Chapter Seventeen
ELECTION NIGHT IS a ritualistic reunion unique to the political world. Ben’s favorite time of the campaign is Election Night, and not just because it marks the end of the campaigning or that all he and his friends can do now is wait for the results to be announced. Once campaigning was over, the tradition among the politicians-in-training included everyone gathering in a Tortilla Grill restaurant that was large enough to fit them all, and hang out together as friends, even if they had bitterly fought the campaign that just ended.
These guys and girls, as Ben watched on, always and quite humorously fell into a drunken stupor as they celebrated (or squelched) their feelings, before and after the announcement. One vilified individual, after the infamous filibuster to protect the Academic Council, even came to Election Night sporting the horns of the Devil.
Essentially, Election Night was a way for all concerned to put the campaign behind them and reunite their fractured establishment, or restore friendships. But in an interesting twist, to protest some the debate-stifling practices of the establishment, Ben’s New Democracy Party once broke with tradition and failed to arrive at the usual meeting place. It caused quite a stir and actually generated the most news out of an otherwise predictable Election Night. And all it took was some early planning, a determined effort to stick it to his opponents, and support from his allies…
IF YOU ASKED Mike twenty years ago, he would laugh at the prospect of showing up at his high school reunion in a limo. His working-class upbringing made such success a difficult picture in his head. Yet, here he was, and while this situation would normally result in deep relaxation and satisfaction, Mike was too busy to notice.
“Uplink complete,” his tablet intoned. Mike double-checked the computer; sure enough, all 4 surveillance cameras were set up at their prearranged locations. The computer then verified their battery level. Seeing this person on tape will be better than a confession, he thought.
“Mike,” Bennita whispered from her mouthpiece inside the reunion hall, “I’ve set up the scanners in the main hall and outside the main entrances and exits. Your computer should be able to detect any abnormal metal.” This, of course, should give them a clear indication of whether and where the high-tech rifle is being used.
The FBI has already cleared the area of any conventional threats that may have been planted inside the building in the days and weeks leading up to the reunion. So, it was all left to Adam, who would keep a close eye on those camera feeds throughout the night and report anything suspicious to Bennita, who’d keep herself busy but inconspicuous.
Mike chuckled to himself. I never thought I’d bring two dates to my reunion. It’s just kind of sad that riding home with them won’t mean the same thing for me as it would for everyone else here.
STEPPING OUT OF the limo was easy, thanks to his driver’s help. As soon as Mike’s head peeked out from behind the window, however, the flashing lights of cameras snapping pictures came fast and furiously. Aside from the fans littering the frontlines of the crowd and the happy applause of the adults, Mike had to contend with an already audible echo of music from the main hall, and an ever-present press gaggle.
“Mike! Mike!” pleaded one reporter.
“Mr. Adams!” tried another as Mike made his way up the red carpet.
“Sir!” A third reporter failed to get his attention.
“Can we get a statement from you?”
Mike turned to see who it was. Seeing her again is…intoxicating, Mike thought, but chose to act like he didn’t see Ashley. Instead, he set his eyes down on the skinny Timothy Cunningham, who was leaning over the ropes and getting uncomfortable from it. Mike stepped toward Timothy, allowing a couple of doctor-types to pass by while trying to ignore the spectacle.
“It’s been twenty years, Tim. Some of these people I last saw during Graduation Day. I really look forward to seeing them again, and I hope, aside from that, we have an uneventful evening,” he said over the noise of the crowd.
Timothy looked up from his notes and instantly asked, “Are we going to get advance copies of your speech?”
Mike laughed heartily. “I’m already here, aren’t I?” His face then gave off an unusually evil grin. “Besides, I haven’t even had a chance to finish writing it yet!”
The press went berserk over this, but he allowed himself to leave it at that, giving that group of chirpy rumor-grinders something to chew on while he went inside.
MIKE COULDN’T QUITE call it a “blast from the past,” but the view from within the reunion hall certainly brought back memories. The old yearbook staff had decorated the hallway leading up to the main auditorium with blown-up pictures from the yearbook (of course) and from those sent in by the alumni in the past few weeks.
In one photo, a couple friends were dressed in drag – with Mike off to one corner in the scene with a facial expression that clearly effused great amusement over the sight. Ah, the silly video in English class. Wasn’t I dressed in drag too, at some point in the making of that video?
