Term Limits

chapter Five
"You can talk about the grief you feel over the loss of these good friends. We'll make it seem real personal. You can list some of their achievements and talk them up as real heroes of democracy."

"Let's not build them up too much," Nance said cautiously. "One of our deceased friends has quite a few skeletons in his closet that could come back to haunt us. Let the press make the first move on that one ....

Let's just state the obvious and say these assassinations are a threat to our national security, and then you can make some comments about how these men gave their entire lives to the service of their country.

Most importantly, we should keep it short."

Garret shook his head in agreement. "You're right. These guys are dead now. We don't owe them any more favors. If the press wants to turn them into martyrs, we can wait and jump on that bandwagon during the funerals next week." Everyone nodded his head in agreement while Garret continued writing himself a note. When he was finished, he looked up at Hopkinson.

"Ted, why don't you go tell Moncur what time we will be addressing the nation and get the speechwriters focused on the issues we've discussed.

When I'm finished, I'll stop by your office to work on the details."

Hopkinson stood and started for the door. As soon as he was gone, Garret leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. "I am really pissed off with the way that meeting went this morning, and not just because that no-name agent got in my face. I'm pissed because here we are in the middle of a crisis and we can't even trust the very people we are dependent on to give us information. Now, I don't want to go back and rehash why Roach and Stansfield weren't replaced when we took office.

"We all know why they weren't, and we were all in agreement at the time. "

"In light of our difficulties in getting the cabinet confirmed, the right thing to do was leave them in charge of the FBI and the CIA."

Garret's balding, skinny head shook and his cheeks tensed. "Now, here we are in the middle of a major crisis, and I don't trust either one of them as far as I can throw them. What are we going to do about it?"

The President considered the question and answered, "Well, neither of them is willing to resign, and considering the crisis we're confronted with, I think trying to force them out would be unwise."

Nance sat still while both men looked to him for his opinion. He was the professional spook of the group, having spent most of his early years working for Army intelligence and then moving on to the National Security Agency. He had a sharp mind and was good at putting things in motion. The idea for blackmailing Congressman Moore had been his. "If you're serious about getting rid of them," Nance finally responded, "you'll have to do it through public pressure and pressure from the Hill. They have to be embarrassed into leaving their jobs." He paused for a moment, his mind calculating the next move. "The pressure to solve these murders will rest solely on the shoulders of the FBI. If Roach doesn't make progress on the case, it will be very easy to turn the dogs loose on him."  Nance held a finger up in the air. "And I have some ideas on how we may be able to speed up the process."

The SUN WAS DROPPING OVER the WESTERN HORIZON, AND DROPPING with it was the temperature. O'Rourke walked down the street with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a dark brown leather jacket. His left hand was wrapped around the handle of a .45-caliber Combatmaster made by Detonics. The palm-sized pistol packed a huge punch. As a Congressman, O'Rourke had obtained a special permit to carry the weapon. He wasn't carrying the gun just because of the recent assassinations. He had started carrying it several years ago to protect himself against the roving packs of gang-bangers that roamed the streets of D.C. O'Rourke had been a bone-crushing defenseman for the University of Minnesota hockey team. With his size and speed, few people toyed with him on or off the ice, but the muggers of D.C. cared little about size. The second most traumatic event in O'Rourke's life had proved that. The thought of his friend's mugging caused Michael to tighten his grip around the handle of the gun. One year earlier, Michael's best friend had been shot and killed just two blocks from the Capitol. Mark Coleman and O'Rourke worked on Senator Olson's staff and were roommates. One night Coleman was on his way home from work when he was stopped by a twenty-two-year-old crack addict. A witness saw the shaky young man walk up to Coleman and, without saying a word, shoot him in the chest, grab his wallet, and run. The police caught the man the next day. The murderer had already been convicted of armed robbery twice but was paroled early because of a lack of space in the D.C. jails.

O'Rourke hadn't been concerned that his roommate didn't come home that night. Coleman was engaged and spent most of his evenings at his fiancee's apartment. O'Rourke went into the office late the next morning.

He had just won his congressional seat the previous week and was coming in to go over some transition notes with Senator Olson. Michael entered the office with no idea that his friend had been killed. The office personnel were gathered in the reception area hugging each other and crying when Michael walked through the door. O'Rourke stood in shock while one of the secretaries told him the news. Michael looked around the room at all of the people trying to comfort one another and instinctively withdrew. He backed out of the office and left the building. When he got outside, he headed for the Mall and walked westward, passing the Smithsonian and the Washington Monument. Walking slowly, his mind flooded with memories of his friend and his parents.

