Monday, September 16, 2013

Chapt. 40 (1st draft) - Ride to the West Wing

The SUV's blue grill lights were flashing urgency when Trueblood saw it pull up in front of the house. Not taking time to kiss his wife and son, both transfixed in front of the TV, he dashed out to his ride, iPhone in hand, and climbed into the psychedelic maelstrom of President Morowitz's animated voice launching the WACKO song. Joe Secord took a moment to study Trueblood's face, which reflected a three-way mix of shock, confusion and horror, before punching the accelerator and squealing the tires back onto the roadway.
“Bart know anything?”
“He's so upset he kept breaking the connection.”
“You get Chapman?”
“He called me. Called Bart, too. Watching the game when it started. He's probly there by now.”
“Good thing traffic is light.”
“Yeah. Everybody inside watching. What we gonna do?”
“Let it play out, whatever it is. Probly be over by the time we get there, anyway. Morowitz will be in a straitjacket by daylight.”
Trueblood's iPhone chirped. Bart. Trueblood put it on speaker.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“Almost there, Bart.”
“He's driving. Roger there yet?”
“Oh, the hacker. Just got here. Told him to shoot the damned thing down.”
“Anybody from WACKO?”
“Oh, yeah. Sonofabitch sitting at my desk when I got here.”
“Little one. I told him I'll shoot that big bald-headed bastard I ever see him in my office again. Don't fuck with Bart, goddammit!”

“WACKO guy still there?”
“He's with the hacker. I told him...the shoot the bastard down, get him off the air.”
“He's still on, Bart.”
“WACKO guy said no, let him kill himself. I said OK, wackjob, your call, ya know?”
The SUV's radio went silent, except for static. Trueblood spoke into his iPhone, “What's happening, Bart? The president finished?”
No response.
“Bart! What's happening?”
“Holy shit!”
“Sonofabitch playing that video! Oh, shit!”
“What video, Bart?”
“The Kennedy one! The Dallas one. Shit!!” Bart was shouting, “SHOOT THE SONOFABITCH DOWN! GET THAT GODDAM THING OFF THE AIR!!”
They were arriving at the West Gate. Trueblood ended the call and slipped his iPhone into his pocket.
Secord said, “What now? Bart losing it?”
“Sounds like President Morowitz has let the cat out of the bag. He's put up the one card WACKO wanted to keep face down.”
“Did he say Dallas?”
“Yes he did, Joe.”
“You mean...”
“Joe, they have photos of the assassination. Like none anyone has ever seen, except those people WACKO shows them to.”
“Sorry, Harry. I still don't get it, unless...”
“Photos that could have been taken only by someone in on it. Bart says they're from the Grassy Knoll.”
“You shitting me?”
“You know I'm not, Joe. I haven't seen them, but Bart has. The damned things self-destructed – turned black – before he could show them to me.”
“He was jivin' you. That damn Bart...”
“No way, Joe. He was scared.”
“Bart? Scared? C'mon!”
“I swear.”
“With Photoshop and all that...I mean...”
“No, Joe. He was FBI. Said there was no way they could've been doctored. Real McCoy, unfortunately.”
“Well, we are. I guess we're about to find out, huh.”
Secord eased the SUV up the drive from 17th Street to the West Wing garage. The White House windows were ablaze with light. Distant sirens, too many to go unnoticed.


  1. I keep forgetting to tell you that each time I see the name of Joe Secord I envision a Canadian heroe called Laura Secord.

    Secord is known for having walked 20 miles out of American-occupied territory in 1813 to warn British forces of an impending American attack. I hope Joe is of similar good stock..:)

  2. Never knew that. Coincidence, choice of name. He's in Executive Pink, too.