

Pictures on the Wall

Bob Haider

Copyright 2011 Bob Haider

Smashwords Edition

Dedicated to my sister, Bonnie Kathleen

Chapter 1

Spring beckoned throngs of wide-eyed sightseers to the nation's capitol in what had become an annual event---an invasion of tourists taking pictures of the cherry trees as they blossomed in glorious color. The cherry trees were a gift donated by the Japanese government in 1912 and quickly became the most photographed site in the District of Columbia. They bloomed annually between mid-March and mid-April depending upon the severity of the winter, and this year it was on the latter end of that range as a lingering winter was accompanied by an above average snowfall.

As William walked leisurely toward the Jefferson Memorial, he noted a mama robin perched gracefully atop a branch. She was taking a well-deserved break after awakening early to feed her ravenous youngsters. As she chortled out her euphonic aria, another song was yet unwritten announcing the dawn of a new era in American politics. While a long-standing culture of special interest money flowed into Washington like a river at flood stage, integrity and courage flowed out of the Capitol just as swiftly.

From the depth of his soul William held the conviction that public service, representing one's fellow citizens in the hallowed chambers of government, was indeed a very honorable and magnanimous profession.

But veracity was out of vogue with America's elected representatives exemplified by those who subscribed to the theory of political speak---that courageous clarity leads to defeat, while cowardly ambiguity brings victory.

William paused to inhale the fresh spring air as the scent of rain greeted his nostrils and he heard nature's rumblings in the distance. He gazed upward and saw a line of foreboding clouds approaching at a brisk pace which he surmised would be upon him in a matter of minutes.

Without delay William resumed his deliberate but steady gait along the pathway circling the Tidal Basin---the body of water aesthetically punctuating the regal memorial to Jefferson. Some thought the basin was an endowment from nature fashioned by thousands of years of ecological change, but William knew better. It was man-made in 1897 to catch the overflow of the Potomac River and avert flooding.

Every day without fail William walked through Washington to one of the historical monuments, or strolled to one of the many classical statues sprinkled throughout the District that adorned the streets and buildings alike. Whatever the conditions---whether the humid, sweltering heat of a Washington summer or the frigid bone chilling cold of its winters---William was never deterred from his walking exercise.

Before entering the Memorial William again glanced skyward. He observed a flock of sea gulls as they feathered eastward gliding effortlessly towards the Atlantic while the approaching storm was nearly overhead. He knew he didn't have much time because once the sky opened the throng of picture takers would run for cover beneath the protection offered by the Memorial.

William eyed the colonnades standing as ever-ready sentinels surrounding the bronze specter of Jefferson.

The ghost-like apparition of Jefferson appeared to be pondering a serious matter of State, as William pointed toward the silhouette, and bellowed, "Jefferson lives!"

William stepped between the colonnades and was immediately drawn to the words of the third president etched upon the inner walls, but before he began to read William heard the steady patter of raindrops pelt the pavement on the perimeter of the commemorative site.

Just as he had expected, the crowd of picture takers rushed toward the domed Memorial, when William heard the distinctive ring of his phone.

He reached for his phone and before he could even say hello, he heard a voice with which he was quite familiar.

"I hope you have enjoyed your respite," the voice remarked.

"I have the distinct feeling it's about to end," William frowned.

"You are correct, and you're to begin immediately."

"Who's the subject this time?"

The voice furnished William with the full name of his next assignment, and inquired, "You are familiar with this person?"

"Yes."

"You'll need to come up with a plan," the voice stipulated.

"Yes, as usual, I will work out the details. I assume the manner and the place are entirely of my own choosing, as has been the case in the past," said William to confirm nothing had changed in that regard.

"That is correct."

"Do you have any specific instructions for me?"

"Yes, be successful in your assignment."

Of course William nodded into the phone.

"Good luck and keep me posted."

"I always do," said William, as he disconnected.