After passing the Reflecting Pool, he reached the Lincoln Memorial and stopped. He stood and stared back at the Capitol for a long time.

O'Rourke stared at the large rotunda and tried to grasp how a person could be shot and killed so close to the heart of the government of the United States of America. He sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial staring at the Capitol, trying to make sense of a senseless death, trying to understand what was happening to America, trying to understand why someone like Mark Coleman, who had worked so hard, who lived honestly, whose whole life was ahead of him, could be snuffed out by a worthless crack addict. O'Rourke thought of all the meetings he'd sat in where fat-cat Senators and Congressman threw around billions of tax dollars as if it were a Monopoly game-the money always going to support some special-interest group whose endorsement would be needed in the next election. When the subject of crime came up, it was talked about with enthusiasm and vigor, especially when the press was around, but behind the closed doors of committee meetings the politicians were always more willing to spend money on farm subsidies or defense spending than crime. The reality of life had smacked O'Rourke harshly in the face that day. He looked at Washington and knew there was no way he could make a difference. The corruption of the system had become too entrenched, and even if there were thirty other Congressman just like him, they couldn't make a dent. The old boys controlled the committees and with that the legislative agenda and the purse strings.

O'Rourke had decided at that moment, one year earlier, as he looked at the large dome of the Capitol, that he was done with Washington. If he couldn't make a difference, he didn't want to be a witness and accessory to the corruption of Washington politics. The hell if he was going to stay in this town and turn into one of them. Washington was built on a swamp, and as far as Michael was concerned, it was still a swamp. As O'Rourke turned onto Wisconsin Avenue, his mind returned to the present. He noted for the first time since taking office that real change might be possible. The shocking assassination of three of Washington's most prominent political animals was sure to force reform to the forefront.

O'Rourke walked across the street to Blacky's Bar and entered.

Glancing over the crowd, he looked for a full head of black hair, and after two sweeps he found her. She was sitting at the far end of the bar surrounded by a group of men still in suits. The sight of her brought a smile to his face. An attractive woman walked up and grabbed O'Rourke's arm. "Michael, you're late. You'd better get over there and save her.

The vultures are closing in. O'Rourke continued to stare across the bar. "Yes, I see that." He looked down and kissed the woman on the cheek. "Hello, Meredith, is she ready to kill me?"

"Michael, you could show up at midnight and she wouldn't be mad. May I take your coat?"

O'Rourke remembered he was carrying his gun and politely said, "No, thank you."

"Were things pretty tense on the Hill today?"

"Yeah, there was a lot of extra security."

"Well, you be careful." The owner squeezed his arm. "Get over there and save her. I've got a booth ready for you, whenever you're ready."

O'Rourke weaved his way through the crowd and stood behind the pack of cruisers salivating over his girlfriend. He took a deep breath and watched for a moment. O'Rourke placed his hands on the shoulders of the two men closest to him. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

The two men turned around and made some room. Liz was wearing a white blouse, short black skirt, black nylons, and black suede heels. A smile spread across O'Rourke's face, and he stepped forward to kiss her on the lips. Then brushing his nose along her cheek, he whispered, "You look great." She smiled, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him closer for another kiss. After several moments, O'Rourke grabbed her by the hand and said, "Meredith has our table ready. Let's go be alone."

The couple walked over to the open booth and sat down across from each other. O'Rourke grabbed her hands and stared at her. He loved her eyes.

He loved everything about her. her thick, black hair, her olive skin, her sharp mind, her great sense of humor, but he especially loved her eyes. Despite his bad attitude toward Washington she had managed to work her way into his heart. Liz was bright, she was aggressive, she was caring, she loved kids. She was everything he wanted. Liz Scarlatti had entered his life a year ago, and even though the last thing he wanted was a relationship, he couldn't resist her. They had met at a small blues bar in Georgetown. It was a busy weekend night and they happened to be standing next to each other when the band struck up a sultry version of "Sweet Melissa" by the Allman Brothers.

