Gordon Ryan - Uncivil liberties

Austin smiled warmly and put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders once again. “It’s so good to talk with you again, Rachel. Christine and I will make it a point to call and come for a visit one weekend soon. I promise. Be sure to send us a wedding invitation. And thank you for an excellent compromise solution this morning. The meeting could have gone very badly without your assistance.”

“All in the line of duty, Uncle Bill. It was my pleasure to meet you, General Connor,” she said, turning to face Pug once again and offering her hand. She then embraced General Austin, kissing him on the cheek.

Austin and Pug walked in the opposite direction from Rachel McKenzie, heading for Culpepper’s office.

“General, is Senator McKenzie part of your extended family? She sounded like you and she had a lengthy history.”

“I’m an honorary uncle. But she’s as much a member of our family as the children we never had. A surrogate daughter, I would say. I flew in Vietnam with her father the day he was shot down and killed. She was about one at the time. My wife and I stayed in touch with the family over the years. I attended her wedding about twenty-five years ago. She already had two children before she graduated from law school. A very organized and determined woman. Then, several years ago, her husband was killed and history repeated itself.”

“Her father and her husband both killed in combat. What a tragedy.” Pug glanced back down the hallway just in time to see Rachel McKenzie stepping into the elevator.

“Indeed. Now, let’s see what General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s triple great-grandson has to say to us.”

Office of Senator Andrew F. Culpepper

Hart Senate Office Building

Washington, D.C.

April

Reaching Senator Culpepper’s office, they were shown in immediately, and the senator came out from behind his desk, all smiles and southern hospitality.

“That hearing didn’t turn out so bad now, did it, Mr. Secretary?” Culpepper smiled.

“I’ve faced worse,” Austin said, his demeanor relaxed, but his political antennae vibrating. The quietly offered invitation from one of Culpepper’s low level staffers had not been anticipated. Austin had sent Brooks back to the White House to report to the president, but directed Pug to remain with him.

Despite his ‘I’m new at this’ charade in the committee room, former Lieutenant General William Austin had spent countless hours with behind-the-scenes congressional committees over the years and knew the ropes quite well. Staging a walkout had been a ploy that worked to establish his reluctance to impugn the president or others of the Republican persuasion and had resulted in the committee members toning down their verbal assault.

“To employ an oft-used phrase, ‘I was just doin’ my duty,’ General, satisfying my constituents and party adherents. Nothing personal, of course. Actually, I find I rather like our new president. He’s more approachable than Cumberland would have been, God rest his soul.”

“I understand the need for theater, Senator. Now, how can we help you further?” Austin asked, still wary of the senior senator’s intentions. Culpepper motioned for both men to take seats.

Senator Culpepper had decorated his office, in which he had been firmly ensconced since the Hart Senate Office Building had been built thirty years earlier in 1982, with primarily antebellum and Civil War themes, most of them reflecting his home state of Tennessee. A half-dozen limited editions and two excellent originals of Civil War battles lined his walls, all done by the famous military historian and artist, Don Stivers. Both the original paintings depicted stages of the Civil War in which Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest led his cavalry regiment.

Bronze statutes rested on several bookcases and a nearly life-size statue of Andrew “Old Hickory” Jackson, another famous Tennessean and the seventh president, stood just outside the entrance to his private office. On the front of the senator’s desk was an engraved sign, “Git thar fust with the most men!”, which was the famous quote from General Forrest, noted for his use of quick mobility in battle.

“General, I know you’re not as naive about political matters as you pretended this morning, but I’m not as curmudgeonly as I might appear, either. I just might surprise you with my, shall we say, private beliefs regarding the current situation. I thought it would help if we could get together, out of the public eye, and discuss the matter.” Culpepper reached into a drawer to the side of his desk and retrieved a clear plastic document protector, about a half-inch thick with documents, placing it on his desk top.

“Let me try to sum up why I asked you to meet with me this afternoon. As is the case in any war in world history, there are devious factions in society that would use any crisis, our current predicament included, to enhance their own objectives. Translated, that means ‘build their bank accounts,’ General. War profiteers. Scum of the earth, if you ask me, and dishonorable to their respective nations in time of crisis. As we both know, there are some Iraqis who are more wealthy today than Saddam was before the war. The same thing will happen in America with this latest invasion of our shores. I hope, General Austin, that you and I can form an alliance against them, but my opening gambit this morning was necessary to renew my well-established ‘anti-administration’ bona fides. The people we’re dealing with are concerned, with good reason, that the current administration will not favor their plans for increased profitability. From what I’ve seen of President Snow and some of his cabinet-level appointments, yourself included,” he chuckled, “they’re probably right. Oh, they shield their plans with verbiage of patriotism, honor, security for the nation, etcetera, but it’s all… what did you call my harangue this morning? Hyperbole?”

The crusty old senator, a veteran of many such clandestine political conspiracies, chuckled for several moments. “Perhaps I laid it on a bit thick in my opening monologue, and, given my history in the Senate, I’ve already confirmed my anti-administration stance. Your walk-out disrupted that plan rather quickly, but we can both thank Senator McKenzie for saving the day. A very astute woman. As to my true intentions, perhaps you should ask President Snow to have a quiet word with President Steadman, my Democratic cohort in many a clandestine battle, before condemning me completely.”

Austin nodded his understanding. “Perhaps we both were grandstanding a bit this morning, Senator. ‘ Public performance often belies private action,’” he said, quoting a phrase from Senator Culpepper’s recent political treatise.

Culpepper grinned at the reference. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You’re smarter, politically speaking, than you pretend.” He then turned his attention to Pug Connor. “Son, it speaks highly that General Austin brought you with him to this private meeting, and I’m going to infer from his decision that he trusts both your integrity and your confidentiality. Unless informed otherwise,” he said, glancing toward Austin, “I’m going to proceed on that assumption. I’m playing a dangerous game here, General Connor. Perhaps not as life-threatening as some of the missions I’ve learned you’ve undertaken, but potentially as damaging, politically speaking.”

Noticing Pug’s surprised look, Culpepper laughed. “Yes, son, I try to learn as much about those appearing before my committee as I can, and I’m certainly impressed with your military exploits before you landed behind a desk. I read your complete file when your name came before the Senate for confirmation as a general officer. Despite the.. hyperbole… we are careful who we promote to flag officer rank.