In spite of, or maybe because of every concerted effort to silence or disparage him, the strength of his message grew in favor. The truth of his words blazed like a wildfire across the nation. Everywhere he went, he was met by people who longed to hear his vision of a new America, or rather a very old America – the original America.
He had shied away from the urban areas of course; they were simply too chaotic for him to control. He was afraid that agents of the opposition would try to sabotage his rallies and pervert them into violent clashes with protesters. The small towns across America, however, had welcomed him lovingly and with open arms. Every additional stop inspired him and burdened his soul at the same time.
If there is an election, he thought. If there is an election and it isn’t halted; if there is an election, and it isn’t halted, and if it is even reasonably close to being even reasonably fair, we just might have a chance.
The rail turned east just above the tiny town of Floyd and followed the banks of the Cedar River for a short distance. Occasionally Ames would catch a glimpse of the muddy waters between the thick growths of oaks and maples along the bank as he lost himself in his own thoughts.
But there won’t be an election. A nd if there is, it certainly won’t be free and fair. So why am I still doing this? But, I can’t quit now; there has to be a record that someone took a stand. God will not hold us guiltless…
The senator had just fallen asleep when his senior aide nudged his shoulder.
“Sir, can we have a word?”
The senator yawned and stretched his arms wide as he replied, “Of course, what is it?”
“Let’s talk about this one alone.”
Ames nodded and arose from his chair.
“Folks, let’s break for the evening. Go down to the dining car and get something to eat, or catch a couple hours of sleep in your room. We’ll meet back here at eight o’clock to go over tomorrow’s agenda.”
The group quickly dispersed, leaving only the senior aide and the head of the senator’s Secret Service detail.
“Wade, tell me what’s going on?”
Wade, his senior aide, sat across the table from him and began, “We don’t want to alarm you, but we’re starting to get some chatter about a possible attempt on you in the near future.”
“We’ve been hearing that for weeks, maybe months.”
The agent interjected, “Sir, this time it’s different. I’m getting information from some of my contacts in the CIA this time. We should take the utmost precaution until the election. I recommend we abandon the train and transition to buses so that we can secure a wider perimeter of protection around you.”
“We’ve been over this a dozen times; the answer is still ‘no’, guys.”
His aide leaned in and pleaded, “Jackson, this is Wade your friend, not Wade your aide talking now, okay? Please trust us on this one.”
Jackson Ames sighed and stared at the ceiling for a few moments before replying, “I’ll consider it, but I have to hear the details. I don’t need a handler; you can talk straight with me, you know that. Now, tell me what you’re hearing.”
Wade deferred to the agent.
The man considered his words for a moment before beginning, “Sir, it’s not so much what I’m hearing, it’s who I’m hearing it from and how it’s being told to me. If I put the intel in a report and submitted it to you, it wouldn’t appear that different. On the surface it sounds like the same threats: during your speeches and in between stops. During the speeches we’re afraid of a sniper attack and in between stops it’s a strike against the train.”
“All old news; I’ve heard it all before. Lone wolf gunmen and unorganized revolutionaries don’t particularly worry me; that’s why you’re here. So what is different about the chatter this time?”
“It’s where I’m hearing it from, or rather, where I’m not hearing it from; none of it is coming from DHS or the Secret Service. I’m getting the same warnings as usual from them, the lower-level threats like you mentioned. What has me so concerned is how I’m getting the information from my friends in the CIA. It’s coming through third parties, rather than the agents themselves. It’s as if they’re afraid to openly contact me – and these aren’t the type of men and women that’re afraid of much.”
“I’m still not hearing specifics; level with me.”
The two men glanced ominously at each other. Wade proceeded laconically, “We’ve got spooked spooks that’re sending us warnings that you’ll be the target of a high-level assassination attempt, and they’re going to act soon.”
“Wait, what? Who are they?”
“The government, sir; or at least someone within the government.”
“The govern-the government? Our government?”
“We’re being advised to pull you out of the campaign immediately. That’s probably the only thing that will call it off, and our contacts aren’t even sure that’ll work. You’re the closest thing we’ve had to a George Washington in a long time and they don’t want this to spiral out of control any more than it already has. What if Washington had died at Yorktown, at the end of the war and the birth of the nation? Can you imagine the chaos? That’s what the agents that’re warning us are comparing it to, and it’s their job to war-game scenarios like this. They’re not in the business of being sensational.”
Ames rested his elbows on the table. He closed his eyes as he massaged his temples. He sighed deeply before opening them again and staring blankly past the two men. The room was silent for what seemed like an eternity before the senator finally spoke.
“How sure can you be that what you’re hearing is true?”
“I wouldn’t believe a word, if it wasn’t for the men I’m hearing it from. They've done their due diligence and must believe it themselves; that’s why they won’t contact us directly. They don’t want to tip their hat to the people around them.”
“Who’ve you told?”
“Who can we tell?”
The senator nodded. He stood and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sport coat. He paced the perimeter of the war room deep in thought. The men stood and watched as he paced, waiting for direction. Ames paused, dropped his head and stood in silence for a minute or two. When he was finished, he opened his eyes and turned to them.
“Even if I retreat, they’ll come after me?”
“They might; we’re not sure.”
“Oh, they will. I’m scalped if I do and scalped if I don’t.”
The two men stood in silence, not knowing what to say to a man with a mark on his head.
“Washington, huh?”
Confused, the two men nodded and cut their eyes to each other, not sure of the point the senator was making.
He continued, “What do you know about the battle of Monongahela?”
They both looked at the senator blankly before Wade replied, “I can’t even say that word.”
“Apparently not much,” Ames murmured, “Okay, here’s a primer: during the French and Indian War, a British force commanded by General Braddock was making its way to take Fort Duquesne. The fort was essential to gaining control of the area. Among his officers were Colonel Thomas Gage and a young George Washington.
The path Braddock chose through the thick, Pennsylvanian forests was narrow and unaccommodating. Their progress slowed to a crawl because of the widening of the path that was necessary to move the heavy artillery and supply wagons along it. Ultimately, Braddock made the fatal decision of splitting his forces into two groups. Gage was sent forward with over half of the forces. The remainder of Braddock’s men stayed with the slow-moving supply train to continue the difficult task of clearing a path for them.
Gage’s men were beset by a group of French and Canadian soldiers and Indian warriors. The Indians used the forest to their advantage and engaged in guerilla tactics. Gage and his men were routed. The larger British force was surrounded and in complete disarray. They withdrew back down the narrow path and collided headlong with Braddock’s remaining force, further adding to the chaos and confusion.