Читать книгу Nathaniel's Chorus - Gary Lightfoot - Страница 5

Late into the evening, in Washington D.C. within the offices of the Senate Intelligence Committee Chairman, the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch is arguing with two other fellow Senators; Senator James Bernard, a tall middle-aged black man from New Orleans, Louisiana and Senator Cindy Aaronson, an attractive blond from Duluth, Minnesota who, like Senator Foot, is a freshman senator. Senator Aaronson however had many years of experience in Washington, gained through clerking in the offices of Senator Branch while she completed college.

Senator Jeremiah Branch spins around and growls at the other two, “Foot is standing up to this a lot more than we were expecting!”

Senator Aaronson shifts her weight as she crosses her legs and leans back in her chair, “Gees Jerry, you told us that you had all these bases covered.”

Branch walks over to Aaronson, places his hand upon her shoulder and bares down on her, forcing her to grimace in pain, “Watch your familiarity ma’am, we aren’t what you’d call, related.”

Though the long-standing affair between Branch and Aaronson had become common knowledge with the liberal powerbrokers inside the Beltway; the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch was able to maintain his credibility, in the public’s eye, through carefully controlling the appearance and actions of those he had corrupted.

Senator Aaronson forces a smile and says, “Yeah sure Ya’ becha, hun.”

Senator Bernard stands up and interrupts the impending conflict, “Now folks, let’s just focus on WHO our targets ARE and I can truly say, THEY are not in this room.”

Reverend Branch agrees and returns to his torment about Nathaniel Foot.

“Now just what was all that tapping about? And that chair!”

Senator Aaronson joins in, thankful that she was no longer the victim of Branch’s anger, “I agree,” she pauses as Branch lifts his hand off her shoulder. “He knows how to push your buttons.”

“As do you sugar.”

Senator Bernard raises his voice, “Folk’s, again I must remind y’all that WE are not the enemy.”

Jeremiah Branch starts to laugh as he slaps Bernard on the back knocking him forward. Mocking Bernard’s unusual canter in speech, Branch says, “Barnyard, You SURE about THAT?”

Senator Bernard catches his breath and then says, “Sir, our aides ARE within earshot.”

Branch returns to his desk, and sits down making a sickening sigh as he crosses his legs Indian style in his chair. He leans forward so that his elbows rest on his knees. Brushing his hair behind his ears he looks across the room and beckons his aide to approach.

Cindy Aaronson grins as she says, “Jeremiah, you look like a fat toad sitting there like that.”

“I mean it Senator Aaronson, stop it while you still can!”

The Chairman’s aide, now standing at attention in front of Branch’s desk waits for his orders.

“Son, you got something to say?”

The aide politely responds, “No sir, you requested me.”

“Right.” Branch gathers his thoughts as he unwinds his legs and scoots his chair closer to the desk.

“Son, I want you to find out what Senator Foot was tapping with and make sure he doesn’t have it, whatever it was, tomorrow.” “I swear, if he starts that tapping again . . .”

The aide interrupts Branch, “It was a Challenge Coin sir.”

“Now just what the hell is a Challenge Coin?”

“It’s an object which most closely resembles a coin usually about the size of a silver dollar, sir.”

“I saw what it looked like son, tell me what it is!”

Aaronson interjects, “That’s what I just said about you, ha!”

Branch glares at Cindy Aaronson, “Sugar, you’re pushing yourself too far.”

“Sir,” the aide says as he steps between Branch and Aaronson. As the aide walks toward the wall behind Senator Branch’s desk he says, “If you would look closely at this picture of former President Clinton on the wall over here.”

Branch, Aaronson and Bernard all form a circle around the aide as he draws their attention off of each other and toward the Presidential Portrait.

“If you would notice on the table behind President Clinton there is a rack of many different Challenge Coins given to him by serviceman who thanked him for his support of the military.”

Senator Bernard, intrigued by the story, whispers to Senator Aaronson, “How did the military folks get them?”

Aaronson inhales deeply and says, “What is that smell?”

The aide steps away from the group and says, “I’m sorry ma’am I put an ointment on my shoulder to numb it. I guess I forget others can smell it.”

“That’s okay honey, can’t you buy something less . . . pungent?”

“No ma’am, you can’t buy this in a store. It’s a mixture I came up with myself while serving in the Middle East.”

Senator Aaronson, obviously impressed with the aide, walks toward him, “So you were a soldier, how did you hurt yourself?

Senator Branch, sensing that Aaronson was becoming too interested in his aide, walks up to his aide and wraps his arm around the aide’s shoulder and pulls the aide’s shoulder into him.