Chapter 2

That evening William surveyed the expansive ballroom in a Chicago hotel and noted the extensive decorations for the highly anticipated victory party. Hundreds of red, white, and blue balloons were suspended in netting overhead that would inevitably cascade down in colorful celebration when the candidate arrived. With anxious campaign workers clustered around television monitors awaiting the primary results, William began to make his way toward the stage where the candidate would speak.

In the suite upstairs Governor Moreland and his advisors heard NBC project him the winner of the Illinois primary. In a gesture reminiscent of a football referee signaling a touchdown, his campaign manager, James Bradberry raised his arms above his head and whooped in victorious enthusiasm. Governor Moreland's eyes glowed in victory and conveyed the success of a long journey that began long before he set foot upon the Iowa countryside and the snow-covered hills of New Hampshire.

Downstairs, in a simultaneous display of wild euphoria, the ballroom erupted in shouts of victory. In their high state of elation, no one noticed William as he continued to make his way unseen toward the front of the ballroom.

In a scene that would be repeated at the upcoming convention in July, campaign supporters donned party hats and blew heartily into party horns---the shrill sound reverberating throughout the ballroom. Secret service men and women stood beside doorways and along the walls---many of them grateful they had a listening device in one ear to at least partially block out the tumultuous clamor of the energized crowd of supporters.

"According to NBC, Governor Moreland has now garnered enough delegates to assure him of a first ballot victory at his party's nominating convention in July."

The noise level escalated into a thundering crescendo of fanfare, as a secret service woman put a hand over her uncovered ear as she tried to hear instructions through her earpiece.

Word came down from Governor Moreland's suite the candidate would be downstairs any moment, and some started to chant the Governor's name. Others joined in, and the chant grew in intensity until the ballroom echoed his name...

Moreland! Moreland! Moreland!

A flood of activity ensued at a side entrance where the Mayor of Chicago entered the ballroom. Uncomfortable in large crowds, he smiled and waved but didn't attempt to speak over the loud din.

Moreland! Moreland! Moreland!

The lovely, vivacious Illinois Senator Catherine Wells then entered the ballroom and the crowd responded in uproarious enthusiasm. The tall, slender brunette was absolutely stunning with her sparkling green eyes and brunette hair that touched her shoulders, as she waved to the crowd and joined the mayor on the platform.

When Governor Moreland arrived the crowd surged toward the door for a closer glimpse. Secret service personnel surrounded the Governor as he made his way through the ballroom, his wife Eleanor at his elbow. As the Governor waded through the crowd, he reached between secret service agents to shake as many hands as possible. The now sure-to-be nominee was all smiles---the proud, elated look of victory etched upon his face---while William stood at his desired position in the front of the ballroom where he'd have an unobstructed view of the governor delivering his victory speech.

"We're going all the way, Governor!" yelled a woman.

"You bet we are!" the Governor shouted back to her, as his wife Eleanor beamed at being the wife of a presidential candidate. Already her mind was swimming with the now real possibility of residing in the White House, as she entertained thoughts of becoming the nation's First Lady.

William eyed the victorious candidate as the Governor stepped onto the stage, shook hands with the mayor, and said something that no one could discern above the loud, enthusiastic fervor in the ballroom.

Moreland! Moreland! Moreland!

The Governor shook hands with several others that had joined him on stage, as he made his way to Senator Wells who he surprised by giving her a hug and the crowd responded in a wild, passionate cheer.

William watched Senator Wells closely as she shouted her congratulations to the Governor, and William saw the attractive senator flash a wide ebullient smile, and he wondered if her motive in supporting the Governor's presidential candidacy was masked by her politician's euphoric grin.

The Governor turned and faced the animated crowd and approached the microphone while holding his wife's hand. With his free hand he waved to the enthusiastic devotees, glanced from side to side, and occasionally pointed to a specific individual in acknowledgment of their support.

The netting above the crowd was released and hundreds of balloons cascaded downward upon the sea of supporters in a flood of red, white, and blue colors. The Governor's smile widened while the crowd swiped haphazardly at the multi-colored balloons as they cheered, while the sound of popping balloons caused several secret service agents to twitch nervously as they stared with laser-like sharpness into the excited crowd. Governor Moreland raised his right arm and pumped a triumphant fist high in the air.

