The deep chopping sound filtering through the trees drew him out of his reverie. Although this sound was not uncommon in a spot where weekend warriors and reservists in the National Guard ferried back and forth from Stuart AFB, Hiccock immediately identified the distinctive sound of a Sikorsky, as would anyone from D.C. Turbo fans and heavy rotors broke over the forest canopy, and Bill knew enough to get his dad and himself back up to the house.
Reynolds was already on the porch, standing next to his mom who stood gaping at the huge green-and-white hulk of Marine One, the president’s personal helicopter. Hiccock introduced the COS to his father then asked, “Catching up on some fishing, Ray?”
“Actually we’re here to catch the one that got away.” Ray nodded to the copter as the president descended the stairs.
Alice Hiccock let out a small gasp. “I better make a fresh pot.” She primped her hair and went inside.
The president, with two agents flanking him, strode up to the porch, taking in the lush green foliage all around.
“Sorry to interrupt your ‘leave of absence,’ Hiccock, but I need to talk to you.” He turned and held out his hand to the senior Hiccock. “Hello. You must be William’s father.”
“Yes, Sir. Harry Hiccock, Sir. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you. It’s a beautiful spot. It has to be a great place to fish. I was admiring the streams and inlets from the air.”
“Do you fly cast, Sir? Because this is the best place on the planet for that.”
“As the not-so-favorite son of the Great State of Ohio, forgive me if I don’t give you the presidential endorsement on that statement. But I will say you might have the second best.”
“You two always get together like this just to talk fishing?” Bill said, thinking he could get away with a little sarcasm in front of the two most important authority figures in his life.
“Billy!” his father admonished, almost as if to tell him to go play out back.
“Your son’s right, Harry. You and I will have to trade fish stories another time.” He nodded toward the tree line. “Take a walk, Bill?”
With the two Secret Service agents in tow, they made their way to a small clearing.
“I’m afraid Tate’s got nothing, Bill. I am in a real pressure cooker here.”
“It wasn’t the Sabot Society?”
“Hell, we don’t even know if they’re responsible for anything other than the Long Island bombing. Just a bunch of copycat, misdirected wackos if you ask me.”
“Sorry it’s not over, Sir.”
“I need you back on the team.”
“Team?”
“I’ve had one of those long father-son talks with Tate. I told him I’d have his father and his son shot at dawn if he interfered with you again.”
“I don’t know … he’s a powerful enemy, Sir.”
“I’m pretty powerful myself if you get on my shit side, son.” The president handed Bill a redlined folder. “Here, we drew this up. Take a minute and read it. I’m going to have a cup of your mom’s coffee.”
Five minutes later, the screen door slammed behind Hiccock as he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he didn’t see what he just saw. There at the kitchen table was the Commander in Chief of the most powerful nation on earth, held prisoner by Alice Hiccock and her “alblum”—the photographic history of the Hiccock clan lovingly preserved in hermetically sealed plastic pages. It used to make William cringe when she opened it for new girlfriends. But this!
“And here’s William on his second, or was it his third?”
The president glanced up from the book with a look that begged “Shoot me now.” Hiccock came to the rescue.
“Mom, you know this could be considered cruel and unusual punishment of a head of state.”
“Oh, nonsense, he’s a family man. I am sure he’s proud of his family, too.”
“I didn’t bring any pictures, but I’ll get my library to send some.”
“Mom?” Hiccock gestured for her to take the book away. She did.
“Would you like some more nuts or some dried fruit?” she said to her guest.
“Yeah, take some back to Washington with you, we keep getting tons of the stuff,” the senior Hiccock offered.
Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. How did the grateful Mario and Shelly ever find out his parents’ address?
“No thank you, Alice.” His eyes zeroed in on Bill. “Well?”
Hiccock grinned and tapped the redlined folder. “Catchy name.”
Air Force One lifted off from the old Stuart AFB heading back to Washington, ending its unannounced “little field trip.” In the front, right behind the president’s cabin, Hiccock had dozed off. On his lap was the document folder the president had handed him, the contents of which set new ground rules for Hiccock and his team. Included as well were the president’s executive orders completely relinquishing all FBI resources regarding the current domestic terrorism over to Hiccock. A passing Air Force sergeant cabin attendant collected the papers, which were perilously close to sliding off Hiccock’s lap, and placed them on his side table. She noticed the code name on the redlined cover and thought it odd: OPERATION QUARTERBACK.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Back in the white house office, Hiccock and Janice were settling in again. Janice toyed with a hair clip that was a new gift from Bill’s mother.
“Your mom always had great taste for estate jewelry. How’s her sciatica?”
“She didn’t mention it and I didn’t ask.”
“Did she ask about me?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Which words did she use?”
“She saw in the news that you and I were working together.”
“And …”
Bill sighed. “And she said it was good to see the two of us back together again.”
“What did you say?”
“Janice, my folks love you. They made that very clear after our divorce. So naturally …”
“Naturally.”
Bill started to unpack some files.
Janice tried the clip in her hair. “What do you think?” she said when she was finished.
“I think working together has been good for us,” Bill said without looking up, not sure he could look up.
“I meant the hair clip, but do go on.”
Bill closed his eyes and then turned to Janice. “There’s nothing more to say.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Bill could feel his skin warming. He’d stumbled around women before … but this was Janice. “What exactly is going on here?”
Janice opened her mouth to speak just as the phone rang. Bill reached for it quickly.
“Let me call you back,” he said a few moments later to the falling away mouthpiece as he abruptly hung up the phone. The sound of someone yelling was cut off by the receiver hitting the cradle.
“What was that all about?”
“The FBI interviewed Martha Krummel about the Sabot Society. She said what my dad said: she thought it was a Jewish group. They grilled her pretty good and she is totally not connected to any Sabot, Bernard Keyes, or anyone else in that organization. Now they want to embrace the ‘B’ part of our theory. Your ‘bi-stable concurrent schizo ditzo’ stuff and my ‘the computer made me do it’ hypothesis. They’d like us to prove that she is a part of Sabot but can’t remember anything about it.”
“I see. So now our whole investigation has been relegated to little more than an argument of convenience for the FBI. Was that Joey?”
“No, Tate.” Hiccock didn’t let his satisfaction show — too much.
“Okay, quarterback, what’s the play?”
“I’m getting ready for the Cabinet briefing in one hour. Then we are going to get you, me, and Kronos back to the Admiral’s. I’ll worry about the FBI later. Janice, do me a favor and check if Cheryl got that MoneyTime videotape for me?”