“I must apologize for my lack of decorum, let me introduce to you my new aide, Cliff Cortez. Cliff here is some sort of war hero, aren’t ya Cliffy.”

“A real war hero? Gees!” Miss Aaronson begins to caress Cliff’s hand.

Cliff withdraws his hand and points back at the picture, “Ma’am, would you like to know the history behind the Challenge Coin?”

Senator Bernard, who is still staring at the picture says, “All these, THINGS here were GIVEN to military folk who then GAVE them to the president?”

Cliff corrects Senator Bernard, “These Challenge Coins are earned, not given!”

“What did those folks do to ah, EARN them?”

“The folks, as you call them sir, were military personnel who through their courage and self-sacrifice, went above the call of duty.”

“Why NOT just give these military FOLKS a medal?”

“Well they most likely were also awarded a medal or citation, but those usually take time and lots of paper work.”

Branch attempts to regain the center of attention, “Citations, now that’s something I know about.”

Ignoring Branch, Cliff continues, “The tradition goes back many years, all the way to WWI. The story starts with American and Canadian civilians wanting to help out their European allies in their fight against the Germans. Early in the war, the United States refused to officially be involved so these young brave men, decided to leave the safety of their homes and travel on their own dime to Europe and fight, while American politicians were too busy arguing amongst themselves on how to stay friendly with everyone.”

Aaronson, now more interested in the story and less in Cliff, notes that, “Honey that sounds like the current debate in Washington.”

“Yes ma’am, only these boys were not your typical boys, they were mostly from the Elite of society but many of the first to go were from very humble means. Today’s elite live in Hollywood and worry more about what’s happening on Reality TV today, than on who may want to kill them tomorrow.”

Branch chuckles,

“Cliff, you’re sounding more like a politician than an aide.”

“I apologize sir, I’ve overstepped my appointment.”

“Apology accepted son, let’s get back to the history lesson.”

“Yes sir. The story goes that most of the boys who went to Europe became pilots and flew many missions over enemy lines. One of the pilots commissioned a family foundry to make a medallion or coin with his squadron’s insignia on one side. He then gave them to the rest of his fellow squadron pilots as a memento.”

Senator Bernard, still studying the Presidential Portrait says, “So you’re telling us that these coins are traded between military folk, sort of like trading baseball cards?”

“No sir.”

“WELL THEN, what do they USE these things for?”

Cliff, now mindful of his distance from Senator Aaronson, backs up to his original position at the front of Senator Branch’s desk. He then continues his story.

“The tradition goes that one of the pilots had never owned anything of value, so in order to carry it with him, he placed the coin inside a pouch and wore it around his neck. The pilot was later forced down behind enemy lines and was captured by the Germans. When he was searched and all his identification taken, the Germans missed the pouch that was around the pilot’s neck. As the pilot was being moved from one enemy camp to another, he was able to escape but was now tasked with sneaking through “no-man’s land” on his way back to his squadron. When the poor pilot was nearing his base, a French unit confronted him and assumed that he was a spy since he had no identification. As they were about to shoot him he pulled out the coin and showed it to them. One of the French officers recognized the insignia and allowed him to pass. Since then the tradition is to always carry the coin incase you’re challenged.”

Senator Bernard paced around the room as Cliff was speaking and is now sitting on Branch’s desk, directly in front of Cliff.

“I don’t understand, WHY would Senator Foot be PLAYING with a challenge coin during a Senate Investigation; he must KNOW that no one was about to shoot him?”

Cliff acknowledges Senator Bernard and continues, “Sir, I’m sure Senator Foot knew that. Today the tradition of the coin is that if someone challenges you by slapping his coin down or tapping it on the bar and you don’t respond with your own coin, then you have to buy him a drink. But if you are able to respond in-kind, then the guy that challenged you has to buy his own as well as your drink.”

Senator Aaronson joins Senator Bernard on Branch’s desk, “Drinking games, I love these. I’m great at beer-pong!”

“I’m sure you are darling,” Senator Branch says as he stands up, “now y’all get the hell off my desk.”

Aaronson and Bernard quickly jump off the desk and stumble into Cliff. Senator Bernard catches himself and pulls away from Cliff. Senator Aaronson lingers in Cliff’s arms until Cliff becomes uncomfortable and stands her back up on her feet. Cliff then takes one step backwards, comes to attention and then asks for further directions.

“Senator Branch sir, will there be anything else?”