Suddenly, Eleanor Moreland felt her husband's hand slip from her grasp. As she turned toward him, he clutched his chest, staggered backwards, and slumped to the floor.

In that instant, the joyous elation of a victorious evening dissolved into the depths of devastating despair.

Chapter 3

Senator Catherine Wells exited a taxi in the 1100 block of New York Avenue as the descending sun cast an orange glow over Washington, D.C. Elongated shadows crept steadily across the Capitol to announce the approaching darkness, as Catherine headed to Orno's restaurant.

Catherine Wells, the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Adam Cantara, was christened Catherine Leigh-Anne Cantara. Born and raised in Chicago she attended DePaul University where she graduated at the age of twenty with a double major in American History and Political Science. She proceeded to the University of Chicago where she obtained both a Masters degree and a Ph.D. in history. Her Doctoral Thesis, _The Rise of Christian Fundamentalism in the American Electorate_ was well written and a meticulous examination of her topic.

Catherine returned to her alma mater of DePaul to teach and instilled in her students an appreciation for the historical figures at the center of momentous social movements. Long after students completed her classes they carried with them a deep admiration of the men and women who left an indelible mark upon this country and around the world.

Though not born of a political family, Catherine took a sabbatical from DePaul at the age of twenty-six and ran for state representative to the Illinois General Assembly. Enthusiastic DePaul undergraduates volunteered in droves to work for her campaign and when Catherine won the primary and followed with a victory in the fall election, her political career was successfully underway.

When Catherine reached the constitutionally eligible age of thirty, she ran for the United States Senate. The so-called political pundits thought she should wait, and try her hand at a congressional seat before taking on a statewide campaign, but she streaked across Illinois politics like a meteor---and won!

Now, as the sunlight continued to ebb and the shadows in the Capitol lengthened, Catherine in her eighth year as a U.S. Senator from Illinois entered Orno's Italian restaurant for an authentic Italian meal.

"Senator Wells, how good to see you again," the hostess greeted her warmly. "I saw you on television with that unfortunate Mr. Moreland. That was such a shame," Maria lamented.

"Yes, it was terrible."

"Well, you just come right in, relax, have some wine, and enjoy one of Carmello's delicious meals," said Maria, as she eyed the senator's briefcase.

"Oh, don't worry, Maria. It's not a lot of work...just a few papers to look through."

Despite Orno's setting in the high-rent district of New York Avenue, the prices were more moderate than several other Italian restaurants in D.C. The owner and chef, Carmello Marletto, was a warm gregarious person who delighted in serving fine meals to a myriad of repeat customers. Undoubtedly, he would come out of the kitchen later to personally greet the senator.

Catherine discovered Orno's shortly after she and her husband Bob returned from vacation in Rome the previous summer. During their stay in the eternal city they often opted to dine at one of the sidewalk cafes---a _ristorante_ \---of which there were dozens within walking distance of their hotel. By doing so, Catherine and Bob absorbed the full ambiance of Rome and Catherine developed a deep fondness for the Italian people. On their last night in Rome they visited the Trevi fountain and found it bathed in a soft golden light and they each tossed a coin over their shoulder as they made a wish---a custom that legend says insures your return to Rome. Catherine's wish was to return to Rome one day with Bob.

As Maria escorted the senator through the modern high-ceilinged trattoria, she led her to a small table in the back where she could have some privacy.

"Here you are, Senator Wells. I'll tell Carmello you're here. I'm sure he'll cook up something very special for you."

"Thanks, Maria, but do tell Carmello not to go to any trouble."

Maria nodded and departed as a waiter approached. "Good evening, Senator. Would you like a drink perhaps?"

"Yes, I'd like a glass of Chianti, please. When the waiter returned within a couple of minutes with her wine, Catherine informed him, "I'm not going to order dinner for a while, so I'll just wave when I'm ready."

"Certainly," he said, and departed.

Catherine reached for her briefcase, but before she could peruse its contents, she was interrupted.

