Max Collins - Fate of the Union

Some laughter.

“Would you care to comment?”

Reeder said, “I prefer to call it a hat trick. It depresses me to think I made a trifecta and didn’t put any money down.”

More laughter.

“Frankly,” Reeder said, in the affable yet unreadable manner he reserved for the media, “I didn’t prevent an assassination last night. I played a secondary role, but my friend and associate, Special Agent Patti Rogers, really prevented the tragedy through her quick-thinking action. And, no, you can’t talk to her, because there are internal FBI procedures that must be addressed first.”

No laughter at all.

“In the case of President Bennett, I was doing my job. As for the Chief Justice, I was working at the time as a consultant with the FBI... hired through my ABC Security, if I might inject a brief commercial message... so that was doing my job as well. Last night, I was attending a political rally as a private citizen, and I also did my job, as any citizen would — I saw someone in trouble and tried to help. And really, that’s all I’d like to say about it at this time. I’ve been up for some hours and, in fact, I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating this press conference. Thank you.”

He began to step away from the podium and a woman from MSNBC called out: “Mr. Reeder, is it true you’re working with the FBI on another case?”

He returned to the mic. “I’m working with the FBI as a consultant on a matter, yes.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“No.”

Another reporter asked, “Were you in Charlottesville at the site of an industrial explosion last night?”

“Yes.”

“Is that part of the FBI investigation you’re attached to as a consultant?”

“I was at the scene in my consultant role. Now if you don’t mind—”

A voice called out, “Are you a supporter of Adam Benjamin’s assumed bid for the presidency?”

“My politics are private. I made the mistake of going public with political opinions, once, and decided never again.”

That got a few laughs, particularly from older members of the press.

Another shouted question: “Mr. Reeder, you were right there, on that stage — anyone watching could easily take that as support for Mr. Benjamin.”

“I was there because I was invited. I was interested in hearing what Adam Benjamin had to say. But it’s not my practice to endorse candidates for office.”

From the back came: “Do you think your implied support played a role in Benjamin’s surge in the presidential polls?”

“I wasn’t aware of any such surge. I was busy last night.”

Rogers was also unaware of that. Of course, she’d been busy, too...

“Yes,” the reporter said. “Polls have Benjamin pulling even with all the major potential Republican candidates and only a few percentage points behind President Harrison.”

“Meaning no disrespect,” Reeder said, “these political matters are not of much interest to me right now. My friend Jay Akers, a former Secret Service agent, a good man, was killed last night. My thoughts, like my prayers, are with his family during this terrible loss.”

Apparently unmoved, another reporter called out: “Do you think Mr. Benjamin will announce his candidacy at his press conference?”

“I didn’t even know he was holding a press conference.”

“Yes, on the Capitol steps this afternoon.”

Finally Fisk stepped in, Reeder stepped back, and the Assistant Director said, “Thank you, everyone. That’s all for today.”

Reeder gave the reporters a nod and went out. Rogers followed.

As they walked quickly down the corridor, Rogers said, “You did fine. What’s the idea of making me out a hero?”

“You are one. Anyway, maybe it’ll get some of the heat off me.”

They went their separate ways, to go home and get a few hours sleep.

Looked like date night with Joe Reeder was finally over. With more fun soon to begin.

Walking with Rogers along First Street SE, the Capitol on their left, their breaths sending smoke signals, Joe Reeder looked up at the dome and wondered how much longer the scaffolding would be part of the view. The dome was cast iron, so fixes didn’t happen overnight, and of course cosmetic work would follow. The 2014 renovation had run over schedule and he assumed — relentless as the winter had been — this one would, too.

“What are you thinking, Joe?”

“That we finally have a connection between victims, though it’s goddamn vague.”

“A maintenance man from the Capitol and a congressional aide.”

“Right. Murdered months apart, in what seems to be the same series of crimes.”

Rogers nodded. She was in her gray peacoat. “No mistaking it for serial killing now, not with attempted political assassination and arson in the mix.”

Reeder gestured to the imposing building they were approaching. “But these two victims are tied to the Capitol, where our others — librarian, accountant, transvestite — aren’t.”

“Don’t forget our factory supervisor.”

Reeder’s gloved hands were in his Burberry pockets. “I haven’t. William Robertson. He provides a possible tie to the exploded buildings where our maintenance guy was dumped. An operation like that can always use a good factory supervisor.”

“Joe, Robertson already worked at a manufacturing plant in Bowie, Maryland. And he was hardly moonlighting at a shop almost three hours away.”

“Rough commute,” Reeder admitted.

Rogers, thinking, mused, “Of course that plant in Bowie might be related somehow to the Charlottesville shops...”

They made the turn onto the wide sidewalk that led up to the Capitol’s east front. Coming toward him was a very pleasant sight: his daughter Amy, in a navy-blue parka in keeping with her Georgetown school colors, walking head down, in conversation with a distinguished-looking fifty-something blonde, Senator Diane Trempe Hackbarth. Reeder had never met the attractive congresswoman, but she was a familiar face from TV.

His daughter glanced up, beamed upon seeing him, and came over quickly and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She gave Rogers a hug, too — they weren’t close but had become friendly after the dramatic events of last year.

Amy introduced them both to Senator Hackbarth.

“An honor to meet you, Mr. Reeder,” the senator said, smiling warmly, shaking his hand. “I admit to being a fan... although I assure you that your daughter has never played upon that weakness.”

“An honor here, too, Senator. Amy seems to really enjoy working with you.”

Another warm smile from the senator, whose cheeks were probably rosy even when the wind chill wasn’t below freezing. “Amy’s been fairly successful in not bragging you up too much... until just recently. You’re making a noticeable habit out of this hero business.”

“Not my intention, I assure you. Anyway, this Benjamin thing, my partner Special Agent Rogers was the real hero.”

Rogers suddenly had rosy cheeks, too.

Amy said to her, “Partner? Are you and Dad working together again?”

“Yes, he’s consulting with my task force.”

Amy knew not to ask anything further, saying, “Sounds like you’re the boss. Good luck getting him to do what you want.”

“Tell me about it.”

His daughter turned to him. “Have you heard from Mom?”

“Not for a few days.”

Her smile was gently mocking. “Well, she’s probably trying to figure out what to say to you.”

“Oh?”

“She’s very proud. And truly furious... Sorry to air our mildly dirty laundry in front of you, Senator.”