“No son, I appreciate your history lesson tonight. You seem to know a lot about these, Challenge Coins, do you happen to have one?”

“Yes sir.”

“Show it to me.”

“No sir.”

Senator Branch glares back at Cliff,

“Son, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“Sir it’s not that I’m refusing to show it to you, it’s that I’m not carrying it with me today.”

Senator Aaronson raises her hand, “then you owe him a drink!”

“No ma’am I don’t. The Senator does not have a coin either.”

The Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch leans against his desk as if it was a pulpit. He then glances around the room as if a ghost was chasing him. He then begins looking through the file laid open on his desk. “I don’t see any mention of Nathaniel Foot ever being in the service.”

Senator Bernard snaps his fingers and exclaims, “That’s right!” he then joins in Branch’s search through the files on his desk.

Senator Aaronson composes herself and attempts to join in, “Guys, what are you doing?”

“Miss Aaronson ma’am,” Senator Bernard says as he continues to read through a file he had lifted up from Senator Branch’s desk, “this MAN just told us that ONLY military folk CARRY a challenge coin around. If Nathaniel Foot HAS a coin, HOW did he get it?”

Jeremiah stops his frantic search and looks up at Cindy and gently says, “That’s right honey, if Nathaniel was in the military and we can’t find any record of it, then he must be hiding something. If he is hiding something, I can use that against him.”

Cindy Aaronson, shocked by the glimmer of tenderness just displayed by Jeremiah Branch, is caught off guard. She brings her hand up to her breast and looks away from the group. As she turns to walk back to her chair, she notices a bruise in the imprint of Branch’s hand beginning to show on her shoulder. She reaches for her suit jacket, puts it on, and rejoins the group in their search through Nathaniel Foot’s files.

Φ Π Ψ

As midnight approaches in Mexico, Neil Foot is coasting into the lights of Hermosillo. Stopping only for gas, he has been driving for 12 hours. He looks down at Shelly’s fuel gauge, it reads ½ tank, but sensing that he picked up some bad gas earlier, Neil has decided to stop in Hermosillo, a more touristy type of town, one where he should be able to find a higher, truer octane rated fuel. The Shelby Cobra’s 427 cubic inch engine’s exhaust note begins to echo off the buildings,

“Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da!”

Idling past “Dos Amigos”, a tourist hot-spot, Shelly sets off a few car alarms when her purring, “Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da!” changes to a “Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da, Ding, POW!”

Neil laughs out loud and then comforts Shelly, “I’m sorry Shelly, I shouldn’t laugh at your backfires; you don’t laugh at my farts. Don’t worry, we’ll fix your indigestion with some octane boost when we fill up.”

Neil and Shelly begin to roll into a newer “PEMEX”, the nationalized gas station in Mexico. Before turning completely off the road, Neil comes to a complete stop and studies his mirror. Since sunset Neil has been followed by the same set of headlights, ever careful to stay just out of reach of them, but not too far ahead that he didn’t know where they were nor close enough for Neil to positively identify the car. He was sure that it was a late sixties American car due to the headlight configuration; a pair of lights on each side being stacked one on top of the other, but the make or model were a mystery. His mirror remaining empty for what should’ve been enough time for the trailing car to catch up, Neil drives into the station and parks next to the pumps.

An elderly, medium framed man wearing a “Diamond Backs” baseball cap and a Ford Racing t-shirt, stands up from his lawn chair and approaches Neil, “Buenas noches amigo.”

Neil acknowledges the greeting but continues to look over his shoulder, “Buenas noches.”

Walking toward Neil, the gas station attendant begins speaking in English, “Nice car, she real or a kit?”

Unsure of the gas station attendant’s intentions Neil hesitates to answer. The man could be interested in stealing the car if Neil admits to the authenticity of the Shelby Cobra. Neil thinks to himself, “Good-looking American man found dead in Hermosillo, his rare sports car missing and presumed to being driven by a Mexican drug lord.”

Neil studies the man as he walks to greet the attendant, as Neil shakes the attendant’s hand, he holds the man’s hand firm while taking another step forward and into the man causing the attendant to stumble backwards. As Neil catches the man he discreetly searches him for a weapon.

The old man apologizes for his awkwardness, “I’m sorry amigo. My knees aren’t use to the nights down here.”

Neil helps the man steady himself, “Where are you from?”

“Phoenix Arizona.” The man proudly proclaims.

“What brings you down here?” Neil hears himself ask and grins at himself at the irony of it, an American living in Mexico asking a Mexican who was living in America why he was now living in his own country.

The oddity of the question also grabs the attendant as funny and they both begin to laugh.

