Reginald Cook - Veil

He trotted into the living room. Charlie stared at him from the recliner. “She left about an hour ago,” he said. “Nice.” Robert sat down, forearms on his knees. “How long you been here?”

“Long enough. I waited for you in the stairwell, heard the elevator, and peeked into the hall. I saw your lady friend go inside your apartment, so I headed outside and slept between the dumpsters in the back. She drove off around six o’clock, and I came back upstairs.” Charlie wheezed. “They killed Miller. They know I talked to you and now they’ll try to kill us all. Unless you get to them first.” Robert fixed on Charlie’s eyes. “I believe you, I do, but you’ve got to tell me who we’re up against. Who’s running the show? Who are we after?”

Charlie sank deeper into the recliner. He stared at the floor, his face ashen. “Rothschild,” he said. “Edward Rothschild.” Robert mulled over Charlie’s answer. He knew it would be someone highly placed, and most insiders considered the Rothschild clan as diabolical as they come. Rothschild lived in a class of his own. Rich, connected, a Nobel Prize in economics, and very well respected.

“Are you absolutely sure? There’s no room for error.” Charlie’s face reddened. He coughed and wrenched violently. Blood poured from his mouth. Robert ran to the kitchen for a dishcloth.

Charlie’s coughing worsened. Blood spilled down the old assassin’s chin painting his coat. A few moments later, the coughing stopped.

Charlie relaxed.

“Is there something I can get you? Should I call a doctor?” Charlie shook his head no, leaned back and closed his eyes.

I was right. The old man is sick. Probably why he’s trying to clear the air.

Robert went back to the kitchen to get Charlie a glass of water. He heard a thud and raced back to the living room. Charlie lay face down on the carpet. He dropped the glass, ran over and flipped Charlie on his back. Unconscious.

Robert tried CPR. Nothing. No pulse. He picked up the phone, hesitated, then dialed. “Don’t die on me old man.”

“America has evolved over its brief tenure as a republic, into a great nation. A nation where no person who desires a better life need be left out, and those willing to work hard and sacrifice are rewarded. As we move forward into the twenty-first century, this great country of ours can expect new challenges, uncharted mountains to climb, and fresh opportunities to explore. Whether medical advances and cures for the incurable, or original, exciting technology, Americans stand ready to bring these visions to life. Our strength, energy, and vigor remain unmatched anywhere in the world. And government should stand at the ready, to lend support and leadership to these causes.”

“Like a lighthouse, we who are elected to serve, should safely guide all who wish to navigate these waters of promise, in the land of the free.

As Governor of New York, my administration has maintained an outstanding record of excellence and accomplishment, benefiting of all its citizens and communities. We promised a lower unemployment rate, and delivered. We promised safer streets and less crime, and delivered.

We said we would take steps to protect the city and its residents from terrorism, and we have. Now the time has come to expand the level of excellence we have established in New York to the entire nation. We’re here at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial because this great President fought and died for a country based on the Constitution, a country based on inclusion. It was a noble effort then; it’s a noble effort today. This effort I plan to take up anew, hand in hand with you. I hereby announce my candidacy for the office of President of the United States, because in America, nobody gets left behind.”

The Friday afternoon crowd erupted. Charleston Rothschild finished his speech forcefully pounding the podium. Edward joined in, clapping and smiling, a proud father who’d just watched his son score a winning touchdown. He salivated at the prospect of his son occupying the White House. For Edward, the final coup on his long list of conquests-for his family-the crown jewel of legitimacy.

Most important, with Charleston in the Oval Office, he’d complete a power play, and seal the Rothschild legacy forever. Nothing accomplished by his family to date came close.

Three weeks passed since he made his proposition to the men at the Cosmos Club. Eventually, all called with offers of wholehearted, albeit insincere, support.

Photographers and news crews crammed together for better angles.

On cue, the crowd chanted. “We want Charleston! We want Charleston!” Pleased, Edward watched the product of his loins masterfully field questions from the media, easy questions, just as Charles Kingston promised.

Fifteen minutes later, they climbed into the limo and rode back to Edward’s twenty-story building, were they met more applause from the Rothschild company staff, as per Edward’s orders, along with more media and paparazzi. The press shouted questions over the noisy crowd and snapped pictures. Edward’s wife, Meredith, and Charleston’s wife, Diana, joined them on stage, completing the picture-perfect photo op.

After a few more inquiries from the press, father and son waved their goodbyes, kissed their wives, and caught a private elevator to the penthouse. They met briefly with a small group of business leaders and politicians who unequivocally vowed to support the Rothschild family.

Later, he and Charleston adjourned to Edward’s well-appointed lair, and relaxed.

“A fine job son, you’re on your way. You’ve made us all proud.” A waiter entered and poured them drinks. “Just remember, this is only the beginning. Soon they’ll be circling like sharks.”

“Thanks dad, but I’m Governor of New York. I’ve been through this before.” Charleston took his usual, Jack Daniels on the rocks, from the silver tray. “Besides, I plan to send out a few sharks of my own.” Edward lifted the remaining drink from the tray, a dirty martini, extra-dry. The waiter disappeared.

“Son, this will be quite different. Trust me. You won’t know what hit you if you underestimate the difficulties of running for this office.

Piss the wrong people off and they’ll make you pay dearly. A Governor’s race is child’s play by comparison. Lose it, and no one remembers.”

Charleston drained his glass. Good. I have your attention. Edward sat his drink on the coffee table and leaned close. “On the other hand, if you fuck up the White House, then maybe even I’ll forget who you are.” Charleston squirmed. “I get the picture father,” he said. “I’m prepared to fight hard and win.”

“Good,” said Edward. “Then I’ve made my point.” Edward complimented Charleston on the speech he gave earlier, then looked past his son at a portrait of his father and grandfather, their faces stern and impatient.

“Have you given any thought to our conversation about Ian Goldstein?”

“For campaign manager? I’ve already decided on Ralph Wright.

You know he’s been with me from the start of my career. I trust him.

How would it look if I abandoned him now?” Edward rose to his feet, bumping the coffee table, knocking over his drink. “It would look like you really wanted to win! And by the way, you trust him? No, trust me. Trust me when I tell you that if you don’t start listening, you’ll fail miserably. You trust him. No, you spoiled ungrateful ass! I’m still your father. You trust me.” Charleston’s face twisted. Edward walked over to the large Rothschild portrait and looked up at his namesakes. Their presence gave him a sense of peace during stressful moments. Likely I’ll come here often during this campaign. .

Charleston walked up behind him. Edward faced him. “Son, look, I’m just saying…”