“How much different is it from what my predecessors have done?” Taylor argued. “You gave me the lecture yourself. So the big difference is they fed radio and TV shows to get and stay elected. Remember the conservative commentator who was paid in ‘04? Whole agendas were pushed without disclosing that fact. We’ll just be feeding a reporter a true story to catch a fucking killer.”
Even Bernsie had to take note of the difference.
“Well then, gentlemen,” Morgan Taylor said, “Mr. O’Connell doesn’t have an end to his Pulitzer prize-winning tome yet. Why don’t we help him find it?”
O’Connell suddenly shivered. He clenched his fists and held his breath. It was as if a bolt of lightning electrified him with awareness. He stared out at the rest of the patrons. Everyone was calm, self-absorbed, and unaware of his epiphany.
The words! He tore through The Times trying to find the page again. He went so fast he missed it the first time. There! He patted down the page. Son of a bitch! Everything connected: What the old Russian said and what he meant…the political implication and the tremendous impact on the country.
It was there in his own newspaper — in bold Times New Roman over the otherwise blank page: the last two words of a simple print advertisement. The first word, uttered by the Russian; the second word, which completed the thought. Connected, they gave him his answer. Strong Nation.
Chapter 60
“Good morning, Mr. President. Early day?”
“They’re all early, and they’re rarely good,” Morgan Taylor joked. “How’s the president doing?” he asked the head cardiologist on Henry Lamden’s team.
“A little stronger. You’ll be starting the day for him. Mrs. Lamden doesn’t usually come by until oh-nine-hundred these days.”
The doctor led Morgan Taylor to President Lamden’s heavily guarded room. The president was sleeping, but he had more color in his face than the last visit. Taylor gently rested his hand on Lamden’s arm. “Henry,” he whispered.
Lamden stirred, opened his eyes, and slowly focused on his visitor. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Have you ruined everything yet?”
“No, but I haven’t been at it long enough. Give me time.” Taylor wished he hadn’t said that. “How you doing?”
“Been a lot better. But that’s when I was twenty. It’s been downhill from there.”
“Oh, cut the crap, you’ll be back in the hot seat. I’m just keeping the damned thing warm for you.”
Lamden breathed deeply. “Not so sure, Morgan. The doctors may want to go back in.” He’d already had quadruple bypass surgery two weeks after the heart attack. “They’re not saying very much. Too afraid of what the stock market will do or that you’ll load the place back up with your Republican friends.”
Morgan Taylor laughed, but he actually wanted to have a serious conversation. He stepped away from the bed and quietly asked the doctor, “Can you give us a few minutes?”
“Certainly, Mr. President. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Once they were alone, Taylor pulled a chair over to Lamden’s bed. “Henry, I’m heading to Australia in a couple of hours and I want to talk over some strategy.”
“Oh?”
“I have a two-stage plan for the conference that will play a whole helluva lot better if it’s from both of us.”
“A plan? Does Foss know anything? It’s his ball game.”
“No, but I have a feeling he won’t be the problem. It’s some of the others.” Taylor explained what he had in mind. It actually made Henry Lamden sit up.
“Mr. President.”
Lt. Eric Ross was at the base of the gangplank to greet him. “Afternoon, Rossy. Everything shipshape?”
“Yes, sir. Next stop Honolulu. Then onto Sydney.”
“You’re with us the whole way?” the president asked.
“I wouldn’t miss this trip for the world.”
Part III
Chapter 61
After a short discussion, it was decided that a Pentagon spokesperson would make the call to The New York Times reporter.
“Mr. O’Connell, this is Nanette Lambert with the Army Office of Public Affairs. I’d like to give you first crack at a story.”
O’Connell hated when some government functionary called in with a useless pitch. He blamed himself for even answering. “Sorry to waste your time, but I’m on a deadline.” O’Connell was already sorting through his initial Internet searches on Strong and he definitely didn’t want to be distracted by a pitch on a puff piece. Besides, he was miffed Taylor never called him back. “I’m not the one you want anyway. You need to speak to someone in features.”
“Mr. O’Connell, you are the right person. The story concerns an investigation. That’s something of your specialty,” the career officer explained.
Investigation definitely caught his attention. O’Connell clicked to a clean screen on his computer to make notes. “On the record, Ms…?”
“Lambert, Nanette Lambert. Lt. Lambert. And no. Call it deep background. The rest is up to you. Agreed?”
O’Connell thought for a requisite moment. “Agreed.”
“Okay, in brief, we’re reopening an inquiry into a bombing in Baghdad that occurred a number of years ago. A special forces team went into an apartment building. The entire team was killed. Do you recall the story?”
“Not off-hand.”
Lambert read the next words off a script. She needed to get it right. “All the officers and enlisted men were accounted for — except one. We’re unlocking the files.” She stopped there to allow O’Connell to catch up on his keyboard.
“Where did you say you’re calling from?”
“The Pentagon. Army Office of Public Affairs. I am an unnamed source. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes. And when was this? I’ll need dates.”
“I’ll give you all the basics.”
“Why are you reopening this particular investigation?” Lambert read again from her script.
“There were some unanswered questions. We’re doing this on behalf of the family of one of the soldiers.”
“And his name is?”
“Lt. Richard Cooper. That’s Cooper. C-o-o-p-e-r.”
O’Connell rested his hands on the computer keys. A bell went off: a bell he didn’t like. He suddenly felt he was being used. “Why me?”
“We thought this was your kind of story, Mr. O’Connell.”
“And who exactly is the we?”
“Off the record?”
“If that’s the only way to get it.”
“Off the record, Mr. O’Connell, a friend across the river.”
“Morning, Colonel.”
“Well, good morning, Mr. President,” Colonel Peter Lewis said. “Mind if I join you?”
Morgan Taylor stepped into the cockpit. “Our pleasure.” Lewis got an agreeable nod from his co-pilot, Air Force captain Barnard Agins.
“Take a seat, Mr. President,” Agins said. “I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs.” The co-pilot removed his headphones and slid his seat back. The president stepped to the side, allowing Agins to pass. In thanks, he patted him on the back.
Morgan Taylor slid into the seat and scanned the display. He didn’t need any explanations. Taylor kept current with flight ops, if only through computer simulators. He read the fuel gauge and altimeter and precisely saw where they were via the GPS — over the South Pacific