Scott Roarke 01 - Executive Actions Page 4

  Before the car had come to a complete stop the door opened and Lodge bounded out. More cheers. And everyone who was ready to march in the parade broke ranks. The high school marching band members. The Women’s Auxiliary. The Boy and Girl Scouts. The VFW members. They all raced over to see the presidential candidate for the simple reason that one day they could say they had touched Teddy Lodge. And Lodge let them.

  Geoff Newman smiled to Jenny as he helped her out of the car. “Just like Albany, Syracuse and Rochester. We’re going to take this state yet.”

  She basically ignored him. As much as she loved her husband, she recognized that he still trailed Governor Lamden. The endorsement from Governor Steven Poertner an hour earlier might help. But not enough. Nonetheless, she was proud. This was all a dress rehearsal for her husband’s run at the White House.

  The congressman jumped on top of the Towncar and waved. The cheers combined with the drum beat sounding like nonstop thunder. Lodge allowed it to continue unchecked for a good two minutes, jeopardizing Mitch Price’s schedule, but not everyone’s.

  The congressman touched his heart and extended his arm out to the crowd. They loved it. Lodge then eased himself from the roof to the hood and onto the ground. He whispered something to Lt. Brenner, who in turn pointed him to the bathroom. Newman accompanied him, with his arm on his shoulder.

  When they returned, Newman got a ride to Park Place and Lt. Brenner called a signal on his walkie-talkie. A moment later a large, loud fire department fog horn sounded from almost a mile up Warren Street. Brenner got in his squad car. Price checked his watch. Five minutes off his timetable. But Geoff Newman smiled as he checked his. Right on time. Schedules were important to him.

  Lodge found Jenny, took her hand and led her to the T-Bird convertible borrowed from Mitch Motors. “Lodge for President” banners adorned both sides.

  “Congressman, Mrs. Lodge, my name is Tommy Kenton. I’m Mayor of Hudson. And so pleased to welcome you.”

  “Mayor, it’s a pleasure. This is my wife, Jenny. And you’ve got a great town.”

  Kenton didn’t correct him. Hudson, was actually a chartered city. “Well, are you ready?” he asked.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be. Let’s say hello to Hudson, New York.”

  The mayor opened the door to the car, pulled the front seat forward, and gestured for the congressman and his wife to take their seats. Teddy hopped up to sit on the trunk; his feet hanging over the back seat. Even in her slim sheath, Jenny did the same.

  Mitch Price came over to shake hands. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Hope everything’s all right.”

  “Just perfect.”

  “We’ll get the vote out for you. That’s my job here. Mitch Price, Chairman of the Country Democratic Party,” he said introducing himself.

  “Mitch, it’s a great to meet you. I’ve heard great things. I have no doubt that you’ll deliver.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  There was another blast from the fire department fog horn. Price stepped aside and waved goodbye. The Mayor was ready to go. He looked in his rear view mirror and asked, “Are you sure you’re going to be safe sitting like that?”

  “You driving, Mayor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re a Democrat?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then I’m going to be in good hands.”

  The exchanged guaranteed two things. A smooth ride up his hill and another vote on Tuesday.

  Brenner started his lead car, and everyone assembled into the positions that Price had assigned. Then Brenner blasted his siren three times indicating they were rolling. The teenage drum major of the Hudson High School Bluehawks marching band shouted out his commands and the players eventually found their first note to Sousa’s 1889 “Washington Post March.”

  Sidney McAlister thought he heard the cymbals all the way from Front Street through the open window of his St. Charles room.

  The Hudson Register Star would report that it appeared as if all of Hudson was out, either lining the street or assembled at the park for the congressman’s speech. Grandparents, adults, children. They were all there and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. As the parade advanced, the firetrucks’ sirens blared. The Catskill High band segued into their rendition of “Star Wars,” and citizens waved their Lodge for President signs in absolute adoration.