The female lead of the band sang it in a slow, seductive way that brought the entire crowd into a rhythmic sway. Standing by the edge of the dance floor, O'Rourke bumped a little too hard into whomever he was standing next to, and when he turned to apologize, there was Liz. The apology never got out of his mouth. He stared in awe at what he had no doubt was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. His face was frozen, eyes open wide, lips parted slightly. Liz looked up at him with her big brown eyes, and that was it. O'Rourke felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he couldn't move. Luckily for him Liz didn't freeze. She slowly took the beer out of Michael's hand, set it on a ledge, and then grabbing him by the hand, she led him onto the dance floor. The rest was history. Over the next year their attraction grew into a serious love affair with marriage on the horizon. There was only one problem at present--Michael wanted out of D.C. and Liz wasn't sure yet. She liked her job less and less every week, but hadn't grown to hate it yet. She had worked hard to get where she was and wasn't quite sure she was ready to give it up and move to Minnesota.

Scarlatti smiled at O'Rourke and asked, "So, did you see me on TV yesterday?" The smile disappeared from O'Rourke's mouth.

"What was that all about? You know how much I hate publicity."

O'Rourke changed his voice and started to mimic her, "'Mr. President, Congressman O'Rourke says your budget is stuffed with more pork than a Jimmy Dean sausage." Come on, Liz, I had reporters calling my office all afternoon." O'Rourke had been mad as hell yesterday when he saw her get up at the press conference and quote him, but now, sitting in front of her, all that anger was gone. "Well, I'm sorry, Michael, you're a public figure, and what you say is news."

"First of all, I'm not eligible, and I have no control over what some flighty gossip columnist writes. With you, that's a different story.

All I'm asking is that in the future we keep our relationship a little more private. What is said when we're in bed together stays between you and me." Scarlatti leaned forward. "If that's what you really want, I will respect it, but I'll never understand your aversion to the press. You're the only politician I know who consciously tries to stay out of the limelight."

"Liz, we've been over this before. Let's not go over it again."

Michael gave her a forced smile and then said, "By the way, congratulations! You looked very good yesterday. You were the only one who challenged him.

The rest of those pansies rolled over and gave him nice, easy questions."

"That's why they get called on. Those press conferences are the biggest scams. The President calls on the same people every time because he knows they'll toss him a nice big fat one." The President was sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office wearing a dark suit, striped tie, and white shirt.

Pieces of Kleenex were stuffed between his collar and neck as a woman stood over him and applied makeup to his face. Stu Garret loomed over the other shoulder and read off a list of last-minute reminders. Ted Hopkinson was in the midst of a final check to see that everything was in place. In five minutes they would be live in front of the nation.

Garret waved away the woman who was doing the makeup. "That's enough.

He looks fine! . . . Now, Jim. remember, start out looking somber.

We want to show them that you're in pain. Stay kind of slouched over during the first part, like you did during the last rehearsal. When we get to the last part, about democracy and the founders of this country, I want you to become more stiff and rigid. Sit up straight, but don't pound your fist on the desk like you did during the last rehearsal. It comes off a little too strong. Just stick with your old standby. Pull that arm in tight and shake your fist at the camera. Not too fast.

Shake it slow and deliberately, like you're emphasizing every word."

Garret mimicked the move. Hopkinson approached and pulled the Kleenex out from under the President's collar. "Sir, you know the routine.

Please don't touch your face, your shirt, or your tie. The makeup will smear and we're going to be live in minutes." Scarlatti and O'Rourke were glancing at their menus, and discussing the assassinations, when the subdued roar of the Friday-night crowd dropped to a hushed silence.

When they looked up, the President's face was on every TV in the bar.

Several people made sarcastic remarks and were shouted down by the other patrons. The President started to speak. "Good evening. I will be very brief and to the point tonight. It is with deep sorrow that I come to you, to discuss a great loss to our nation. the tragic deaths of Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs ....

These three great statesmen have given over eighty years of service to the people of America. During that time, they fought with passion for the things they believed in: freedom, democracy, and the welfare of every man, woman, and child in America. Their careers were long and illustrious. Between them, they authored hundreds of bills that have helped make America a better place to live and work. Their leadership, guidance, and wisdom will be greatly missed in the hallowed halls of Congress, and I will greatly miss their friendship." The President looked down for a moment and paused. "I would ask all of you, my fellow Americans, to keep Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, Senator Downs, and their families in your prayers. They were not perfect; none of us are. Yet they overcame their imperfections and gave everything they had to their country and their fellow countrymen.

For this, we will always be indebted to them." The President paused again, his face drawn, staring into the camera. "We, in the nation's capital, are in shock over the senseless, violent murders that were committed this morning. We are a very close group. Many of us have worked beside each other for decades.

