As Alex’s gaze swept across the thousands of faces, he noted quite a few Middle Easterners. They were dressed much like everyone else around them. They carried signs and sported “Reelect Brennan” buttons and appeared to be just like the rest of the happy, proud and patriotic crowd. However, Alex had no way of knowing that some of these people were not happy or proud or patriotic.
Captain Jack’s men were organized in various pockets throughout the crowd so that their fire would cover maximum ground in front of the podium area. They’d all already keyed on the hook-handed National Guardsman. It had been easy after that, since the man stayed planted at the rope line waiting his turn with the president.
Indeed, they were all waiting for James Brennan.
At about the time Air Force One had been making its final approach into Pittsburgh a sleek black chopper was taking off from a helipad in downtown New York City and heading south. Next to the pilot sat another man dressed in a flight suit. In one of the seats in back was Tom Hemingway. In his hand he held a portable television set that he was watching intently. The crowds in Brennan were very large, and the grounds were already packed. That was what worried Hemingway most of all. The crowd.
He checked his watch and told the pilot to hit it. The chopper shot across the Manhattan cityscape.
For the past two hours Djamila had been on an outing with the children. As she pulled the van into the Franklins’ driveway, her plan was to make them all a quick lunch and then it would be time to go. As she opened the door, carrying the baby on her hip with the two toddlers in her wake, she received a shock so paralyzing that she almost dropped the baby.
Lori Franklin was talking on the phone in the foyer, still dressed in her tennis outfit, although she was barefoot. She smiled at Djamila and motioned that she would be done with the call in a minute.
When she clicked off, Djamila immediately said, “Miss, I not expect you home. You say you at club for tennis and then lunch there.”
Franklin dropped to her knees and gave her sons big hugs as they rushed to her. Then she took the baby from Djamila.
“I know, Djamila, but I changed my mind. I was talking with some of my friends from the club, and they’re going to the dedication today. So I decided to go too.” She bent down and said to her two oldest boys, “And you’re going too.”
Djamila drew in a sharp breath. “You take them?”
Franklin stood and waved the baby’s dimpled fist with her hand. “And this little guy.” She cooed to the baby. “You wanna see the president? You wanna?” She looked at Djamila. “It’ll be fun. And it’s not like the president comes to town every day.”
“You go to dedication?” Djamila said in a soft, disbelieving voice.
“Well, I voted for him, even if George thinks he’s an idiot. That’s between you and me,” she added.
“But, miss, there will be large crowd there. I read in papers. Do you think it good to take the boys? They are so small and—”
“I know, I thought that too. But then I realized it would be such a wonderful experience for them, even if they don’t remember it. When they grow up, the boys can say they were there. Now I’m going to grab a quick shower. I thought we could get lunch beforehand—”
“We?” Djamila said. “You want me to come?”
“Well, of course, I’ll need help with the strollers and the rest of their stuff. And you’re right about the crowds, so I’ll need an extra pair of eyes and hands to make sure the boys don’t get lost.”
“But I have much to do here,” Djamila said dully, as if this moment she cared about housework.
“Don’t be silly. This will be a wonderful experience for you too, Djamila. You’ll see firsthand what really makes this country so great. You know, we might even get to meet the president. George will eat his heart out even if he says he doesn’t like Brennan.”
Franklin went upstairs to shower and change. Djamila sat down in a chair to steady herself. The oldest boy tugged on her shirt, asking her to come to the playroom with them. At first Djamila resisted but finally she went. As she heard the shower start in Franklin’s bathroom, she knew that she needed some time to think.
She put the baby in the playpen and spent some time with the older boys. Then she went to the bathroom and ran some cold water over her face. The shower was still running upstairs. Djamila knew that Franklin didn’t take quick showers.
Finally, Djamila knew there was no way around it. She went to get her purse.
“A storm is coming,” she said to herself, practicing it before she had to say it for real on her cell phone. It was four simple words and then her problem would be over, and still her skin tingled. It would perhaps not be such a good resolution for Lori Franklin, who had picked today of all days to do something with her sons.
When she saw it, her heart nearly stopped. Her purse was turned upside down on the floor. She’d stupidly left it on the chair and forgotten to move it to higher ground. She dropped to her knees and searched through the objects strewn there. Her cell phone! Where was her cell phone?
She raced to the playroom and found the oldest boy, Timmy, the one who had made a habit of taking things from her purse until she started putting it out of reach. She grabbed up the boy and tried to say in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Where is Nana’s phone, Timmy, you naughty boy. You take Nana’s phone again?”
The boy nodded and smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
“Okay, you naughty boy, you take Nana to her phone. Nana needs her phone. You show me, okay?”
Only he clearly didn’t remember where he’d put it. They searched for ten minutes as the boy led her to one spot and then another. With each failure Djamila’s spirits dropped lower and lower. And then she heard it: The shower stopped. She looked at her watch. She had to leave very soon, or she would be off schedule. Her mind raced. Then she had the solution: She could use the Franklins’ phone to call her cell phone and the ringing sound would tell her where it was. She punched in the number as she walked around the house. However, she heard nothing. Timmy must have hit the silent button on her phone when he’d taken it. She had another thought. She would simply make the calls using the Franklins’ telephone. She started to dial and then realized that would not work. The man on the other end of the phone would not answer. This person, she had been told, would only take the call if Djamila’s name and number came up on the caller ID screen. She ran to the front window and looked out. Could she see him? Could she signal to him? But she saw no one. No one. She was all alone.
She heard feet moving around upstairs. She ran back into the kitchen and opened one of the drawers. Djamila slid out a steak knife and quietly made her way upstairs, where she knocked softly on Franklin’s door.
“Yes?”
“Miss?”
“You can come in.”
She opened the door, closed and locked it behind her. Then she saw that Franklin was wrapped in a towel and was putting an assortment of clothes on her bed.
She glanced up at Djamila. “I should’ve given myself more time to pick out something. Are the boys ready?”
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
“Miss, I really think it better that you go alone. The boys, they stay with me.”
“Nonsense, Djamila,” Franklin replied. “We’ll all go. Now, do you think the green or the blue?” She held up each outfit.