  Jenny leaned across the seat and kissed Teddy. The photo op wasn’t missed by an AP photographer running alongside. Jenny wore a white linen dress with black piping and sling back high heels. Hand-crafted silver hoop earrings sparkled as they caught the early afternoon sun. The picture would be a vision of love and support.

  Chuck Wheaton got it on tape, too. The freelancer for WRGB-TV in Schenectady, shot “run-and-gun” style on his lightweight digital pro cam. He was the only paid videographer shooting the event. Everyone else had home video cameras. And there were a lot. Wheaton hoped for a few good sound bites from the congressman and another payday from the station. It helped supplement his income as an English teacher at Hudson High.

  Wheaton had staked out a head-on position in the park twenty feet back from the podium. He planted his tripod in place and paid one of his students twenty dollars to watch it. In the meantime, he ran along the parade route getting some good B-roll for the story that he’d uplink directly from his home edit bay in neighboring Claverack.

  Nine-tenths of a mile ahead—about twenty-five minutes up the parade route, Newman checked the seats to make sure the line of sight would be perfect. Six folding chairs were slightly arced around a podium microphone attached to a gooseneck extension. Sitting from left to right: Police Chief Carl Marelli, next to him Mayor Kenton, then Congressman Lodge, who would rise from the center seat and walk forward to speak. Mrs. Lodge would be to his left so he could easily address her, and Mrs. Kenton. Filling in the last chair would be Fire Commissioner Banks.

  “Are the seats all right?” Chief Marelli asked Newman.

  “The spacing is a little off,” he answered as he slipped the last two chairs to the left a bit. “It’s all about clean camera angles for the press. The background needs to drop off for the close-ups, the wide shots have to have people in the them.”

  “And where do you want me?”

  “Over here, Chief. First chair.” He sat Marelli down and shifted his chair a little more to angle into the crowd, with his back to the corner of Warren and Park Place. “This will keep you focused right on the crowd. I always like having an extra set of trained eyes watching,” Newman said.

  “I understand. We’ll have my boys surrounding the park as well.”

  “Thank you.” They could clearly hear the lead band approaching now. They were playing “Camelot” to a 2-4 marching beat. It reminded him of when he was a kid and John Kennedy was president.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Hudson, New York

  Park Place and Warren Street

  1:57 P.M.

  “Hello, Hudson!” bellowed Teddy Lodge. His huge smile broadcast his enthusiasm.

  WHUC, the local radio station, departed from weekend reruns of Dr. Laura and took the live feed. Another audio split went to Chuck Wheaton’s camera. And another to the amplifier.

  “Hello!” the crowd screamed back.

  It never failed. Even though he did it on all of his stops, this greeting always seemed spontaneous, and the next best thing to “the wave.”

  “Hello, Columbia County!” he exclaimed stepping back away from the microphone and inviting another response.

  “Hello, Teddy!”

  More cheers. More votes. Chuck Wheaton’s camera rolled on it all.

  When the crowd calmed down Teddy moved closer to the microphone. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been on the Taconic Turnpike and passed by at 55 miles per hour. Well maybe a little over 55,” he added getting a laugh. “And you know what? I’ve gotta slow down. You have a great town to call home…a beautiful county. Fifty-five…that’s way too fast. Fro
m now on, I’ll take it just like we did driving up Warren Street. Slow enough so that Jenny and I can see your faces.”

  Of course, the audience loved it all. And Jenny really liked when he included her. She also knew it was calculated to appeal to the family values constituency.

  “Here you are…giving up your Sunday for us…coming out for strangers from Vermont. Heck, this isn’t even Veterans Day, and you threw us a parade!”

  “We love you,” a woman shouted from the crowd. Teddy threw back a kiss.

  “Sorry honey,” he said to his wife. Jenny nodded and the hundreds of people laughed.

  But Congressman Lodge had to get back to his point. Back to what he rehearsed.

  “Well, here you all are telling me something amazing. You’re willing to give me something I don’t take lightly at all…a right granted to you in the Constitution of the United States…looks to me like you’re willing to give me your vote.”