A couple others were humorous in an ironic sort of way, such as photographs of couples kissing who, shortly after the photograph was taken, went through messy break-ups. Some group photos even caught Mike’s unfortunate experimentation with hair dyes – shortly before highlights became fashionable again.
Mike’s steady pace through the building lead him to the table set up in front of the auditorium. Some pimple-infested teenager handed Mike a name tag, but before he could protest that the kid didn’t know who he was, Mike saw it. A poster was resting on an easel that displayed the program, and on this poster was a small photo of Mike and the line explaining he was the keynote speaker. Damn, my fame can’t be forgotten even here at my reunion, he thought in slight disappointment.
The entrance to the reunion was complete with double wooden doors that easily surpassed nine feet tall, and had elaborate handles at stomach-level for opening them. The music had become a subdued whisper as live music was replaced with “easy listening” CDs. There was little to hear from the other side of the entrance except the conversations being held by his former peers.
With a deep breath, Mike reached out and opened both doors at once.
“INCOGNITA, THE PATRIOT is set to sign the Declaration of Independence,” Adam said into his microphone, as he and his accomplices in this little endeavor switched to use of coded language, lest anyone be eavesdropping.
“Got that. I’ll look out for John Hancock,” was the reply.
With that, Adam Ruppesberger sat back in his chair and turned his attention to the other camera screens. He reached for his coffee. He muttered to himself, “This high school surely pulled out all of the stops to honor this graduating class of Mike’s.”
“WALT, THE CHILD has entered the sandbox,” the blonde lady said into her cell phone as she waited outside of the reunion hall. “Should I bother joining the party now?”
“It will be less noticeable than if you didn’t. Don’t blow your cover, and remember your cue. I will contact you again in three hours. I expect a successful mission. It’s time that Mike pays for his misplaced priorities and wasted idealism.”
“Gotcha. At least we already know what the headlines will say tomorrow.”
“Right. As if I care about the media. I care for results!”
JOEL MICHAELS WAS a Jewish nemesis for Mike through much of their high school years, although they patched things up during their senior year when Mike mellowed out his attitude and sought a better reputation. They lost touch almost instantly despite sharing the same major in college because Joel opted for Harvard for an undergrad education and Mike opted to stay in town for his.
The two of them did meet briefly nearly ten years later, when Joel participated in a fund-raiser for Mike’s nascent yet successful one-time bid for Congress. Otherwise, seeing Joel at the reunion was the first time they had spoken at length in almost twenty years. Joel was now a successful lawyer who served the state legislatures in Boston and
in Tallahassee, while occasionally acting as a consultant for DC-based lobbyists seeking to run grassroots and Astroturf campaigns. He was married with one kid in high school herself and had a townhouse in Boston.
This time, Mike insisted that they keep in touch.
BRANDON LEE WAS in constant contact with Adam. This was needed because Brandon and Bennita worked to reinforce and clarify what Adam was seeing through the surveillance cameras. Brandon was prepared to use every ounce of muscle he had developed in his athletic body. However, he was praying with the rest of them that nothing would happen tonight that would cause any more pain and suffering over what was, in his view, a pretty trivial thing. He still couldn’t believe anyone would go through this much trouble just to protest a film that made fun of Student Government or a book that was, essentially, a striking indictment of unnecessary campus elites.
Nevertheless, he enjoyed this assignment. If for no other reason than that it was a big, public event that would have lots of witnesses and make it difficult for the culprit to knock someone off without getting caught.
“Paul Revere is checking in,” Brandon said softly into his hidden microphone.
“The sky is clear,” Adam replied.
“Where is he?” he said to no answer.
UNBEKNOWNST TO TINA Johnson, Mike had feelings for her back in high school. Eyeing the wedding band, he decided to keep that fact buried when he walked up to her and began a conversation.
“Tina!”
“Mike,” was Tina’s characteristically unenthusiastic response.
“I’m glad you can make it,” he offered.
“It’s our reunion. You might have the surprise best-seller in our class, but that’s not something I care about. You will always be a politician in my book,” the diminutive, dark-skinned woman said.
“I’m not about to start defending myself like it’s high school all over again, Va-” he began uttering an old nickname based on a Star Trek character, but was stopped by a quick gesture that suggested disapproval for even the attempt.
