Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) (20 page)

11:15 AM- Sunday,
September 10
^th

Sumner, VA

The acrid smell of smoke from the nearby burning chemical
plant burned Julie Page's nostrils as she pushed through the crowd of reporters
that stood just outside the entrance to the Emergency Medicine Department at
Memorial Hospital in Sumner, Va.

A few of the reporters cast her interested glances, as she
was sure they did to every visitor. Most appeared jealous of her ability to
walk through the sliding glass doors that led to the interior of the building.

She smiled sadly. They would be even more jealous if they
knew she was here to speak with the man they all hoped to catch a glimpse of in
their telephoto camera lenses.

She pushed through the last of the reporters and strode past
the uniformed officers who were setting up a podium in front of the building.
It appeared there was about to be an official statement from the Sumner Police.
She was glad she hadn't arrived fifteen minutes later.

The inside of the Emergency Medicine Department looked no
different than you would expect, except for the small cluster of uniformed
officers and men in dark suits that congregated together in a small semicircle
near the triage counter. Thankfully, thought Julie, among these men stood
Officer Jimmy Howe.

Julie waved to Officer Howe, who turned and excused himself
from the group of men and walked heavily towards her, taking a long sip of
coffee from a paper cup in his broad hand.

"Good morning, Julie. Thanks for coming."

Julie nodded and peered around the Emergency Room.
"Thank you for the phone call. It's truly an amazing story," she
said. She'd heard bits and pieces briefly on NPR during the drive to the
hospital.

Howe shook his head. "It truly is. Jackson is down the
hall. He was awake the last time I saw him. I'll walk you down there."

Howe nodded once more to the group of men who prepared to
face the onslaught of reporters outside. "After all, you're doing me a
favor. I hate the press."

Julie chuckled sadly and followed closely on the now scuffed
heels of Officer Howe's shoes, following closely behind him down the Emergency
Room Hallway to room 113, where a bored looking uniformed member of the Sumner
Police pushed open the door to the room and greeted Jimmy Howe with a wave.

"Morning," said Jimmy Howe as he stepped through
the door and into Jackson's room.

Jackson looked up, nodding weakly to the officer as he
stared at the television. It was a few seconds before he noticed the female
form standing behind Officer Howe.

A familiar face stared back at Jackson. It was a face he
hadn't seen in over a year, but a face he recognized as Leigh's coworker and
friend Julie.

"Good morning." Jackson sat as upright as he could
in his bed, turning to face the unexpected visitors.

Julie took a couple of steps towards the bed, blinking back
tears as she absorbed the deep sadness in Jackson's eyes.

Despite her best efforts, the young brunette barista broke
down a moment later as tears began to stream down her face.

She walked to Jackson's bedside. "I'm so sorry,"
she stammered weakly. "I'm so sorry," she repeated as she wrapped her
arms around Jackson's neck, tears rolling down her face.

Jackson's eyes widened in surprise and his arms weakly
returned the hug as he glanced away from the newscast. "Thank you. Thanks
for coming."

Julie pulled back from Jackson, collecting herself as best
she could as Jimmy Howe handed her a tissue and stepped through the heavy door
into the hallway.

"I'm so sorry Jackson." Her speech was soft now.
She'd regained her composure. "I can leave if you'd like. Officer Howe
thought you could use a visitor."

Jackson wasn't known for his social skills. But this
morning, he found himself enjoying the company.

He waved to a chair that sat in the corner of the room near
the window. "I appreciate you coming. Have a seat."

He turned weakly towards the television. "You know,
they are talking about me." It was a statement of fact.

Julie nodded. "Officer Howe told me. I'm so sorry this
happened, Jackson. But at least the men who hurt Leigh and Clementine are
dead." Her voice began to crack as she made this final statement.

Jackson shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that,
Julie. But one way another I'll make sure everyone involved pays for their
crimes."

Julie glanced at Jackson, who propped his head on a too thin
hospital pillow and frowned.

Despite his weakened state, the look in his eyes told the
entire story. He stared straight ahead, a glint of determination paired with a
seething rage that no amount of medication could dampen clouding his deep hazel
eyes.

Julie's hands began to shake as she looked from the patient
to the television that was mounted on the hospital wall.

"I'm sure you will, Jackson." Her voice was barely
a whisper.

The television's volume was low as the news anchors became
animated. Jackson shook his head. He knew what was coming.

His hand reached towards the remote and adjusted the volume
as the cameras cut to shots of this very hospital. Jackson was about to be
famous.

He switched the television off as he turned towards Julie
Page, who stared at the television. "I'm sorry. I can't watch this right
now."

"That's alright, Jackson. I understand." Julie
shook her head. "You know, this story is on every news channel."

Jackson looked down. "I know. It's unbelievable."

Julie paused for a second. "I was listening to NPR on
the way to the hospital. The President just nominated you for the Presidential
Medal of Freedom."

Jackson blinked heavily. He didn't acknowledge the
statement. "Do you," his voice cracked. "Do you know when they
are going to bury Leigh and Clementine?"