"Excuse me. Senator Wells?"

Catherine looked up with annoyance clearly evident on her face.

"My name is William. Please forgive my intrusion, as I realize you are sitting down to dinner."

"Obviously," the senator replied curtly not used to being interrupted, as she glanced toward the front door where a security guard stood alert and looking in her direction. She knew if she needed his assistance he would pounce on the intruder very quickly. Catherine smiled at him casually and looked back toward her visitor.

William at over six feet tall was a large man weighing two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a well-rounded mouth complimented by thin lips, and he possessed a large slightly curved nose, while a receding hairline exposed a wide forehead over dark piercing eyes. Those intelligent, dark eyes could narrow into a laser-like stare at an adversary, or his thin lips could curl into a disarming, wry smile toward both friends and foes alike.

"I wish to speak to you on behalf of the Virginia delegation."

"Well, I suggest that you call my office in the morning to arrange an appointment."

"I realize I am imposing upon you in a rather unorthodox manner..."

"Well, I'd say so," the senator interjected.

"But if I might have just five minutes of your time, Senator."

Senator Wells hesitated. As a politician, she knew whenever someone wanted to discuss something---no matter how inane---it was always important to them.

She eyed the man and summed him up quickly---a gift she possessed that served her well in her vocation. He had soft features, and his eyes conveyed a sense of sincerity and despite his size, he had a non-intimidating, gentle manner about him. There was also an unmistakable sense of urgency in his voice that drew her curiosity, and the fact that he had introduced himself as a member of the Virginia delegation further piqued her curiosity, as first and foremost Catherine was a politician. If there was something this delegate to the national convention thought Senator Wells should know Catherine found her ever-constant thirst for political information trumped her desire for privacy.

She nodded for him to have a seat. "Five minutes," she stated, "but I warn you it will be much shorter if I don't like what you have to say."

"Fair enough," he agreed, as he sat down.

"So what is so important, Mr....uh...?"

"Grayson...William Grayson, but please, call me William."

"Let's skip the social amenities, shall we? I'm tired, and I've got work to do, so I would appreciate it if you would simply come straight to the point."

"Yes, of course," he nodded, as he took no offense at the senator's curt manner. "First, I want to say what a terrible tragedy to have befallen Governor Moreland. I understand there were doctors in the ballroom that worked on him immediately but to no avail, and I heard it was such a massive coronary even if he had been in a hospital when it occurred nothing could have been done for him."

Catherine nodded in confirmation.

"It must have been a horrible moment for his wife and family, as well as for all of his supporters. To be at such a heightened level of elation and see their candidate---the one they believed in---win the primary that insured him of the presidential nomination of his party," he said, as he shook his head in genuine regret. "For that victory celebration to descend from the pinnacle of elation into the depths of anguish must have been absolutely devastating. I know that you were by his side in Chicago and that you supported him from the very beginning, which brings me to why I wanted to speak with you. Whether you realize it or not, you have attained a position of great influence within the party."

"Well, I don't know..."

"Please, Senator Wells, we both know I am not overstating it, nor am I mentioning it merely to flatter you. The fact you endorsed Governor Moreland so early in the primary process, indeed, even before the primaries began, has given you great credibility. In fact, your endorsement and your campaigning on his behalf helped him win, and as I'm sure you're aware, winning means everything in this town."

Catherine eyed the man seated across from her without comment.

"Of course, the delegates committed to Governor Moreland are released."

"Naturally," Catherine agreed, as she ventured, "Could it be the Virginia delegation wants to know which candidate I'll be supporting?"

"Actually, that's not why I wanted to speak with you."

"Oh?" Senator Wells raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"The Virginia delegation hasn't made up their mind as yet, and is taking a wait and see attitude."

"As are all of the delegations thus far...after all...how long has it been since the Governor's death," she glanced at her watch facetiously.

Catherine had dismissed running for the top spot herself, because she had deftly calculated the political winds were not blowing quite right for a woman to run for the presidency.