With a huff, the professional author made a bee-line for a circle of closer friends. Even after twenty years, Tina has not changed.
ASHLEY WOODARD WAS not a happy reporter. Her technique was no longer working on him. Her prize-winning method of getting her subjects to open up in interviews was trust, humor, and genuine warmth – while still knowing enough about the subject to pierce through jargon and spin. Yet, Mike’s paranoid delusions had broken that bond of trust, despite any emotional connection that their earlier encounters had generated.
I know I can really get at the heart of him, if he just let me, Ashley thought as she entered the reunion hall. She took a slow and widening glance across the room, and noticed it had an outer-loop of space on the second floor allowing its inhabitants to look down into the center of the hall. She had to check out that view.
After all, the keynote speech was going to be given at any moment now….
A TALL, SCRAWNY, old man made it to the center of the stage at the front of the reunion hall. He lightly tapped his champagne glass into a microphone to get the crowd’s attention. Shawn Walton was, by all accounts, a strange educator. When Mike and his high school friends were coming through the principal’s school, he was practically obsessed with the classic film “Rudy,” which told the heroic true story of an underdog finally fulfilling his dreams through hard work.
“Quiet, please,” he pleaded with the crowd. The crowd cooperated. “I want to welcome all of you to your 20th Anniversary Reunion at Eastside High School!” he said in his squawk-like voice. The alumni applauded; some hoop-and-hollered in celebration. “As you know, despite a certain class clown,” he said to some knowing laughs and a good-natured pat on the back of the obvious target of the joke, “you were my favorite graduating class. And I am happy to have this one as my final reunion party as principal of Eastside High,” he said to patronizing cries of despair.
“I am also extremely happy to introduce to you your reunion’s keynote speaker. He’s a member of your graduating class. He’s an alumnus of Georgetown Law. He’s a former congressman. And – and! – He has recently written a best-selling novel that is about to be made into a feature film. I want all of you to join with me in welcome to the stage our very own “Rudy,” Mr. Michael Adams!” he said as he turned to the side and began clapping.
When Mike emerged from stage left, the crowd immediately burst into applause, which was received with a great big smile of acknowledgement from the speaker. He immediately began waving for them to stop. “Please, stop!” he requested.
As they finally began quieting down, Mike drew in a big breath. He was unsure of what his classmates would think. But more importantly, he never really did get around to writing his speech. So he was even unsure of what he was about to say. Ah the thrill of public speaking, he thought before plunging into the biggest moment of his life – the chance for redemption for the good reputation he had lacked in high school.
“When we graduated all that time ago,” Mike began, “we were called the promise. The great promise of a generation. From their high hopes and great expectations, our teachers, our families, our neighbors all figured we had what it takes to succeed. Friends, I am here tonight, on this very special of occasions, to declare firmly and boldly, that we have delivered on that promise.”
Loud clapping and chirping accompanied that remark, with a bunch of people in their thirties proudly accepting the praise, and waiting for more. So far, so good, Mike thought….
“SO FAR, SO good,” Bennita said to Adam.
“Yep. No signs of any disturbance. And he’s delivering a killer speech.”
“Did you help him with that?” she asked the former literature major.
“Actually, I think much of it is ad-libbed. This whole situation had kept him distracted from writing a speech,” he said in utter amazement.
“God, if he wrote speeches like that in college…”
“I don’t know, Bennita. He gave us all hell with the message, even if the messenger had flaws. Alright, keep your eyes peeled. If this person is going to take aim, it’s going to be when Mike’s under a spotlight and up on a stage away from everyone else.”
“IT’S BEEN A CHALLENGE, but we have risen to the occasion. Over the last twenty years, many of us have proven that we can handle any challenge put to us. And I am confident, as we continue on the path to leadership across this country, that we will deliver once again on the promise we made back at Eastside, and which we are renewing here today. Thank you and good night.”
And with that, Mike concluded his remarks. He hung back politely as he received a standing ovation from the audience of his peers. After a few seconds standing on stage, he made a break for the steps, to get back among the tables, engaging his classmates in conversation.
BRANDON LEE WAS now definitely agitated. Anytime would-be killers miss their obvious opportunities, it usually means they are aiming to outwit their victims. “Adam, be extra vigilant. John Hancock is nowhere to be found, which means he’s probably right under our noses,” he said as he strolled through the second level area, passing by numerous, boring one-on-one conversations. He continued to keep his gaze down in the center of the ground floor, where Mike stood – shaking hands, laughing, and finally enjoying himself.