“Say, do you want a cup of coffee?” the attendant says as he motions toward the station’s office.

“Thanks, that would be great. Would you also have some kind of octane boost?”

“Yes sir, we have several kinds.”

As the two new friends are about to enter the office, Neil hears the sound of a highly tuned big block American V8. He turns and watches as the same headlights that had been following him since sunset, slowly glide past the station.

“Pontiac Catalina, nuts the windows are tinted, can’t see the driver.”

The attendant, who also heard the exhaust, turns to confirm Neil’s assessment,

“Yes sir, 1967 Catalina, but that’s not a stock motor in her. I had a Bonneville similar to that one but mine was mint green, she was a beauty. That one’s color looks to be what we called, Fawn.”

“You seem to know a lot about cars.” Neil says while watching the Catalina pass out of sight.

“Yes sir, I use to be one of the detail men for a collector in Scottsdale.”

“Really? I bet you’ve seen a lot of nice cars.”

“Yes sir, I knew your car was an original right off.”

Neil laughs, “How could you tell?

“It’s easy, there’s just something about the real thing. You just feel it.”

Neil puts his hand on the old man’s shoulder, “Ok, now how about that coffee and an octane boost for my friend?”

Neil fills Shelly up with Premium and adds the octane boost to her tank. He then thanks the attendant for his friendship and begins to pull away from the pumps. Before turning out of the parking lot and onto the main road, Neil hesitates and scans the street looking for the ’67 Fawn Catalina with tinted windows. With the street empty in both directions, Neil pulls out of the station leaving his lights off until he’s sure they’re alone. Nearing the outskirts of town, as he rolls into the darkness, he knocks her out of gear, turns off the lights and coasts. Still not sure he’s alone, he turns the car off and continues rolling forward. Silence surrounds him; he strains to listen for anything resembling a big block motor. With only the sound of Shelly’s tires rolling on the rough pavement, Neil is confident that he has left the town unnoticed. As he turns the ignition to ON and slips her into gear, Shelly responds and comes to life, “Whop-a-da, POW!” the backfire explodes into the darkness and rings in Neil’s ears.

“Oh thanks Shelly, I’m sure they didn’t hear that!”

“Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da”

Neil checks his mirror again for the trailing car then turns on Shelly’s lights.

“Ok girl, let’s get out of here.”

“Whop-a-da, Whop-a-da, ROAR, blip, ROAR, blip, ROAR, blip, ROAR!”

Neil and Shelly rumble through the night, ever mindful of his mirror, the ’67 Fawn Catalina’s lights, never reappeared.

Φ Π Ψ

The Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch is in his office when a janitor, shocked to see anyone else in the building at 6:00 am, greets him.

“Good morning Senator Branch. I didn’t expect to see you here this early.”

The Senator so absorbed in the files he has laid out on the floor in front of him that he doesn’t respond to the janitor.

“Sir, you alright?”

“Who’s there?” Branch jumps up from the floor where he had been kneeling.

“Senator Branch, you been here all night?”

“Yes sir! You know what they say, no rest for the wicked.”

The janitor freezes in place when he sees the face of Jeremiah Branch as he turns and looks toward him. Branch’s habit of playing with his hair had made the sides stand up straight. With the Washington sunrise coming through the window behind the Senator, he appeared evil, scaring the janitor.

“Ah, Senator sir, you should fix your hair before anyone else sees you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that if you would like to go freshen yourself up, I could pick those papers up and tidy the place up for you, sir.”

“Don’t you dare, it took me all night to place these files exactly where they are!”

As Jeremiah Branch’s voice begins to elevate, his aide, Cliff Cortez, walks into the office.

“Senator Branch? When I left you at midnight, you said that you were right behind me.”

Senator Branch, attempting to regain his decorum and stature, ignores the janitor and lays out marching orders for Cliff,

“Son I want you to find the files on Senator Foot’s two brothers. My last aide was not able to, shall I say, acquire them? Their names are Nathan and Neil, both of whom were in the military. I need their, secure files. Do y’all understand what I’m asking?”

“Yes sir.”

“Cliff this is important, I know all their normal data, such as where they were born, their social security numbers, their current occupations, hell Cliffy I know just about everything about those boys. What I don’t know is what they did in the military. They call that need to know stuff, damn it, I need to know!”

Senator Branch stares at his aide and studies him intently to see if Cliff understood what he was asking for. Several eerie silent seconds pass until Branch releases his new convert.

“Now get!”

Cliff performs an about-face and heads out of the office passing Senator James Bernard in the hallway.