  The cheers erupted and the high school band, now assembled behind him, played “Charge.”

  Lodge let it go on for a minute then quieted everyone down. “Thank you. You’re making it a very special day for me.”

  The applause started again. Geoff Newman checked his watch. He’d probably never seen Lodge more in his element. And he really wasn’t even on the page yet. He hoped his man would deliver his prepared comments with the same intensity. He also hoped he’d pick up some time. The news media had deadlines.

  Lodge stepped back to the applause and brought it down with the palm of his hands. “And let me tell you, just believe in me, because I believe in you.”

  “We do,” the audience yelled in one voice.

  Newman smiled. This was the congressman’s cue that he would transition into his prepared remarks.

  “You brought Hudson back from despair, from abandonment by industry, from abandonment by your state, and from abandonment by your federal government.

  “You discovered that your future lie’s in the experiences of your past. Just look at Warren Street, reinvested with life…from what? From antiques. From people hungering for something to hold onto that has meaning…that’s lasted…that takes them back home.” He’d delivered a run at his favorite string, triplets. Now for the first payoff.

  “You transformed Hudson. Columbia County. Your home…your community. Now I ask you to join me. Because there’s a lot more out there to work on. We can all be part of changing the world.”

  Years ago with a line like that men would have thrown their hats in the air. Today, men, women and children chanted an almost deafening chorus of “Ted-dy…Ted-dy…Ted-dy!”

  Lodge felt he was only beginning to hit his stride.

  “I’ll tell you what going to do,” he shouted. “Tell ya what I’m gonna do,” he said raising his voice even more. “Win or lose, I’m going to make that Hudson turn-off sign bigger…I’m going to make stopping in Hudson the thing to do!

  “And,” he shouted over the applause. “And if you do hire me…then book me some rooms at the St. Charles Hotel. Cause I’m comin’ back!”

  He saluted over at the hotel and another minute of cheers red-lined the audio meter on Wheaton’s camera.

  McAlister’s sized up the man at the microphone through his Colt scope. There wasn’t a bead of sweat on Lodge. The gunman sensed his intensity…his confidence…and through the optics, he could virtually feel Teddy Lodge’s breath.

  McAlister readied himself, gently squeezed the trigger and quietly said to himself, Bang.

  All was ready. The next time he would have the ambidextrous safety off his Galil SAR. He double checked the seal on the silencer and locked the cartridge loaded with the 5.56 x 45mm NATO ammunition. He put his eye back on the scope and began to take deep, relaxing breaths. Teddy was speaking slowly now.

  As he listened, McAlister ran a mental checklist one final time. Fingerprints: His room was clean. He was sure of that. Inside his room he’d worn latex gloves except when any of the hotel help announced themselves at the door. He never used the hotel elevator. When he went to his room he always took the stairs, and never touched the polished hardwood banister. McAlister even took care to wipe the outside of his door knob after he entered. His suitcases provided no clues to his identity. There were no phone calls to trace. No paperwork left behind. No hairs left in the shower. No fingernail clippings on the floor. His hotel check-in voucher was signed with an unintelligible scribble. And McAlister’s Mastercard was issued through a cash-funded Austrian bank account; a dead end.

  He was careful not to touch anything outside, as well. Since he wasn’t a very effective insurance agent, he hadn’t left any materials behind—intentionally. No broucheres. No contracts with fingerprints. He didn’t even have business cards. He laughed at the notion that anyone would even talk to him about life insurance.

  The assassin smiled at his patience. While others in his field could take the shot with equal ability, no one else could have set up the assignment in such detail. To him, it was more like a theatrical play, with complex choreography and bravado performances.

  “What you’ve done here, others can do,” continued the congressman. “I feel it. I know it. From small towns like Hudson to big cities everywhere, the new spirit of America is in the air. Take it in…fill your lungs with it. It’s from your fresh maple trees. Your oaks. Your pines. Tall and strong. Untainted and pure.