Julie broke down once again as Jackson's stared straight
ahead. A moment later, she regained her composure.

"I'm so sorry, Jackson." She took a deep breath
and wiped the tears from her face. "I've been told that the funeral is
scheduled for Wednesday at 10:00 AM."

Jackson sighed heavily. "Do you think you could drive
me?" He pointed to his wounded chest and shoulder. "I don't know if
I'll be up to riding my bike by then."

09:14 AM- Wednesday,
September 13
^th

Sumner, VA

When her boss had given her an entire week off following
Leigh's death, Julie hadn't known what to do.

That had been before Jimmy Howe's phone call.

Since Sunday, she'd visited Jackson every day, watching him
regain his strength. Every day, he was awake a little longer. Every day he was
a little more alert, a little less medicated.

The doctors were impressed. His recovery had been
astounding. He was already able to get up and walk around the room. He'd begun
to request physical therapy appointments.

It was truly an amazing sight to see.

Julie shook her head as she stepped down the corridor to
Jackson's new room.

Several days ago, the hospital had moved him from intensive
care. He was enjoying the change. He was no longer constantly being poked and
prodded by the nursing staff.

Even Jackson's police escort had been dismissed a few days
ago once the press began to thin out.

The requests for media interviews were still coming in
non-stop, but Jackson had refused them outright.

Julie pushed through the door into Jackson's room, holding
it open with her thigh as she backed through the door, two hot cups of coffee
from the cafeteria in her hands. Jackson stood upright, his left arm in a sling
but looking the best she'd seen him since his admission.

He was wearing a dark suit that Julie had brought him from
home. His hazel eyes had regained some of their intensity as he stared into the
mirror at his popped collar, trying in vain to get his tie on with one hand.

Despite herself, Julie laughed.

Jackson turned towards her, his face a mask of frustration.

"Thanks for coming, Julie. It really means a lot. Now,
do you think you can help me with this?" She set the coffee cups on the
bedside table and he tossed her the tie, which she wrapped around her own neck
and began to tie the only knot she knew, a simple four-in-hand.

Jackson sat heavily in his wheelchair as Julie finished the
knot and slipped the tie over Jackson's head, tucking it beneath his collar,
careful not to rub against his injured chest and shoulder.

"You look good." She said simply.

"I know," said Jackson as he cracked the first
smile she'd seen since he'd been wounded. It soon faded, however, and Jackson
commented, "Let's go."

Julie took up her position behind Jackson's wheelchair and
handed him his cup of coffee.

She pushed him through the door and into the pristine marble
hallway beyond, where she pushed the metal and leather device to the service
elevator and out the rear entrance to her waiting car.

The ride to the graveyard was silent.

A light rain fell on the windshield which caused Julie to
occasionally use the nearly worn out wiper blades. Their squeal against the
glass of the cracked windshield of Julie's Honda Civic was the only sound as
Jackson stared out of the passenger window and the vehicle bumped down the
cobblestone streets of town.

The graveyard stood on a small hill which overlooked the
Sumner River on the other side of town.

The gray Honda drove through the wrought iron gate. As Julie
and Jackson had expected, news crews were in attendance, their large vans with
associated satellite dishes clearly marking the site where Leigh and Clementine
would be laid to rest.

Jackson sighed. He had hoped they would keep their distance.

Julie pulled the car to a stop in the handicapped spots of
the small chapel where the memorial service would be held.

She stepped around the vehicle and offered Jackson a hand, which
he gladly accepted. She guided him by the arm as the two stepped slowly up the
wet marble stairs of the chapel.

At the top of the stairs, Jackson paused. His face was a
confusing mix of sadness and pain. He glanced at the door of the chapel and
back at Julie.

"That is Leigh's mom." It was a simple statement,
dripping with pain.

Julie grasped Jackson's right arm and gave it a light
squeeze as she guided him towards the heavy wooden doors of the chapel and
Leigh's waiting parents.

Leigh's mother spotted Jackson a moment later and turned
towards her husband, whispering something in his ear as Jackson approached, his
slow gait clearly evidencing the severity of his injuries.

As he approached Leigh's mother, who bore a striking
resemblance to her late daughter and granddaughter, tears welled up in
Jackson's eyes and he blinked heavily, the salty liquid flowing freely down his
face.

Leigh's mother reached out hesitantly before pulling Jackson
heavily towards herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to cry
with him, tears blurring her mascara as her husband placed his thick palm on
Jackson's right shoulder.

Between quiet sobs and the sharp intake of breath, Jackson's
voice murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm so sorry." He repeated.

Words evaded Leigh's parents, but they both gave Jackson a
final reassuring squeeze before turning towards Julie.

Leigh's mother extended her hand and offered a simple
greeting. "I'm Jane, and this is my husband Bill. We're Leigh's
parents."

Julie cleared her throat and rubbed the tears from her eyes.
"I'm Julie. I worked at the coffee shop with Leigh."