“The boss IN, Mr. Cortez?”

“Yes sir, Senator Bernard sir. He’s been here all night.”

“I’m not SURPRISED, he doesn’t SLEEP much.”

Senator Bernard stands at the open door to Senator Branch’s office,

“That incense I smell?”

Senator Branch lifts his arms and pretends to smell himself,

“No sir, I believe that smell came from Cliff and his homebrewed ointment.”

“HA, you must be right. What ARE you doing, there’s papers ever-where!”

Reverend Branch begins to walk about the room explaining his sorting system. Each pile has been positioned according to its date. The Reverend has accounted for every day in the short life of Senator Nathaniel Foot.

“Look at this Bernard, no mention of any military record what so ever!”

“That’s WHAT we were saying LAST night.”

“I know, but take a step back, what do you see?”

“I don’t KNOW what you’re asking.”

Jeremiah, now refreshed with adrenalin pumping through his veins, jumps onto his desk and calls for Bernard to join him,

“James, come up here.”

“Sir?”

“Jimmy, I’m not fooling, come up here you’ll see it from here.”

Senator Bernard tentatively steps onto a chair and then onto the desk.

“Now turnaround, and tell me what you see.”

Senator Bernard dutifully turns around and begins to look at the floor covered with papers.

“Well sir, I see one MESSY office, that’s WHAT I see.”

“You’re not seeing it, just relax and take it all in.”

Senator Bernard bends over and places his hands on his knees and intently studies the floor. As he’s doing so, Senator Cindy Aaronson walks into the office.

“Boys, it can’t be all that bad, don’t jump, don’t jump! Ha, ha”

Senator Branch un-amused by Aaronson’s joking, orders her up onto the desk too.

Now all three senators are up on Branch’s desk, all three bent over with their hands on their knees.

Senator Aaronson stands up and complains,

“All I see is a hole in the floor where you missed throwing your papers.”

“That’s it!” exclaims Branch.

“That’s what?” a puzzled Aaronson asks.

“That’s what took me all night to find!”

The three senators climb down from the desk as Jeremiah Branch has them follow him over to the hole in the row of papers.

“Look at the dates, there are 12 months missing, exactly 12!”

Confused over the significance of Branch’s discovery, Senator Bernard stares at the hole in the papers,

“Ok, so where ARE the MISSING files?”

“Bernard my friend, that’s the question. I believe that our young freshman Senator Nathaniel Foot was somewhere out of this country. Somewhere in the world, our Nathaniel Foot was plotting terroristic activities against our nation. I believe that we can say that during the missing year, Nathaniel Foot was leading the international terrorist group the tri-P and there’s not a damn thing Foot will be able to say to prove otherwise!”

Senator Bernard swayed by Branch’s enthusiasm shouts, “Amen Reverend!”

Senator Aaronson still not convinced, walks toward the Presidential Portrait that they were looking at last night and says, “If he was involved with a terrorist group, how did he get one of these?” She points to the Challenge Coins behind President Clinton.

“Exactly!” Reverend Branch now in full preacher mode, continues in his sermon,

“Once we expose Nathaniel’s fallacy of his self-proclaimed honor expressed through his flaunting of an ill-gotten medallion such as a Challenge Coin, he will have no defense and he and his puny little lawyer will indeed have themselves a trial! And we will then have the leader of one of the most dangerous and evil terrorists groups in recent history, the tri-P!”

Senator Aaronson, still unmoved by Reverend Branch’s sermon, begins to show signs of unbelief and attempts to refocus the group to their original intent.

“Gees Jerry, we started this thing to embarrass Senator Foot enough to force him to resign, our intent was not to hang the hole gall darn thing around his neck.”

The Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch slams his fist down on the desk, causing Senator Aaronson to jump back away from him. Branch follows her, reaching out his hand, grabbing her blouse and pulling her violently back into him. Reverend Branch, his face flush, his eyes wide, his breath rancid, screams into Aaronson’s very being.

“Cindy, you knew where I was heading with this. My INTENT has always been to prove that FOOT was the HEAD!”

Branch, amused by his own twist of words, releases his grip on her blouse. Aaronson falls back into a chair, her torn blouse exposing her bra as well as her bruised shoulder. Her chin begins to quiver as she stands up. She wipes Branch’s spit from her cheek. Unashamed by her exposed bra, she stands erect with her shoulders square and proclaims, “I am a United States Senator, you can not push me around anymore.”

The Right Reverend Branch brushes his hair behind his ears and says,

“No one is outside of my reach.”