I, myself, have known Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs for over thirty years. I have met their wives and children. I have watched their children grow up, get married, and have children of their own. It is extremely painful for us to see three men, who have given so much, struck down in one senseless flurry of violence." Again, the President looked down and paused for a moment.

When he looked back up, he picked up a piece of paper and held it up to the camera. "Many of you are aware of this letter that was received by the media today. The FBI has informed me there is a very good chance this letter is from the group that committed the murders of Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs. The FBI also believes there is a very good chance this letter was sent as a piece of disinformation, sent to lead the investigation in the wrong direction.

Due to the investigation taking place, I cannot expand on this any further. All I can say for now is that FBI director Roach has assured me that the terrorists who killed these defenseless men will be caught and brought to justice." The President waved the letter in the air and sat more upright. "The people who committed this crime represent the antithesis of democracy. They represent tyranny. What happened this morning was not just the murder of three important politicians. It was an attack on the United States of America. It was an assault on the ideals of democracy. Our country was founded by men and women who fled the tyranny of monarchies and dictatorships from all over the world.

They made America a place where everyone could have a say in how the country was run: a government for the people, by the people, and of the people. Over the years, we have fought in countless wars defending freedom and democracy. Millions of American men and women have died so that we could continue to live free, to have a say in how our government works, so that democracy could flourish!" The President became more animated. "The cruel and inhumane murders that were perpetrated this morning represent what those millions of Americans died fighting against. They were acts of tyranny, the harsh, violent, and forceful rule of the few over the many. Democracy and diversity have made America great. We are great because everyone has had a say, not because a militant few have shoved their beliefs and ideals down the throats of the rest of the country. Even if the demands of this letter were genuine, which we do not think they are, I could not accept them. If you, the American people, want to make changes in the way your government is run, those changes must take place in a peaceful and democratic way. They must take place within our current legislative and legal system. You have chosen me to be your President, and I have taken an oath to uphold the laws of this land and to protect the national security of America.

"The people who committed these crimes are terrorists and cowards. I will continue the policy of my predecessors. I will not deal with terrorists. The FBI, along with the cooperation of our other law enforcement and intelligence agencies, will hunt these animals down and put them behind bars. Many Americans have died fighting for democracy. Congressman Koslowski, Senator Fitzgerald, and Senator Downs are three more names that will be added to that long and noble list. They were patriots who not only believed in democracy and freedom, who not only lived and enjoyed the fruits of democracy and freedom, they were men who fought for democracy and freedom so the rest of us could enjoy it. "The deaths of these three great Americans are a tragedy and loss to our entire nation, but America is a country that has suffered many losses in her long and glorious battle to sustain freedom.

Throughout our history we have been faced with great trials and tribulations. We have, as a nation, always risen above these obstacles and emerged stronger! Next week, we will, as a nation, bury these three honorable men. We will mourn their deaths as a country, and then we will do as they would have wished." The President picked his right hand off the desk and clenched his fist. Continuing to speak, he slowly thrust it forward, toward the camera. "America and democracy are too big and good to be brought down by tyranny. We will push on, we will persevere, we will overcome!" There was a long pause as he continued to stare into the camera and let the words he'd spoken hang, and then in closing he said, "Good night, and may God bless each of you."

The PRESIDENT CONTINUED TO STARE INTO THE CAMERA UNTIL HOPKINSON stepped in and pulled him out of his chair. "Sir, all of these mikes are still live, and the camera is sending out a feed." The President nodded, knowing what his communications director was implying. The previous year Stevens had told several off-color jokes following his Saturday-afternoon radio address. He thought the microphones had been turned off, but they weren't. The press had .jumped all over him, but since the jokes were actually funny, the damage was minor. Hopkinson and Garret were always on the alert to prevent a similar mistake.

Garret walked over and said, "Come on, gentlemen, let's go to my office." He shook his head toward the door, and the President and Hopkinson followed. When they entered Garret's office, the President turned to Hopkinson and asked, "How did I look?"

"You looked fine, sir."

"Did it look genuine and heartfelt?"

"I thought so, but we'll know more in about an hour. I've got a polling group calling five hundred homes right now to try and get an early read on what the public thinks." Stu Garret sat down behind his desk, shoved a cigarette in his mouth, and turned on the little brown smoke-eater next to his ashtray. After taking a deep drag, he pulled the cigarette away from his lips and started to speak, his lungs still filled with smoke. "You did a nice job, Jim. If we handle this thing right, I think we're going to see a big jump in your approval ratings."

