In the dim light, they could barely see that they were on a small deck. It appeared that the blades of the Osprey hung out over the water. Someone with a helmet came up.
“Gather your gear and follow me inside quickly. The ship will begin her high speed run in just five minutes. You need to be inside,” he said.
Each of the men gathered their gear and followed the man into a door next to what appeared to be a hangar towards the bow of the ship. Once inside, the door was shut and the overhead lights were turned on. A Navy Commander came forward to greet them.
“Gentlemen, welcome aboard USS Freedom. I’m Commander Hill, the Commanding Officer. I wish I could offer you some better accommodations, but for the next four hours you are going to be on one hell of a joyride. Store your equipment here and Petty Officer Macke will show you the messdecks. We’re going to get you a hot meal before you set off. Until then, make yourselves at home,” he said. The sound of turbines speeding up increased in the background and the men could feel the ship seem to surge ahead. After wishing the team good luck, Commander Hill left for the bridge and the men went down to the ship’s messdecks. The television was on and several crewmembers were watching a movie. Ricks noticed that the ship was starting to feel more like a motor boat than a large ship. It seemed to bounce more and on occasion it seemed to jerk around a bit. A set of numbers was prominent beside the television set. The numbers were passing 45. Little did they know that they were looking at the ship’s speed.
Chapter 14
Consequences
Presidential candidate Gregory Foster had been startled when his Secret Service detail had suddenly asked him to get in a car for a special trip. He had just arrived back in Washington when it happened and he hadn’t even the time to go home. The black suburban with its escort, whisked him through the streets of Washington without a pause. His surprise deepened when he found himself at the gates of the White House. Instead of taking him to the portico like most VIPs, he was instead taken to the underground garage. The vehicle swerved around several cars and turns until it stopped in front of a set of elevator doors. The door beside him opened and an agent asked him to follow him. It took practically no time before the doors opened on the main floor of the White House. Following the agents, he could tell he was being led toward the Oval Office. Several of the staff smiled at him as he passed. A door was opened and Foster found himself in the Oval Office.
President O’Bannon rose from his desk and greeted him. “Greg, it’s good to see you,” he said. Foster took the President’s hand, but O’Bannon could tell he was unsure about the situation. He ushered Foster to the couch and sat beside him.
“I trust this is your concession,” Foster joked.
The President smiled, “Not quite,” he said. “Greg, something is beginning to happen tonight and you are going to remain with me until it ends, one way or another,” he said.
“What does this have to do with me? I have a lot on my plate,” said Foster.
“I know, but it is essential that you remain with me for the next day and a half,” O’Bannon said.
Foster chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. I have a campaign to run,” he said.
“Not anymore. This takes precedence. Unless you are ready to be charged with violation of Title 18 of the U. S. Code,” said O’Bannon.
It was like he had struck Foster with a giant hammer. He seemed to sink into the couch and his face took on a pale and frightened look. After a few seconds he murmured, “Title 18?”
O’Bannon sat back in his seat and looked at the man. In all the years he had served as a prosecutor, he knew the look of someone who had been caught. This was it. “Greg, I never thought I would ever be faced saying this to one of my colleagues and especially someone I have an admiration for. I need to know, what Williamson has on you to make you be a part of this,” he said.
“What?” Foster weakly stuttered.
O’Bannon reached to the side table and retrieved a small recorder. He played the first recording. It clearly had his voice talking to Jonas about the hostages. Then he played another where Williamson mentioned he had something on Foster that made him go along. At the end of the second recording, the President shut off the machine. “Greg, how in the hell did you get mixed up in something like this?” he asked.
By now, Foster’s head was tilted downward. He stared at his lap vacantly. “I didn’t know until it was too late. Williamson had the operation on motion and it was either go along or be exposed. I was stuck with an incident long ago that would ruin me. With the operation already underway it was further complicated. By then if it was found out, I would become a traitor to the country I wanted desperately to lead.” He looked up at the President. “I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t. The only thing I had left was to go along and hope no one would ever know,” Foster said.
O’Bannon took a deep breath. “I figured as much. When I heard your comments on the tape, it seemed almost more like a plea than someone plotting. Will you tell me what it was so long ago that would get you in trouble?”
The pain in Foster’s eyes was growing. But in a way, it seemed as if he had to get it out in the open. “In college, during my junior year, I was hanging out with this girl. It was one of those frat parties and everyone was drunk. I know, it’s no excuse, but that’s the way it was. One minute we were dancing and the next I had pulled her up to my room. She didn’t want to, but my brothers in the frat wouldn’t understand me letting go that easy. The more she fought, the more excited I got. When it was over, I just passed out. Some of the brothers got her back to her dorm. Two months later I saw her in the quad on campus. She was pregnant. We didn’t want the baby and she didn’t want her parents to know, so I contacted my uncle, who ran one of those clinics. But something went wrong. During the procedure, she started hemorrhaging and they couldn’t stop it. She died on the table. My uncle told me not to worry, that no one would know who did it. I saw her parents later on. She was their only child,” he said talking more to the floor than to O’Bannon.
The President could see it in his face; the hurt, the years of blaming himself, the sorrow for what had happened. The man was being honest. Despite the fact he had tried to pursue a ‘clean’ campaign and that he had sincerely wanted to get good things done, the same old back door politics had brought him down. O’Bannon wondered how it could have gotten this low. Sitting before him was a good man, but he had been corrupted far worse than anything he had ever seen. He reached out and placed his hand on Foster’s shoulder. “How did Williamson get this?”
Foster took a deep breath. “About ten years ago his committee was investigating the abortion clinics and the records of my uncle’s clinic came under scrutiny. My uncle had left some notes in the file and had forgotten to purge it.” He looked up at O’Bannon. “That’s one of the big reasons he came on as my Chief of Staff. He showed me the records and said he wanted the job, otherwise he would make sure they got out,” he said. Foster chuckled slightly, “Even some of my staff could tell something was wrong. I was hoping I would get elected and then make him go away, but lately it looked like that was a dream as well,” he said.
O’Bannon got up and poured Foster a drink. Foster grabbed the glass with a shaky hand and downed the scotch with one gulp.
O’Bannon sat back down. “Greg, I wish you had put a stop to this much earlier. But now we’re going to play out this mess until either everyone is dead or there’s a ton of glory.”