Executive Actions (4 page)

Two months later, Fadi’s team was defeated by Kazakhstan. This was not a good thing. It eliminated Libya from World Cup competition. The team’s fate was unclear. However, the following year, Libya fielded an
entirely
new team. After a good deal of debate, FIFA refused to seed them in international competition, citing vague human rights violations.

And through it all, Fadi Kharrazi projected another image. With his inviting open eyes and a broad smile, the son of the newest gangster dictator was looked upon as a smart and dynamic media mogul. Of course, this was no surprise to anyone. He controlled everything that was reported about him.

His newspaper published only what he or his father deemed printable. His TV station offered only a mix of propaganda, sports and movies. Viewers generally saw pirated American action movies. Saturday nights were the biggest, filled with old Jet Li, Vin Diesel and Schwarzenegger films, with the exception of
True Lies,
banned because of its depiction of Arab terrorists.

By all standards of common decency, Fadi Kharrazi was an evil man. What was troubling to the spooks at Langley, and ultimately the White House, was that General Kharrazi might be seriously ill, perhaps dying, and Fadi was in the line of succession, to which he proclaimed
al Hamdulillah
—“Thanks be to God.”

His only competition was his older brother, Abahar, Arabic for
more brilliant, more magnificent.
Abahar headed Libya’s new secret police, and according to American intelligence reports may have already been anointed as first in line to replace his father in the event of his death.

The stage was set for a bloody family power struggle, but Fadi had acquired, through a complex transaction, a plan so secret that neither his father nor brother knew about it. This plan, foremost in his mind, was finally coming to fruition and it would assure
his
accession as the next strongman of Libya and eventually the entire Muslim world. It had a decades old operational designation, though he failed to recognize the legendary significance of the name.
Ashab al-Kahf
.

Carolyn Hill fluffed up the pillows while Roger C. Waterman examined his latest purchases. The pair of brass picture frames in his hands looked pretty beaten up. “How much do you think these will fetch in New York?”

The hotel maid was taken by his question. She liked Mr. Waterman, found him attractive, polite and interesting; so much nicer than most of the hotel’s guests. And he was single. If he kept coming to Hudson maybe they could have dinner at Kozel’s, a three-generation old family-owned restaurant, arguably the area’s most popular establishment.
But why would he ever be interested in me?
she wondered.
He lives in New York and he’s so successful.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“Come on. Take a guess. What do you think?” he said. “Ten dollars? More?”

Carolyn really had no idea. “Ah, $25 each? What did you pay for them?”

“I picked them up for fifteen. The tarnishing here on the bottom can be polished out. But the patina, the overall aging quality, that’s what caught my eye. Displayed with the right pictures, I’ll get more than $200 each in New York.”

“You think that much?”

“Easy.”

“No way, they’re just old picture frames.”

“Not after I’m through with them. But maybe I won’t sell them. Maybe I’ll bring them back for you.”

Waterman got the smile he intended. He enjoyed flirting with her. She was attractive, probably around 27 or 28 years-old and obviously single. No wedding ring. But then again, he already knew that the brown-eyed, brown-haired attendant wasn’t married, at least not anymore. He learned that vital piece of information in the hotel bar, the place where things like that can be discussed with little fear of it coming back around. The bartender told him she divorced her husband just after their son was born six years ago. “I bet she’s a screamer, that one,” the bartender said, wishing he had first had knowledge.

True or not, Waterman did sense that Carolyn Hill hid a powerful sexuality under her hotel uniform. A sexuality that he fantasized exploring one day.

“Now you better get going,” he said good naturedly. “Everyone’s heading out for a good spot to watch.”

“Thanks. I’ve got some more work to do here. But my mom’s holding a place up front.” She actually wanted to stay longer and talk with Mr. Waterman. Instead, she took her cue. “I’ll see you later.?”

“I hope so,” he threw in for good measure. No doubt she would be a delightful distraction.
Maybe later tonight.
But then he dismissed thought. He couldn’t. Not this trip.

“But aren’t you coming out?” she asked. “To see the congressman?”

“No. Not really into politics.”