Smoke started to seep out of Garret's nose, and he tilted his head back, exhaling a deep gray cloud toward the ceiling. "There's nothing like the exposure you get from a crisis."

Back in Blacky's, the roar of conversation had returned as the patrons discussed the events of the day and the President's speech. O'Rourke was intentionally keeping his mouth shut as Scarlatti stared at him. He looked over the top of his menu at her big brown eyes. "Michael, you know I'm dying to hear what you have to say about this whole thing."

"About what?" Scarlatti pulled the menu out of his hands. "Don't play coy with me, Michael, I'm serious. I really want to know what you think about this. I mean, it isn't every day two Senators and a Congressman get assassinated."

Michael thought about sugarcoating his comment and then opted for the direct approach. "In a nutshell, Liz, I think Koslowski, Downs, and Fitzgerald were the scum of the earth.

They represented the core of what is wrong with this town."

"Come now, Michael, how do you really feel about them?" asked Scarlatti sarcastically. "Listen, I'm not crazy about our political leadership getting gunned down under the cover of darkness, but considering where we're headed, I'm not so sure these assassins aren't doing all of us a huge favor." Scarlatti looked down and said, "I'm afraid there are a lot of people out there who would agree with you.

Doesn't it worry you at all as a Congressman, that these terrorists may turn the gun on you eventually?"

"No." Michael shook his head. "There are bigger fish to fry than me. And besides, I'm not so sure they're terrorists."

"You don't think they're terrorists?" asked Liz with a quizzical expression.

"No. It's an overused cliche, but one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter. These guys haven't killed any civilians." O'Rourke paused for a second. In a voice just above a whisper he continued, "If no one else dies, and this group can bring about the changes they stated in their demands, this will be one of the best things that has happened in this country since the civil rights movement."

"Well, from what the President just said, there's reason to believe that letter is a fake."

"Come on, Liz." O'Rourke frowned. "You're a reporter. Do you really believe a word that comes out of Stevens's mouth? The White House is already trying to spin this thing and they don't even know what's going on. Those guys are sitting over there right now shitting in their pants." O'Rourke picked up his fork and tapped it lightly on the place mat. "Today was supposed to be a big day for them. The President was going to pass his budget, but instead he wakes up and finds out that two Senators and his point man in Congress have been assassinated.

Then he receives a letter telling him it's time to get his act together, or he's next. Liz, this is their worst fear, and'not just the President, all of them. They've played their little game of party politics for years.

Every election they say they're going to cut all the wasteful spending, give a tax break to the middle class, and balance the budget. They say anything to get elected, and then, once they're back in office, it's the same old crap: more spending, no tax breaks, and more deficits."

Scarlatti shook her head and smiled. O'Rourke looked at her and asked, "What?"

"I guess I'm just a little shocked. I would have thought that you, of all people, Mr. Law and Order, would have been denouncing what happened today. I mean, I'm the liberal. I'm supposed to be supporting anarchy, not you."

"This isn't anarchy, Liz. It may be a revolt, but it's not anarchy."

Smiling, he said, "Besides, you're a member of the press. You're supposed to be neutral, remember?"

Special Agent McMahon was sitting at the head of the table in a large conference room down the hall from his office. The room was quickly becoming the command center for the investigation. He was staring at the TV in disbelief. The President had just finished his address to the nation, and McMahon did not like what he had heard. He grabbed the phone next to him and dialed the direct line to Roach's office. After several rings, the director answered, "Hello."

"What in the hell was that all about?"

"I have no idea," Roach responded flatly. "Has anyone from the Bureau told them we believe the letter is a piece of disinformation?"

"No," sighed Roach.

"You didn't actually promise him that we would catch these guys, did you?"

"Skip, you know better than that."

"What in the hell is going on?

I don't understand why in the hell he would say something like that."

"I think I might. Why don't you meet me in my office tomorrow morning at eight? The President wants to see us at noon. That should give us time to go over some things."

"I'll be there at eight."

"How are things going on your end?"

"So far the preliminary reports on the autopsies haven't turned anything up, and the letters we intercepted were negative for prints.

They may find out more after they pick them apart, but I doubt it."

"Have any of those people from the park come in to try to give us a composite of the guy they saw?"

"Yeah, we've got three who think they saw the perpetrator. Right now they're in separate rooms giving their descriptions to different artists. When they're done, we'll bring them together and compare."

"Good. I assume we're taking extra precautions to make sure their names aren't leaked?"

"As far as the press knows, there are no witnesses to any of the killings."