I mean — are you willing to consort with the
underground
?”