Stewart rolled into Fort Myer, past the stately brick buildings housing the 3rd Infantry, and pulled up to the small chapel that had served as way station for most of the bodies destined for interment at Arlington.
Today, the body in the casket at the front of the chapel was that of Lieutenant General Wayne Faulkner, the fiery commander of the Army’s III Corps, who had been best known to the public during operation Desert Storm for leading the 5th Armored Division faster and farther through enemy territory than any armored commander in history.
More newsworthy though, was an event after Desert Storm, and in the second month of the fledgling presidency.
Faulkner had joined the President on a fact-finding mission to Poland and in a snafu typical of the early months of the administration, he’d been rudely bumped off the helicopter flying to a meeting with former Warsaw Pact political and military leaders.
The bump had been bad enough — with CNN broadcasting a fuming General Faulkner in his ribbon-bedecked uniform standing at the airfield, trying to commandeer a ride on a subsequent flight — but the President’s press secretary had thrown gasoline onto the fire by getting caught on a mike she thought was dead saying, “We don’t need those-damn toy soldiers screwing things up any more.”
The remark had cost the young woman her job, but it had cost the President more, Stewart knew. The President’s already-strained relationship with the military fell to an alltime low, and he’d spent the last two years striving to patch up an unfixable break.
As Stewart drew to a halt outside the chapel, he reflected that the President’s presence at Faulkner’s funeral later today was a gesture that they all probably could have done without. The unexpected death of the well-liked General had caught everyone by surprise, and with the MRA still a burning issue, the presence of the unpopular President at the funeral was going to leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth.
The only bright spot was the location. As advance security man for the visit, Stewart liked the fact that everything was going to occur in the closed environment of the military post. The military might not like the present President, but Stewart knew he could count on 100 percent support for security and that all the wackos would be on the outside of the’ fence surrounding the base, not on the inside.
“How’s it going, Mike?” A man wearing a long black raincoat and an Army dress hat greeted him as he stepped out into the chill air. Silver eagles glinted on the man’s shoulder, and a subdued MP arm band was on his right shoulder.
“Pretty good, sir.” There was no need for Stewart to call Colonel Hines’sir’ but Stewart had spent six years in the Army and old habits were hard to break. He also had learned to grease the skids of politeness every place he went. Other agents doing advance security came into places like gang busters making demands and treating the local security folks like minions. Stewart didn’t like that approach, especially at places like Fort Myer and with people like Colonel Hines who he had to deal with often. People usually reacted well to a little respect.
Hines’s report was the usual for the area.
“We’re secure. I sent a detail through the cemetery, and it’s clean.
I’ve got men posted at all gates, and the route to the gravesite is blocked for 400 meters on either side.”
Stewart glanced at his watch.
“The President will be coming in by chopper in thirty minutes. I’ll give you departure notice.” He looked at Hines, sensing the colonel was bothered by something.
“Anything wrong?”
Hines shrugged.
“Just the general’s widow. She’s not too happy about the President coming here. In fact, I would say she’s kind of pissed.”
“Any press on post?” Stewart asked.
“No. I did what you asked and closed it down. One of the Arlington Ladies is. with Mrs. Faulkner, and I hope she’ll be calm by the time the President gets here.”
“Arlington Ladies?” Stewart asked as he checked the frequency on the radio he wore on his belt and slipped the earpiece into his left ear.
“They’re volunteers who go to every funeral at the cemetery.
They’re a great help. Most of them have someone in their family buried here so they can really talk to those who’ve lost loved ones.”
“Has this Arlington Lady been cleared?” Stewart asked, regretting the question as soon as he asked it.
Hines’s face clouded with anger.
“Mrs. Patterson — the lady assigned to this funeral — has a husband and a son buried here, KIA Korea and Vietnam. I think that’s clearance enough.”
“Sorry,” Stewart said.
“That was a stupid question.” A voice crackled in his ear.
“Chopper’s lifting off. They’ll be here about ten minutes early, so we need to get this going at nine-fifty.”
Hines frowned but uttered no word of protest.
“I’ll inform Mrs. Faulkner.”
Stewart walked across the street to the parade field where the 3rd Infantry practiced their intricate drill and ceremonies.
When Stewart had been in the 1st Cavalry Division at Fort Hood, the 3rd Infantry had been regarded as a showboat unit, not worth much in terms of real infantry. He watched carefully as two soldiers set out beanbag lights to mark the landing zone for the President’s helicopter.
Beside the fact that this was a military post, Stewart felt comfortable security-wise because this trip was unannounced. The President had only decided the previous evening to attend the funeral and the only ones informed of the decision had been the Secret Service, Colonel Hines at Fort Myer and General Faulkner’s aide, who’d informed the family. One of the primary rules of security was that the chances of a random attack on the President were much lower than a planned one. If a visit wasn’t announced, the threat indicators were usually very low.
Stewart heard the Marine Corps CH-53 helicopter long before he saw it.
“Gull, this is Julius, are we clear?”
Stewart spoke, knowing the acoustic mike built into the plug in his ear would pick up his words and transmit them.
“Julius, this is Gull. You are clear to land.”
The aircraft came straight in, landing with a slight flair of blades.
The staircase on the side was folded out and the lead men for the President’s security detail stepped out. The President followed along with several of his key people.
Stewart knew more about the Administration than most reporters who covered the White House beat because he was on the inside and more importantly, because Secret Service agents were treated like part of the furniture, with much being said in front of them that would not be said in front of anyone else.
The man right behind the President was someone who Stewart always paid careful attention to, because the President paid careful attention to him. The person the President relied on for political expertise in the vicious and unfamiliar political waters of Washington was the man walking at his right side, inside the inner circle of Secret Service protection. James Jordan was the senior senator from Vermont and the man who had helped guide the President through the minefield of the campaign trail and his first three and a half years in office.
Jordan was every inch the distinguished senator, from his full head of white hair, to his erect carriage and bearing.
The sound of his New England accent preaching a new brand of middle class liberalism had become very familiar to all Americans, and there were many who wondered why Jordan had not sought the nomination himself, not knowing that the senior senator was more than content to sit on the less stressful side of the desk in the Oval Office. Jordan had a reputation in Washington for a brilliant mind. Stewart knew he’d saved the President’s political bacon more than once with his observations and suggested plans of action.