Catherine understood the first to succeed in an endeavor is rarely the first who attempts it. America needed a full-fledged female candidate to run---and lose---a sacrificial lamb ala what Al Smith did for Catholics and JFK. Hillary Clinton had filled that role nicely, but Catherine's political savvy told her it was too soon since Senator Clinton's defeat in the primaries of 2008. More time needed to pass.

The number two spot on the ticket, however, was another matter. Throughout the campaign Catherine kept a tight lid on her ambition to become the first female vice-president in history. A woman on the ticket certainly didn't help Mondale in 1984 or McCain in 2008 but each of those women were nothing more than gimmicks.

Catherine believed each candidate would be scrambling for her endorsement. Whether an offer of the vice-presidency would accompany their request for support she didn't know, but Catherine was betting yes.

"I must say you have me a bit intrigued, but if you don't want to know which candidate I'm going to support, what is it you want exactly?"

William reached into his pocket. "I could tell you, but you wouldn't believe it," he said, as he handed the senator a sheet of paper.

Catherine unfolded the piece of paper and saw scrawled upon it a solitary name...

Phillip Conrad

"You're familiar with Mr. Conrad?"

Catherine nodded and almost laughed. "There isn't anyone in Washington who doesn't know of Phillip Conrad. He's only been a political advisor for the past forty years."

"More like fifty years, but yes, he's advised everyone from local politicians to presidential candidates. He was most recently Senator Handley's advisor."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"But Mr. Conrad abruptly retired and he did so before seeing the campaign through."

"Oh?"

"It was kept rather quiet."

"Evidently," Catherine nodded, hiding her irritation. She didn't like learning political news from strangers, and she made a mental note to speak with her staff about not being briefed about it. "It's a bit unusual," Catherine continued, "but it's been known to happen."

"If they've been fired and Phillip Conrad is not a quitter."

"So, he was fired," Catherine shrugged.

"You ever meet him?"

"Once, at a party in Georgetown and from what I recall, he was a little over the top."

William laughed robustly. "A little, hell, he's downright certifiable."

"Why don't you simply say why Phillip Conrad left Senator Handley's campaign?"

"It's not that simple," William offered.

Catherine glared at the man across the table from her, and said sarcastically, "Evidently not," and asked, "So, what are you getting at?"

"Talk to Phillip Conrad and you'll discover what you need to know."

With a roll of her eyes and an irritated frown, Catherine displayed her impatience. "Is that the way you want this conversation to conclude, wrapped in a riddle of secrecy?"

William's strong sense of self-assurance and quiet confidence would not allow Senator Wells to bait him, but he did give her something he hoped would pique her curiosity sufficiently to investigate the matter further.

"Phillip Conrad can tell you what you need to know about the one candidate we don't want to win the nomination---under any circumstances," said William, as he arose, his large frame looming over Senator Wells, and he added ominously, "As I said, you wouldn't believe me. For the very soul of our nation, find Mr. Conrad. Talk to him. He can tell you everything. I just hope you have the courage to follow through on what you'll need to do. Thank you for your time, Senator Wells," he said, as he turned abruptly and departed.

His sudden departure left Catherine somewhat stunned and she followed him with her eyes as he walked through the restaurant and exited. She thought he had been rather melodramatic, but the fact he hadn't been more specific served to do the very thing that he had hoped to do---he elevated the senator's curiosity.

"How good it is to see you again, Senator."

Catherine looked up to see the owner flashing a toothy smile. "Oh, it's nice to see you too, Carmello."

"I wish to prepare something for you tonight I think you'll really enjoy."

"Oh, Carmello, I..."

"Please, I insist that you to try the ravioli stuffed with the flaked red snapper beneath my very own special sauce."

Catherine relented with a warm smile. "Oh, that sounds very good. Thank you, Carmello."

"Excellent! I shall inform your waiter we have spoken. Would you like me to prepare that for you now, Senator?"

"Yes, that would be very nice Carmello. Thank you," she smiled politely.