Jane nodded and the group stepped into the Chapel. They
walked to the front row, near the two caskets that stood before the altar.

Jackson paused before the caskets, both of which were
covered in flowers and photos of the two victims.

His legs grew weak as he stared at the photographs of his
former wife and daughter. But it wasn't until he looked directly at
Clementine's tiny casket that he collapsed to the floor in tears.

Jackson's guttural roar was like that of an animal. No
discernible words were present in Jackson's howl as the pain and loneliness of
his loss coursed through Jackson's very soul.

09:56 AM- Tuesday, May
29
^th

Norfolk, VA

Mike Jones leaned heavily against the worn wood of the bar
at Al's Tavern. He sipped on a Bloody Mary as he stared at the flat screen
television across the bar.

Al's wasn't a classy place, but it was the kind of place
where nobody asked any questions. It was Mike's kind of place.

He leaned back in the heavily padded bar stool and drained
what remained of his extra spicy Bloody Mary, before setting the glass on the
dark worn wood of the counter and waving towards the bartender.

"Can I get a refill?" he asked politely before
pointing towards the television, "and can you turn on the news?"

The bartender nodded, noting the lack of other patrons with
a quick look around the bar before switching the large flat screen television
to Fox News. "Another double?" he asked before beginning to pour the
well vodka into a tall clear glass.

Mike nodded, the award ceremony was about to begin. He might
as well have a double.

The bartender added several drops of Tabasco Sauce and
pepper to the top of the glass before sliding it across the bar to Mike.
"I don't know how you can drink them that spicy, Mike. That'll be
7.50."

Mike leaned forward and slid a crisp ten across the bar and
smiled. "I like them that way, Tom."

He settled back in his padded leather chair and glanced
towards the television once more.

The camera began to pan over the National Mall, in what Mike
could only assume was stock footage, before the commentators began and the
cameras switched to a live feed from the White House.

A packed audience sat before a tall podium bearing the
Presidential Seal.

Mike smiled.

On the stage sat Jackson Pike. He was stoic in a dark blue
suit. He'd clearly recovered now from the gunshot wound that had nearly cost
him his life.

Alongside Jackson Pike sat luminaries from all walks of American
life. Famous scientists, artists, poets and politicians were seated alongside
Jackson, awaiting their turn to be awarded the nation's highest civilian honor:
The Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Mike glanced at his drink before taking another deep draught
of the blood red liquid. On the television, the reporters who flooded the White
House East Room clamored to their feet as the dignitaries seated on the stage
stood.

There was silence as the room awaited the arrival of the
President of the United States.

This would be the newly elected President's first time
presenting the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and there was a regal feeling to
the event. The gold curtains in the corner of the East Room shone brightly in
the early
Spring
morning light as the announcement
began.

The White House Press Secretary walked to the podium, his
dark suit in stark contrast to the gilded décor of the room. He cleared his
throat, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States.
President Colgan"

The balding press secretary stepped from the podium as the
President of the United States stepped authoritatively through the side
entrance of the East Room, Secret Service closely in trail. The agents stopped
short of the stage as the President nodded to the press before walking up the
three steps to the stage.

The President walked to the center of the stage and stood
tall behind the wooden podium. His American flag pin reflected the morning
light as he stepped to the microphone, adjusting his bright red tie.

Mike sipped his drink, waiting on the President's speech to
begin, the buzz from his third Bloody Mary cocktail beginning to provide a
familiar tingle in the former Navy SEAL's extremities.

The President cleared his throat as he began, the deep
cadence of his voice booming through the crowded room. He could have made this
presentation without a microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to The White
House." He turned towards the luminaries who sat behind him on the stage,
"Today we have the privilege of honoring some of the greatest Americans of
our time. In fields as diverse as science, art and politics, the men and women
who sit behind
me,
and those who could not be here
have distinguished themselves and honored their country. Let me begin with a
few of their stories."

Mike downed the rest of his Bloody Mary cocktail as the
President began recounting the achievements of the men and women who sat behind
him.

But the President's speech was drowned out by a surprised
din from the press corps. Behind the president, one of the honorees had stood
up and was stepping from the stage.

It was Jackson.

Mike opened his jaw in shock as Jackson glared at the
President and stepped from the stage. He stepped heavily down the three
carpeted stairs as the Press Secretary ran to his side and began to speak.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Leave it to Jackson to make the most mundane of award
ceremonies an exciting event.

Jackson shoved the press secretary roughly, knocking him
into the first row of reporters as he stormed from the room.

Seconds later, two Secret Service agents grabbed both of his
arms and led him down the nearby hallway.

Mike's jaw hung open as he quit stirring the remnants of ice
and olives at the bottom of his Bloody Mary glass. He set the glass heavily on
the worn wood of the bar and pushed it towards the bartender. "Thanks
Tom."

He walked from the bar and into the cool morning air towards
his newly repainted Cadillac. He climbed in the driver's seat and shook his
head.

It seemed Jackson would need to be bailed out.