“Well, the key, Meredith, is that the president has to sign the laws and enact the legislation — call up the Reserves and all that — but we are the drivers of those actions. We have to work Congress to get the votes, but I know the votes are out there. And, the president can decree a lot of this stuff the same way FDR did with all of his alphabet soups.”
“We can do that, but can we talk about something else first?” Meredith asked.
Hellerman wasn’t even listening to her. “We’ve already started. I’ve got Jock Evans working tonight on finalizing the details of the legislation for the Internal Protection Corps. I figure each state will need about ten thousand folks, give or take, depending on the size. We’ll mobilize the National Guard within twenty-four hours, and they’ll develop cadres in each state with a standard three-week program of instruction. We’ll target mostly eighteen-to-thirty-year-old men and women. They’re the future of the country. We can adapt a military pay scale and give the organization a military rank structure.”
“Trip, I need to talk to you about us.” She realized their conversation had become surreal. So far, she had simply agreed with everything he was saying to make this part of the conversation go a bit easier.
“Congress will have to appropriate the money, of course. They’ll want to do a special tax increase. I think we can convince them to divert away from some unnecessary funding and refocus the money on this national priority. Everyone knows there’s a ton of fat in the budget, and everyone knows where it is. I’m thinking that in a time of national emergency, there will be some players who want to trim some of their own fat to avoid scrutiny later on. Plus, they’ll see this as a temporary deal, which, of course, is the intention. At least initially.”
Meredith watched the vice president’s eyes jump with excitement as he spoke about the plan. To this point, most of the discussions had been pie-in-the-sky, with no real substance. But this was substance of the best kind. Hellerman was pushing his agenda forward in the face of a national calamity. She felt like a child trying to get her parent’s attention.
Hellerman stepped from his soapbox and reached for the wine bottle, as if he were shifting gears. The Eagles’ “Hotel California” played softly in the background, adding a touch of irony to the discussion: “Good night,” said the night man, “we are programmed to receive. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”
How true, she thought. She might be able to check out from this affair with Hellerman, but she knew she would never be able to escape his spell.
“Have you heard from Matt lately?”
“Yes, this morning we spoke about Zachary and the fact that he’s alive. It’s pretty exciting,” she said, trying to hide some of her emotions. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”
“Yes, that’s great news about Zachary,” he said. “I was quite surprised to find out he was alive, much less in special operations. Do we have any ideas where he might be?”
“Only that he was last seen being dragged from the cottage at Moncrief. Ballantine’s certainly got him somewhere,” she said.
Hellerman stood, brushing off his pants and raised his arms in the air, stretching.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said.
“I need to talk to you,” she said as the vice president grabbed her hand.
Meredith wasn’t sure how they had found their way upstairs into the bedroom, but they had. She had every intention of telling him that she could not see him anymore and that she was going back to Matt, but when the moment came, she was unable to resist his magnetism. The evening had been captivating. He had taken her with a reckless abandon, and she had responded likewise.
His ideas, his thoughts, his clarity of mind during these most violent times were absolutely breathtaking. She was in the arms of a historical man — someone who was making history as they lay in bed together. Someone she could not ignore.
As she drifted off to sleep and felt him ease out of bed for his trip back to the Naval Observatory, and his wife, she got mad at herself for capitulating. She was a stronger woman than this. But then again, she might be out of her league.
As her mind tired and she began to swoon, she found herself replaying scenes from that mysterious room in the basement. Something was not right.
If only she could remember.
CHAPTER 43
Matt left Peyton sleeping and walked along the riverbank that framed his family property to the north and east. To his left the river pushed smoothly over the rocky bottom and ran full with fresh snow thaw from the spring melt. Young poplar trees spotted the high, rocky bank, along with a few oaks and ash. A level area stretched out to his right, creating a flood plain during unusually heavy rainy seasons. They had actually grown corn and sorghum on the fertile plain in recent years. The sun was cresting the hill to the southeast. He heard the distant crow of a rooster from a neighboring farm.
A cool spring breeze swept off the mountains, causing Matt to huddle against himself. He could feel his cheek redden from the wind, and he absently longed for those times that he and Zachary could just kick around the farm.
“Where are you, Zachary?” he wondered aloud. His words floated meaninglessly into the morning ether, to be chased away by the wind.
He stepped onto a large rock and looked twenty feet below into the rumbling stream. The water bubbled and churned to the east toward the Rappahannock River and eventually Chesapeake Bay, over 200 miles away. He had caught many trout in the stream as a child, though he had never developed the patience or the technique for fly fishing. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he recalled the time he and Zachary had been sitting on the very same rock nearly twenty years ago. Located at the outer limits of the property, they talked about a world they knew existed out there and what they might want to do one day.
“Go to West Point,” Zachary said.
“You’d be good at that, Zach. I think I just want to play baseball.”
“You’re good at baseball, and you’ll do well, Matt, but you’re too smart for that.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s most important to make a difference, do something important.”
“Baseball’s important to me, Zachary.”
And it had been. Even today, Zachary’s maturity at that point in his young life seemed impressive. At the time, though, Matt was one of the best shortstops in the state and was already receiving hints from the head coach at the University of Virginia, where he had always known he wanted to go.
“Then you should play baseball. And when you’re done with that, you will be chosen to do something else. We all have our talents and our destinies, Matt.”
Matt remembered those words: You will be chosen to do something else. As if it wasn’t his decision. There was a larger force at work, directing him, determining his calling. Was it his admiration for Zach that had led him into the CIA after college, or was it Providence. Was this his lot in life? If so, he found satisfaction in the difference he had made, so far.
He started back up the hill, picking his way through the high grass and finding the minor trail they had worn into the rise over the years.
What was it that he needed to do now? The country was under attack, the Reserves were mobilizing beyond what they had done in the wake of the September 11 attacks, the nation was at war abroad, and his brother was alive. The conflicting emotions collided inside him, causing him to question his own instincts.