As Carmello departed for the kitchen, Catherine again glanced toward the front door. The sun had fully set now and a tranquil veil of darkness had settled over the capitol, as she considered her curious visitor. Catherine couldn't imagine why the Virginia delegation would be so worried about Senator Handley, but if Phillip Conrad held the key to something so important it would sway Catherine against a Handley nomination, she was determined to find out what that was.

Chapter 4

Thursday morning Senator Catherine Wells arrived early at the Richard Russell Senate Building which was home to her senatorial office since she arrived in Washington. Long known as the Old Senate Office Building it was built at the turn of the 20th century and up until 1958 accommodated 96 senators---the full allotment at that time of forty-eight states before the admission of Hawaii and Alaska. It wasn't the addition of those two states, however, that necessitated the construction of a new Senate Building but the burgeoning growth of senatorial staffs. By 1982 both a second and a third building were added, and today the Richard Russell Office Building houses offices for a scant 36 of the 100 senators---the remainder of the space is reserved for senatorial staffers.

As the senator entered her outer office, her long time appointments secretary was already at her desk. "Good morning, Senator," Maggie Atwater greeted her warmly. The fifty-five year old, had been with the Senator since Catherine was a member of the General Assembly in Illinois, and they'd been friends for nearly fifteen years. The crusty, appointments secretary possessed a sardonic sense of humor, which she relied on extensively to get her through the tedium of Washington politics.

"You're in awfully early today, Maggie."

"Yeah, I've got a lot of phone messages from yesterday I need to return."

"Well, you're not going to reach many at this early hour."

"That's what I'm counting on. It'll be enough they know I called back."

Catherine smiled. "You should run for office one day; you're charmingly devious."

"Oh, please! All of the posturing, the meetings, the endless talks with the dullards of D.C., no thanks."

"Oh, the press would jump all over a phrase like the dullards of D.C. I hope they never learn it originated in my office because I'd never again be invited to any of those Georgetown parties you love so much."

"Oh, no, I couldn't bear the thought of missing those parties, and all that chatter in political speak so no one knows what's being said. Ah, but what I'd miss most are the betting pools---wagering which legislator would be the first intoxicated."

The senator glanced at Maggie with an upturned eyebrow.

"Well, I don't originate the pools, but maybe you could take my name off the guest lists. Those parties really are quite dull."

"I hate to deflate your ego, Maggie, but on those occasions when you've accompanied me you've never actually been on the guest list," Senator Wells chuckled, "but speaking of favors..."

"Oh, here it comes, as if I didn't have enough to do. Certainly, Senator, to serve your every senatorial whim is the very reason I was placed upon this earth."

Maggie's sarcasm didn't offend Catherine as the senator was fond of their bantering, which Maggie engaged in only did when no one was within earshot.

"I want you to check out a William Grayson."

Maggie quickly shifted gears and scribbled a note on her pad of paper.

"He's a member of the Virginia delegation to the convention, so it shouldn't be too difficult to track him down. Don't contact him, but find out everything you can on him, and do it without him knowing you're asking."

"Hmm, there's nothing like a bit of intrigue to liven up a stuffy senatorial office."

"Also..."

"Oh, there's always an---also. I really hate that word."

"Where would I be without you, Maggie?"

"I'll tell you where you'd be---back where you started at the University of Chicago teaching a bunch of immature freshmen the reason for the Civil War...that's where!"

"No doubt," said Catherine, "but it was De Paul where I taught," she corrected her, as Catherine reached into her purse and handed Maggie the sheet of paper she received the night before.

"Phillip Conrad? I can't tell you how many times that grizzly old coot and I exchanged phone calls over the years. He's such a crusty old man. I heard he retired from Senator Handley's office in the midst of the campaign."

Senator Wells looked at Maggie with incredulity.

Maggie grinned. "Didn't you know senators are often the last ones to learn anything of importance?"

"I'm beginning to believe that," Catherine mused. "Anyway, I want you to find out where he is, get an address, but do that on the hush as well."

"My, with these secret investigations one would think you're in the intelligence community of the government instead of a U.S. Senator."