“We don’t see many people like him in Hudson. Think he can win?”

“Who knows. Enjoy the show, though. Now, bye. I have to take a shower and get some work done. Go. Shoo,” he joked to move her along. It was time for her to leave and time for Waterman to get to the things on his agenda, too.

Today Carolyn was running a little bit late. Of course, he knew that. She was finished with his floor now. After the speech she’d return to do the third. Waterman knew that, too, just as he knew everything about her schedule. Two hours on the 2
nd
floor followed by a one hour break. One-and-a-half on the 3
rd
floor. Then another round after lunch for all of the rooms that had a late check out, starting on three and wrapping up on two. He had taken everything into consideration when making all the plans.

Police Lt. Joseph Brenner stepped out of his Camaro cruiser and saw the man he needed. He had double-parked next to a makeshift parade float prepared by the Democratic volunteers from the area. In a few minutes the candidate would be arriving and he wanted to make sure everything was ready.

“Morning, Mitch,” Brenner said, brushing his thinning hair back with his fingers. Mitch Price was the only man in a blue blazer and white pants. He looked like he belonged on a yacht. And for the next hour, he was the skipper. Price was in charge of organizing the placement and spacing of everyone in the parade. He was also owner of Mitch Motors and Vice Chairman of the Columbia County Democratic Party. His jobs overlapped nicely. Price was in the people business.

“Morning, lieutenant.”

“Everything on schedule?”

“Like clockwork,” Price acknowledged.

“No problems with anyone,” Brenner stated more than asked.

Price had a clip board in his hand, but he didn’t have to look at it. “I’ve got the Boy Scouts lined up at the Morrison’s Hardware, the VFW up at there at the First Baptist, the kids in the bands down at Promenade Hill. The official cars are already lined up in front of the train station. And the trucks from Rogers and Hostradt come down in ten minutes. Oh, and the Greenport ambulance is on Second and Warren. Now that you’re here, we have a lead-off car.”

Mitch Price had been in charge of Hudson parades for years. He supervised every detail. The signal to assemble would be three bursts from Brenner’s siren. It was always the same.

“We’re just fine here, Joe,” Price added. “All we need now is the congressman and we’ll get rolling.”

“He’s about twenty minutes out,” the policeman volunteered. “He’s got a trooper leading him. Probably needs to hit the head at Washington Hose.” That was the nearest downtown fine station. “Then we’ll push off. All in all, looks like one, one-fifteen at the latest.”

Price tapped his watch. It was five minutes later than he wanted, but since he couldn’t control Lodge’s schedule, there was nothing he could do.

Brenner heard a crackle on over his police band radio and excused himself. He was getting an update, which confirmed the time he just posted with Price.

Over the next few minutes, Price pulled everyone together. The drummers pounded their street beats. The firetrucks rolled into place. Suddenly, a siren cut through the air, followed by cheers. A “gumball” rotated on the New York State trooper’s squad car coming down Warren. He pulled a U-turn at the foot of Warren and First Street. A white Lincoln Towncar behind it did the same.

Before the car had come to a complete stop the door opened and Lodge bounded out. More cheers. And everyone who was ready to march in the parade broke ranks. The high school marching band members. The Women’s Auxiliary. The Boy and Girl Scouts. The VFW members. They all raced over to see the presidential candidate for the simple reason that one day they could say they had touched Teddy Lodge. And Lodge let them.

Geoff Newman smiled to Jenny as he helped her out of the car. “Just like Albany, Syracuse and Rochester. We’re going to take this state yet.”

She basically ignored him. As much as she loved her husband, she recognized that he still trailed Governor Lamden. The endorsement from Governor Steven Poertner an hour earlier might help. But not enough. Nonetheless, she was proud. This was all a dress rehearsal for her husband’s run at the White House.

The congressman jumped on top of the Towncar and waved. The cheers combined with the drum beat sounding like nonstop thunder. Lodge allowed it to continue unchecked for a good two minutes, jeopardizing Mitch Price’s schedule, but not everyone’s.