THE BLONDE WAS definitely impressed with her weapon of choice. The rifle, which had the best silencer and scope ever made, not only needed not worry about walls, but could be easily concealed over the live band that was playing as the reunion’s entertainment. The loud procession section of the jazz band was particularly useful in masking the rifle’s louder components.
She pulled it up so the scope was in front of her right eye. The skylight would do wonders for her little stunt here. Without a second thought, she released the safety on the weapon. Now is my chance to end this thing right here, right now, she thought with confidence as she checked the barrel of the gun….
BENNITA WAS DIRECTLY behind Mike, s
itting at a table quietly have a conversation with a lonely, forgotten Eastside High professional who had volunteered to help out at the reunion. It was an interesting conversation, but her attention was more focused on her crystal glass. She loved to play around with crystal, trying to get a cool combination of tone and rhythm out of a series of glasses. I wonder if I could play Twinkle, Twinkle on these things, she thought with a chuckle….
MIKE SHOOK HANDS with an old classmate of his, a Christy Anderson who happens to be a T.V. anchorwoman for a Jacksonville television station. Nice woman, Mike thought. It’s a shame I never really got to know her in high school. His gaze quickly fell on the table in front of him, however. On it, in a conspicuous place, was a manila envelope. “Adam,” he whispered, “I’ve got another envelope in front of me.”
“Take it. This probably means your stalker chickened out of the ordeal,” Adam replied in quick order.
“Alright,” Mike said as he stepped forward abruptly and reached out for the blank envelope. He pulled out the letter, but quickly discovered it was not quite like the others. The paper upon which was typed the anonymous message was light turquoise in color.
The “whirl, whirl, whirl” sound of crystal being played was slowly getting irritating, but it was the crash of that crystal while Mike was reading that caught his attention. Mike turned, and found a shocked Bennita sitting in front of the shattered remains of her musical instruments.
Brandon Lee blurted into Mike’s ears, “I believe your culprit is on the roof. And that one was either a warning shot or a miss. Get out of the area. I’m heading after him.”
All Mike could do is to take a quick glance at Bennita before stepping calmly toward the staircase. Bennita followed his lead….
SEVERAL PEOPLE SAW Mike and Bennita run up the stairs, copying a route that an athletically built individual had just made. Naturally smelling gossipy news in the works, a small crowd made a break for the stairs, led by the quick-acting members of the media….
WHEN MIKE AND Bennita finally got up on the roof, they were joined by Adam, who was out of breath from the sprint he made from his undisclosed location. They all saw Brandon struggling to keep the culprit down on the ground, face-first.
The individual was clearly feminine, based on the longer curls and obviously bottle-blonde appearance. Mike inched up to Brandon and the culprit as Brandon’s new partner raced up to help him. Mike was not surprised by the sight, but still could not believe his eyes.
“Ashley?!?”
The culprit squirmed, but refused to answer. Instead, a loud reply came from behind him. He turned and saw a crowd had formed at the top of the stairwell. “Yes?”
“What?!?” Mike said as he did a double-take. “But I could have sworn….”
“That I was your possible suspect? Please, Mike. I can get a story without resorting to being the one to create the news,” she said assertively, with her hands placed on her hips for good measure.
She walked up to him, just as the FBI agents pulled the suspect up onto her own two feet, but with her hands cuffed behind her back. “Well, Ashley, you got to admit that there’s a remarkable resemblance.”
The FBI agents then broke through the crowd to lead the weapons thief away for questioning. Murmurs and quiet conversations began peppering through the crowd. Mike may have started the night off with a bang, but someone else had stolen the show for these people.
Bennita chimed in to the discussion. “Perhaps there’s too strong of a resemblance, Mike. Maybe this culprit, whoever she is, wanted Ashley to be blamed for everything that has happened to you.”
Adam reached out and placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “There’s a more pressing issue, however. Did she, or will she confess?”
Bennita nodded, and asked to no one in particular, “Was she working alone?”
Adam then remembered what Mike had said before this incident started. Perhaps the answer to all their questions would be found in that envelope Mike was still carrying.
“What did the message say this time?”