Catherine laughed. "Sometimes they're one and the same. After all, I do have a seat on the Intelligence Committee."

"Well, I'll get on the trail of these two fellows, and let you know what I find."

"Thanks, Maggie," said Catherine, as she turned and entered her office.

As Catherine entered and sat down behind her dark mahogany desk, a framed wedding picture of her and Bob looked back at her from the left corner of the desk. In the middle rested a pen and pencil set, a gift from her dad when she won her first political campaign...a seat in the Illinois General Assembly. On her right were separate framed pictures of her mom and dad. Her parents divorced when Catherine was young and her mother since passed away, but her father was living in a small apartment in Oregon where he was enjoying his retirement.

Directly behind Catherine against the wall stood two flags---the American flag on one side flanked by the Illinois State flag on the other. Lining the walls were the most dominant feature of Catherine's office---cherry wood bookshelves from the floor to ceiling and their contents attested to Catherine's previous vocation as a history professor. One bookshelf was reserved specifically for multi-volume works. Included among them were...

Will Durant's eleven volumes of the _Story of Civilization_ ,

Page Smith's four volume history of the United States, _A New Age Begins_ ,

as well as his two volume set on _John Adams_ ,

Dumas Malone's five volumes on _Thomas Jefferson_ ,

Edward Gibbons' _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ ,

Winston Churchill's six volumes of _The Second World War_ , and

Churchill's four volume _History of the English Speaking Peoples_ ,

Carl Sandburg's four volumes of _Abraham Lincoln the War Years_ ,

Another bookshelf contained single works...

There was David McCullough's _John Adams_ ,

Alexis DeTocqueville's classic _Democracy in America_ ,

from the Harvard series a volume of _American Historical Documents_ ,

_Theodore Rex_ by Edmund Morris,

_Churchill_ by Roy Jenkins,

Robert Dallek's _An Unfinished Life,_ and countless others.

Not only had Catherine read every book in the shelves, she also referenced her collection regularly whenever she was tweaking and supplementing the speeches prepared by her staff, while she was ever conscious of walking that thin line---quote enough to sound authoritative, but not so much as to appear pompous.

Additionally, one wall of her office was adorned with pictures of historical personages. There was one of President Kennedy and a separate picture of his brother Robert, Mahatma Ghandi of India, Dr. Martin Luther King, Anwar Sadat of Egypt, Itzhak Rabin of Israel, and a picture of three young men seldom recognized by anyone who visited her.

Behind the Senator's desk, hung one lone picture of the Illinois icon of freedom---Abraham Lincoln. As Catherine's love of history developed, she came to admire each of those pictured as some of the most courageous figures of their eras.

"Don't forget," Maggie called out to the senator from the doorway, "you've got a Committee meeting at ten o'clock," she said, referring to the Senator's seat on the Intelligence Committee.

"Got it," the senator acknowledged.

"And a representative from I.M.A.T. called again. She's been calling every week for the past two months now."

"I don't have time for their organization right now, Maggie. Do the usual. Put her off, but do it politely."

"Oh, politeness is my strong suit as you know, Senator," Maggie grinned, as she continued with the senator's schedule. "Also---oh there's my favorite word---also," she smiled in retribution, "before the committee meeting you've got an appointment with four gentlemen representing the major oil companies at 9:15 followed immediately thereafter at 9:30 by a meeting with a group representing alternative fuel sources.

Senator Wells stared at her Appointment's secretary in disbelief that Maggie would set back-to-back appointments with two groups of such divergent viewpoints.

"You don't show any visible horns, but you could certainly pass for one of Satan's minions."

"I thought it would be a good balance for you, Senator, to hear differing views in close proximity to one another," said Maggie, as she quickly closed the door to the Senator's office before Catherine could respond.

In the world of cutthroat politics, Maggie Atwater maintained a degree of irreverence in the nation's capitol. Instinctively, Maggie knew when it was appropriate to flash her sardonic sense of humor and when to keep it under wraps.

As Maggie leaned back against the closed door of the senator's inner office, a wide devilish grin crossed her face, as she whispered, "God, I love this job!"