The congressman touched his heart and extended his arm out to the crowd. They loved it. Lodge then eased himself from the roof to the hood and onto the ground. He whispered something to Lt. Brenner, who in turn pointed him to the bathroom. Newman accompanied him, with his arm on his shoulder.

When they returned, Newman got a ride to Park Place and Lt. Brenner called a signal on his walkie-talkie. A moment later a large, loud fire department fog horn sounded from almost a mile up Warren Street. Brenner got in his squad car. Price checked his watch. Five minutes off his timetable. But Geoff Newman smiled as he checked his. Right on time. Schedules were important to him.

Lodge found Jenny, took her hand and led her to the T-Bird convertible borrowed from Mitch Motors. “Lodge for President” banners adorned both sides.

“Congressman, Mrs. Lodge, my name is Tommy Kenton. I’m Mayor of Hudson. And so pleased to welcome you.”

“Mayor, it’s a pleasure. This is my wife, Jenny. And you’ve got a great town.”

Kenton didn’t correct him. Hudson, was actually a chartered city. “Well, are you ready?” he asked.

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Let’s say hello to Hudson, New York.”

The mayor opened the door to the car, pulled the front seat forward, and gestured for the congressman and his wife to take their seats. Teddy hopped up to sit on the trunk; his feet hanging over the back seat. Even in her slim sheath, Jenny did the same.

Mitch Price came over to shake hands. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Hope everything’s all right.”

“Just perfect.”

“We’ll get the vote out for you. That’s my job here. Mitch Price, Chairman of the Country Democratic Party,” he said introducing himself.

“Mitch, it’s a great to meet you. I’ve heard great things. I have no doubt that you’ll deliver.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There was another blast from the fire department fog horn. Price stepped aside and waved goodbye. The Mayor was ready to go. He looked in his rear view mirror and asked, “Are you sure you’re going to be safe sitting like that?”

“You driving, Mayor?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re a Democrat?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then I’m going to be in good hands.”

The exchanged guaranteed two things. A smooth ride up his hill and another vote on Tuesday.

Brenner started his lead car, and everyone assembled into the positions that Price had assigned. Then Brenner blasted his siren three times indicating they were rolling. The teenage drum major of the Hudson High School Bluehawks marching band shouted out his commands and the players eventually found their first note to Sousa’s 1889 “Washington Post March.”

Sidney McAlister thought he heard the cymbals all the way from Front Street through the open window of his St. Charles room.

The Hudson
Register Star
would report that it appeared as if all of Hudson was out, either lining the street or assembled at the park for the congressman’s speech. Grandparents, adults, children. They were all there and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. As the parade advanced, the firetrucks’ sirens blared. The Catskill High band segued into their rendition of “Star Wars,” and citizens waved their Lodge for President signs in absolute adoration.

Jenny leaned across the seat and kissed Teddy. The photo op wasn’t missed by an AP photographer running alongside. Jenny wore a white linen dress with black piping and sling back high heels. Hand-crafted silver hoop earrings sparkled as they caught the early afternoon sun. The picture would be a vision of love and support.

Chuck Wheaton got it on tape, too. The freelancer for WRGB-TV in Schenectady, shot “run-and-gun” style on his lightweight digital pro cam. He was the only paid videographer shooting the event. Everyone else had home video cameras. And there were a lot. Wheaton hoped for a few good sound bites from the congressman and another payday from the station. It helped supplement his income as an English teacher at Hudson High.

Wheaton had staked out a head-on position in the park twenty feet back from the podium. He planted his tripod in place and paid one of his students twenty dollars to watch it. In the meantime, he ran along the parade route getting some good B-roll for the story that he’d uplink directly from his home edit bay in neighboring Claverack.

Nine-tenths of a mile ahead—about twenty-five minutes up the parade route, Newman checked the seats to make sure the line of sight would be perfect. Six folding chairs were slightly arced around a podium microphone attached to a gooseneck extension. Sitting from left to right: Police Chief Carl Marelli, next to him Mayor Kenton, then Congressman Lodge, who would rise from the center seat and walk forward to speak. Mrs. Lodge would be to his left so he could easily address her, and Mrs. Kenton. Filling in the last chair would be Fire Commissioner Banks.