Gordon Ryan - Uncivil liberties

“With every fiber of their being, I would assume. I’m not saying it’s a done deal, but if approved and supported by judicial fiat, how would they continue to oppose? No, the danger exists and it’s closer than any of us would like to think. Son, with Secretary Austin’s permission, I’m going to ask you to deliver a message to our president. Eventually I’ll speak with him myself, but for now, I need to stay publicly opposed to his policies to sustain my relationship with those proposing these changes. Succinctly stated, General Connor, I would like you to tell the president that I believe that if this new legislation, Domestic Tranquility, is passed, the Constitution will be in desperate trouble. Tell him that Senator Culpepper believes it’s time for him to recognize the danger and to move to retain the American freedoms that we all love. It’s time for our president to step up, to be a leader and not a pollster. That’s not meant in any fashion to be an accusation. From what I can see, President Snow has made an excellent start by avoiding all commitments that belonged to his predecessor. He’s shown himself to be his own man. If he comes out and opposes these proposed changes, both sides of the aisle will condemn him in the strongest terms as a weakling, soft on terrorism. He will likely become one of the most vilified presidents in American history, his name will be associated with lack of strength to defeat terrorism and an unwillingness to fight this invasion, a man reluctant to place in effect the tough measures necessary to fight internal terrorism because of his fear of the people. They’ll call him soft-natured, not tough enough to face an enemy in mortal combat. In truth, if he rises to the challenge, he has the opportunity to literally save America as we know it. If not, I don’t know where it will all lead, but I don’t like the prognosis. That’s all I’m asking you to tell him, privately and confidentially, since I can’t, at this time, approach him personally.”

“Senator,” Pug said quietly, “I do not meet directly with the president without his request or direction from Secretary Austin.”

“Mr. Secretary,” Culpepper said, his exasperation visually apparent, “do you concur with my request of General Connor?”

Austin sat quiet for several long seconds, his face unreadable. Finally he spoke. “I sincerely hope that the picture you paint is not forthcoming, but I concede that you’re far better positioned than I to know of the developing issues. As to your request of General Connor, I will seek a meeting with President Snow and assure that Pug accompanies me. But Senator, and you too, Pug, don’t be surprised if President Snow already has the situation well in hand.”

“My thanks for this impromptu meeting, gentleman, and Godspeed to both of you,” Culpepper said, rising to escort them to the doorway. “And let me know what you think of the SI proposal, Mr. Secretary. Jennie will give you my direct number. Call me anytime. Very nice to have met you, General Connor. I wish you the best in your regular job of curtailing these wandering terrorists. Your Trojan team has its work cut out for it.”

Kensington, Maryland

April

The following Saturday afternoon, Pug had finally agreed to leave his office where he had been in virtual residence since the Trojan team had convened the night of the shootings. Each member of the team had been dispersed to various sections of the country to work with local law enforcement to ascertain requirements for surveillance where federal intervention could be of assistance.

After much cajoling by his brother and a directive from Secretary Austin to “… get out of here and recharge your batteries,” Pug had consented to attend his sister-in-law’s birthday dinner. The day expanded to an early morning round of golf with his youngest brother, Scott.

At 6:30 A.M. Saturday morning, Scott, Pug, and Scott’s oldest daughter, Ally, had been on the first tee of the Kenwood Golf and Country Club, where Scott had been a member for several years. In their traditional match play format, Pug beat Scott three and two. To the pleasure of both men, at fourteen, Ally was a natural athlete and had shot an impressive eighty-one, with one OB. On the drive home, Pug complimented the young girl on her solid game.

“She’s my retirement plan,” Scott jested. “When I turn fifty, I’ll caddy for her on the LPGA.”

“I might want a younger caddy, Dad,” the young girl had teased.

“And certainly a better-looking one, Ally,” Pug added.

Throughout the round, as Ally rode in the cart with her father, Pug had a non-playing driver in his cart and a third cart had followed the group. Once they were in the car on the drive home, with a black Cadillac Escalade following, Pug commented on the escort.

“Seems you have a permanent addition to your family,” he said, nodding toward the trailing vehicle.

“Something we’ve had to get used to. Dad was firm about it,” he said, referring to his father-in-law, President William Snow.

“Better you than me, brother,” Pug laughed. “Do they go everywhere with you?”

Scott nodded assent. “It’s not all bad. We get preferential parking at the mall and we don’t have to line up for movie tickets.” He laughed. “You still on for Sunday dinner? Megan probably has another of her exercise buddies lined up for you to meet.”

Pug shook his head, a soft moan escaping his lips. “I love your wife, Scott, but she needs to get off the band wagon. When I’m ready, I’ll shop for myself, thank you very much.”

Scott released the wheel momentarily and raised both arms in surrender. “Hey, it’s not my doing. Part of the price we pay for family love. You’ve got to know that you’re a special needs project for all the sisters-in-law. The rest of our brothers couldn’t care if you remained single the rest of your life. In fact, the way your golf handicap has dropped to single digits, they’re jealous of your free time. So,” he said as they pulled into the driveway of their home in Kensington, “let’s see what needs to be done before we go out for our birthday dinner. Megan’s not happy with turning thirty-eight.”

“Poor old lady,” Pug said.

Two hours later as they arrived at the Cheesecake Factory in Kensington, Scott, Megan, and their three children all walked toward the entrance. Pug had followed in his car so he could leave as needed and had parked several slots down from Scott’s vehicle. As he walked to join their group, he remembered that he had left his camera in the car. A few feet from the family, he waved and started to turn around, calling out to Scott.

“You go ahead, I forgot my camera. I’ll be right back.” Walking back to his vehicle, a cluster of people was gathering in the parking lot and caught his attention. There were a dozen or more people in formal dress, heading for the restaurant. As Pug drew near his car, he came face-to-face with a woman walking to join the larger group. He recognized her instantly as Senator Rachel McKenzie. Her smile indicated that she recognized him as well.

“General Connor. How very nice to see you.”

“Thank you, Senator. I can’t say as I expected to run into you again so quickly.”

“Nor I, but it’s nice to see you. We’ve just been to a photography session at the park. That beautiful bride over there is my youngest daughter, Charlotte. She’ll be married next Wednesday. The bridesmaid standing next to her is my older daughter, Allison, who has not yet found the right guy.”

“My advice: don’t push her. It’ll happen,” Pug said. “My brother just told me that all my sisters-in-law are on the lookout for that special lady for me. I told them to lay off.” He smiled. “Congratulations on the wedding. Do you know the young man well?”