Professional habit took over, and Vince hastily plotted the manner in which he’d initiate a rescue should the VP’s canoe capsize. Though he shuddered at the thought of having to dive into the churning water, he knew that if push came to shove, he’d plunge into the river regardless of any danger to his own person. Protecting the life of Andrew Montgomery Chapman being priority number one.
Less than ten yards from the shelf. Ranger Eberly used his paddle like a rudder to cause the bow of the VP’s canoe to move hard aport. With plenty of deep water beneath it, the vessel shot past the bluff like an F-15 on afterburners. And the last Vince saw of Andrew Chapman, before he was forced to concentrate on their own transit of the rapids, was the VP’s triumphant fist held high overhead.
“Do you want me to paddle?” screamed Vince, the partially submerged shelf looming menacingly before them.
“Why waste the effort?” Wyatt replied.
“Hang on, enjoy the ride, and when I give the word, paddle like hell from the right side.”
Vince did as ordered, and couldn’t help but find himself invigorated by their own transit of the rapids. His guide displayed superb timing as he dug his paddle into the churning water on the canoe’s starboard and angled the blade outward. With a single shout of “Now!” Vince began paddling, and before he knew it, the shelf was past them.
It was on a calm pool on the far side of the bluff that they rendezvoused with the Vice President, to await the other vessels.
Andrew Chapman was using binoculars to scan the bluff’s craggy summit, and Vince peered out in this direction himself.
“See anything interesting, sir?” he questioned.
“What do you think. Special Agent Kellogg?” said Chapman without lowering his binoculars.
“Are they up there? I sure don’t see any sign of them.”
“Sir, if you’re referring to one of my CAT team, they’re up on that bluff, all right, as well as every other piece of high ground we’ll be passing today. I’d only be disappointed if you did in fact spot them.”
Chapman redirected his binoculars to study a pair of large birds circling high above. Vince easily saw these same soaring creatures himself, and he listened as the Vice President identified them.
“Damn, those turkey vultures are tough-looking brutes! That big one’s got a mug that would put Speaker of the House Pierce to shame.”
Vince laughed, and watched as the VP lowered his binoculars and turned to observe the progress of the other canoes.
“I don’t know about you, Kellogg, but this place makes me feel one hundred percent alive. Lord, it’s good to finally get out from inside the Beltway. You know, there is life outside D.C.” regardless of what they think on the Hill.”
A single quail began crying out from the underbrush nearby, its distinctive “bobwhite” call clearly audible. When another quail answered from the adjoining bank, Vince shook his head in agreement.
“I think I know what you’re saying, sir. My pastoral excursions of late have been limited to the backyard of my house in Alexandria. There’s nothing like getting out in a real wilderness area to properly feel the pulse of our planet, and to realize how artificial life can be in the city.”
“Well said, Kellogg. I’m glad you were able to join my team.”
Both of them watched as the canoe carrying Andy Whitworth safely transited the rapids. The journalist celebrated by holding her paddle above her head, and Chapman grunted.
“Part of me wishes they would have capsized, and she would have lost that infernal tape recorder and camera of hers,” he offered.
“I realize it’s important for the American people to get a documented report of the progress we’re making out here. But having her around is a corrupting influence. I’m sure you saw the way she was riling up the crowd back at Greer Crossing.
Though it’s simply the nature of the beast at work, she would have thought nothing of instigating a riot, which leads me to believe that Two Putt had something to do with getting her this assignment.”
Vince held his tongue as the canoe carrying the photojournalist made a beeline for them.
“That was wonderful!” exclaimed Worthington, a wide smile on her pinched face.
“Mr. Vice President, I’m beginning to see what you find so special on these wilderness jaunts of yours.”
For a hopeful moment, both Vince and the VP thought she was actually sincere. But then she pulled out her camera, and while snapping shots of the rapids from this angle, she offhandedly questioned Chapman.
“Mr. Vice President, is it true that the real reason behind this float trip is the President’s desire to get you out of the political spotlight at this particular time?” She redirected the aim of her camera to record his reaction and added, “It’s well known to all of us covering the White House that the President was upset with your candid remarks regarding the Global Zero Alert Treaty. Since he’s obviously negotiating this treaty without you, do you believe the President is fearful that you’re in a position to gain more politically if the treaty is to be presented to Congress so close to the upcoming election?”
Andrew Chapman demonstrated remarkable restraint as he answered her.
“Ms. Worthington, I am not going to answer any of your questions regarding my relationship with the President.
Furthermore, I insist that your story remain focused on this gorgeous river we’re privileged to float, and the manner in which our government desires to preserve this great national treasure for generations of Americans to come. If you wanted something different, you should have stayed in Washington!”
The cocksure reporter looked hurt as she lowered her camera, and Vince fought the urge to give the VP a high five. Because of the nature of his work, it was imperative that he remained neutral and detached when it came to political intrigues or the inner motives of pushy journalists. His concerns were of a totally different nature.
As they continued with their float trip, Vince found himself scanning the dense wood line and lush valleys for any signs of his co-workers. The Secret Service had assigned twenty-eight agents to cover the five-mile route that they’d be floating. Most of them were working in two-man teams, concentrating their efforts on the high ground and public-access points.
To augment this rather limited force, the U.S. Forest Service, the Missouri Highway Patrol, and the Oregon County Sheriff’s Department were assisting them. Vince had only to activate his two-way to make contact with the nearest land-based team. A network of Forest Service repeater towers allowed for secure communications the entire length of the river they would be traveling.
For additional backup. Marine Two and a Secret Service Blackhawk helicopter were on standby at the Winona Ranger Station. If needed, a heavily armed, airborne assault force could be there to assist them within minutes.
He knew they were very fortunate that the weather forecast remained favorable. The Eleven Point was prone to flash floods, and the only rain anticipated was a spotty summer thunderstorm that could strike later in the afternoon. If all went on schedule, they’d be off the river by then and on their way to Branson, where the VP would be donning black tie and hosting a Partysponsored charity gala.
Vince shuddered at the thought of having to don a tuxedo in this heat, and he watched as Chapman’s canoe floated down the current, the vessel holding Andy Whitworth close beside. The two had obviously made peace, with the VP talking away a mile a minute while the reporter nodded and took notes.
There was no doubt in Vince’s mind that Chapman was talking about his favorite subject, the environment, and government’s responsibility in preserving it. This was the VP’s passion.
He had already written a best-selling book on the subject, and made it the cornerstone of his political philosophy.