Many of the protestors ran off. Some dropped their signs. Some were laughing. Soon the entire human chain was laughing, so it became hard to tell who wasn’t. The press took the opportunity to start snapping pictures and rolling video. Those who weren’t doubled over laughing, that is.
Oliver joined me as the rest of the press blocked Pecker and Gutermuth from running off. “Nice choice, Ambassador.”
“Thanks. Figured the nonviolent option would be best. Great use of drama on your part, too, MJO.”
“Thank you, I wanted to ensure the dramatic. Seeing as I have a direct feed to the major news channels because I was in the car with you and the Congressman, this should be on every news outlet worldwide within the hour, if not sooner.”
“You rock. Speaking of my husband, though, how did you keep Jeff in the car?”
“There are two large Poofs inside who shared that we all needed to remain seated with our arms and legs inside the vehicle. Once you had our friends here undressed they allowed me out.”
“Ah, good thinking on the Poofs’ parts. Think we can get the press to move the sideshow off a bit so the cars can get through?”
“I do.” Oliver joined the press mob and spoke to a few of the reporters and camera operators. They started to move toward the side, still not allowing Pecker or Gutermuth to escape.
I waved the limo on, but the door opened and Jeff, Chuckie, and Raj got out. The limo remained stationary. “Why aren’t you going in?”
Jeff took my hand. “We can let the President wait a little while. There’s something more important we need to do.” He walked us to where Francine and the first set of kids to arrive were. “Thank you. For proving that we’re still here for the right reasons.”
He shook each kid’s hand and said the same to each of them. Looked around. Chuckie and Raj were doing the same with the other side of the line.
As I detached from Jeff and followed suit, more of the Diplomatic Mission got out of the limos and did the same, some zipping off via hyperspeed to catch the other sides of the cemetery.
We thanked everyone, even people I was fairly sure had been holding signs not too long ago. But most of the protestors had disappeared or joined the human chain, and that was what the goal had been anyway.
Troubadours advised that the Embassy staff had shaken paws with every single person holding the line and Raj got the rest of us advised and herded back to our cars. Everyone returned to their limos, other than the troubadours, who were going to remain with their new friends on the human chain.
Before I got into my limo I went back to the first kids who were with Francine. “You said a call had gone out. What call?”
The girl who’d shoved between me and the two men threatening me grinned. “Over the Internet. The call’s gone out before, but not quite like this. I think it was a hack. We all got the same message—that the haters were protesting this funeral and that decent people needed to show what they stood for.”
Made a mental note to ensure we did something nice for Hacker International. And probably Oliver, too, since I figured he’d been in on this with them. “What’s your name?”
“Katherine. My friends call me Kathy.”
I laughed. “What’s your major?”
She grinned. “Criminal Justice. But I’m going to get a law degree after I graduate.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Sent another mental message and a business card was in my hand. I gave it to her. “When you’re out of school, call me. I guarantee we’ll find a job for you.” There were more cards in my hand. “And your friends, too.” Hey, the kids were all Poof Approved.
“Wow, thank you,” Kathy said. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, actually, I do.” I smiled as I gave the other kids who’d been with her my card. “I’m the Head of Recruitment for a reason, kiddo.”
CHAPTER 97
REJOINED JEFF AND THE OTHERS and our procession finally made it through the entrance and into Arlington. It was beautiful, but now that we were inside and past the major problems, all that remained was the funeral. Had to give one thing to the protestors—they’d certainly kept everyone’s minds off of the point of the journey.
Michael was going to be buried in the same area as the Challenger and Columbia Memorials, which were near the Memorial Amphitheater. But because of the political brouhaha, the services were going to be held in the Amphitheater itself.
The limos dropped everyone off in front of the Amphitheater and then went to park, keeping a couple of A-Cs with them for faster return. Other than the hearse, which pulled up and stopped. Michael’s honor guard got out.
The flyboys were in their dress whites, and Brian, Gower, and Reader were in the Formal Armani Fatigues—black tuxedos, white shirts, with black buttons. Normally it was six pallbearers, but since we’d made it up as we wanted to, White had insisted upon eight.
The rest of the men were in the standard Armani Fatigues. They were, as always, dressed for success. Which was good, because Akiko had about had a heart attack when we’d told her we weren’t doing the burka and veil combos for the women any more. The troubadours were also good with fashion design and alterations, though, so they’d been able to help her create more appropriate mourning-wear for the female side of the house.
We women were all in various black ensembles, mostly simple sheaths, and only those who wanted to were wearing black hats with veils. There were flashes of white here and there, mostly gloves, but some other accessories as well.
We really looked like a huge group of penguins, and I wanted to talk to our benevolent observer, but now wasn’t the time to try to chat with ACE, since Jamie was undoubtedly awake and this would be a poor time for me to take a nap.
The Amphitheater was, fittingly for Arlington, beautiful—an elliptical building built out of white marble and designed as a mesh of Greek, Roman, and Renaissance styles. It also had a lot of stairs to go up to get inside. Okay, not that many if you weren’t carrying anything heavy, but a lot if you were. The wisdom of eight pallbearers became clear to me, especially since we only had one A-C acting as a pallbearer.
The pallbearers lifted the casket—each one of them had a Poof on the shoulder nearest the casket—and walked up the stairs to the entrance. The rest of us followed.
Inside, the Amphitheater resembled an old-fashioned theater—including the slope from the entrance to the stage, and a sectioned colonnade area that curved around from the entrance to the covered stage area at the back—just one that didn’t have a roof. And instead of seats it had low, backless marble benches curving to face the semicircular main stage. “Pretty” was the watchword, not necessarily “comfort.”
The stage had three levels. The lowest had a stone chair, facing the audience. The second level of the stage had a podium, right behind the stone chair. The third and uppermost level of the stage was a semicircular seating area for what looked to be about a hundred people and an apse in the back. There were American flags hanging from each of the colonnade bay arches, and two more hanging in the apse.
Because of the way the aisles were designed, it was kind of tricky for the pallbearers to maneuver, since they had to enter the amphitheater, walk down the center aisle for a while, then zigzag to the left and back toward the front in order to reach the dais area. Once they were at the front, then they had to go up two sets of stairs to get the casket settled onto the uppermost part of the stage, in front of the people sitting there, which included the President and my parents.
However, the flyboys had served at more than one funeral and, with Hughes in charge, were a well-oiled pallbearing team, and Brian, Gower, and Reader each held up their ends, so to speak.