  “You had factories here…and pollution. And when the factories closed down, Hudson didn’t die. It took years to rebuild…and you did it through hard work, not easy handouts.

  “What you accomplished here, we can do across the country. We can bring your message of ingenuity, of re-invention, of renewal to all America. Hudson, New York. You hold the key.”

  Applause spread across the park, overflowing down the streets, over the airwaves and to people listening at home. The Congressman smiled thinking that his triplets really did work wonders.

  It was time to move into the real heart of his speech.

  “But there’s more to the world than just the community you live in. We live in a world where our borders are no longer our barriers…. Where danger openly crosses with a passport rather than a missile…. Where too often we look over our shoulders nervously rather than straight ahead with confidence…. Where we worry about tomorrow, because we’ve witnessed unspeakable horrors today.

  “The world has changed. But, We can all be part of changing the world.”

  McAlister adjusted his aim ever so slightly and focused directly on his target. He steadied his weapon against his shoulder and a towel on the window sill. He had chosen this hotel, this hotel room, and this window. The St. Charles still had windows that could open. So many hotel windows couldn’t anymore. But that was all part of his detailed survey. That was the way he operated. Never quickly. Never foolishly. McAlister had decided a long time ago that this would be the place. It was only a matter of arranging the time with the people he served.

  “The United States is a leader among nations,” Lodge asserted. Make no mistake of that. No matter how much you hear that we cannot police the world, there is no one else to fulfill that role. And like the mean streets of America, this is a mean world.

  “Suicide bombers target Israeli buses, markets and streets. In retaliation, Palestinian women and children die as missiles seek out their homes and schools. Wars in Africa create more homeless, more hunger, more anger. Pakistan and India face each other with arsenals too deadly to speak of and too dangerous to ignore. And…America is attacked.”

  No one coughed. No one moved. Lodge controlled the crowd with the power of his voice and the conviction of his beliefs. “I do know one thing. Somebody has to take charge. Remember the past. Every time we thought we couldn’t, we had to. When we said we shouldn’t, we ultimately did. Before World War I Democrats said, ‘Stay at home.’ We couldn’t. Then, before World War II, it was the Republicans who said, ‘Stay at home.’ Again, we couldn’t. We helped before the war with aid to our allies. We helped by f
ighting and we helped with the European recovery through efforts like the Marshall Plan. And so it was for us through the decades. Earthquakes, storms or famine. We’ve been there to help…a world leader…a way of life. Yet wars continued; hatred needs no rest. In the 1990s, we believed terrorism was a world away…someone else’s problem. In 2001 we experienced it at home.”

  Everyone remained quiet; mesmerized by the candidate from Vermont.

  “But how do we change this angry world of ours?”

  “Oh, do tell, congressman,” McAlister whispered. “Do tell.”

  Teddy Lodge brushed the hair off his forehead.

  “We do it together. You and I…. In a partnership of nations…. A partnership of peace.

  “We strike partnerships by sharing food and building up economies. We give. We get. We educate the world’s uneducated, we make them intellectually stronger against dictators who would take advantage of their people’s lack of knowledge. We give and we get.” He articulated the phrase precisely for his audience. They’d catch on fast.

  “And yes, we share our knowledge of arms and our technological know-how to fight emerging terror in third world nations. So we won’t have to rush in at an unacceptable cost of American lives. We give and we get.

  “We build bridges to former adversaries and make them our friends.”

  By now everyone joined in, “We give and we get.”

  Even McAlister was now mouthing the words. “We give and we get.” And he counted.

  The congressman stepped back and smiled.

  At his camera, Wheaton realized that Lodge was definitely into new material. He hadn’t heard this before. It was a different speech, not the typical stump drivel. He double-checked his camera load to make sure he had enough tape stock left. There really was no need for him to look, although he didn’t know it. Everything was scheduled to fit on one 30-minute videotape load. He was ten minutes into it.

  Jenny was impressed with the way Teddy handled the words and the crowd. “Yes, we give and we get,” she mouthed with him.