Chapter 5

Bob Wells arrived home at the couple's condo in the John Hancock Building situated in the midst of Chicago's glitzy Magnificent Mile...a stretch of Michigan Avenue that's both a shopper's paradise and a tourist's delight...filled with world famous boutiques, shopping centers, fine restaurants, and five star hotels.

Separate careers necessitated Catherine and Bob live apart during the week, but it was tolerable because Catherine was home on weekends. Though usually one of the two weekend days was devoted to something pertaining to Catherine's work in the Senate, they generally had one full day either Saturday or Sunday when they occasionally took in a play and dined out. Catherine and Bob recently discussed the possibility of raising a family, and at thirty-eight Catherine knew if she was going to have children it would have to be soon.

When they were married, Catherine was twenty-eight and surprised Bob by taking his name. Bob assumed she would retain her name for her political career as she planned to seek a Senate seat when she turned thirty.

"No one is going to know my name anyway," she laughed. "Being a member of the Illinois General Assembly doesn't exactly give me celebrity status."

Bob was amazed at being married to a United States Senator and to such a stunning, sensuous woman as well. Now and again Bob would travel to D.C. to attend a function with his Senator-wife. Invariably, he limited his travel to those times when he and Catherine attended a function that included dinner, so at least they could dine together.

Bob enjoyed meeting the varied congressional personalities and he found politicians not nearly as boring as he once imagined. Catherine would brief him beforehand as to which senators or representatives would be seated at their table and their specific issues of interest, so Bob could brush up on the inevitable discussions. Sometimes Catherine would sit back, sip an after dinner liqueur and proudly watch as Bob held his own with a member of Congress.

Generally speaking, Bob found members of the House more affable, the senators more serious. As members of The Club as the senate was referred---one hundred members as compared to 435 members in the House---the exclusivity of the Senate was reflected in the personalities of its members. Bob found senators possessed larger egos and were more standoffish, several of them having long ago crossed the line into aloofness. There was something else Bob noticed. It was something every sitting President also saw in every senator with whom he had to contend through the years---a belief held by almost every senator they could do a better job than the sitting President. Such was the minefield through which every President walked when dealing with members of The Club.

As Bob entered the condo, he flung his suit coat onto the hall tree, and headed to the dry bar. He poured two fingers of bourbon and immediately took a sip. The intoxicating liquid burned as it moved down his esophagus, an invigorating sensation after a long day. Bob checked his watch and saw he had thirty minutes to shower before Catherine was due home, so he slugged down the last of his Jack Daniels and headed down the hall.

When he opened the bedroom door, Bob stopped in his tracks, as his mouth fell open in pleasant surprise. Catherine, dressed in a sheer black negligee, was lying on their bed. She was on her side facing the door, her head resting in the palm of her hand on a propped elbow. She looked like a stunning lingerie model posing for a photo shoot.

"I've missed you," she whispered seductively.

The look of surprise on Bob's face soon moved into a lustful grin as he moved toward the bed and his eyes widened in amorous anticipation. As Bob leaned down, Catherine put her arms around him, and they kissed passionately.

When their lips parted, Catherine said, "Hmm, a little stubble," as she playfully brushed her hand across his face.

"I'll take care of that when I shower."

"And, when you're taking your shower think what's awaiting you," said Catherine, as she leaned in and whispered what she was going to do when he returned, as Bob moaned pleasurably. "I thought, under the circumstances, you wouldn't mind if we had a late dinner tonight," she cooed.

Bob felt a sensation of warmth surge between his legs. "I think I'll get right to that shower and shave."

Chapter 6

Maggie Atwater arrived at the Hancock Building at seven thirty in the evening with several packages from a shopping excursion. Catherine requested Maggie accompany her on this trip to Illinois to assist in some constituent business on Saturday. Tonight, however, Catherine invited Maggie to join her and Bob for dinner.

"The shopping was good I see," Catherine smiled, as she answered the door. "Come in and put your things down. It's such a wonderful spring evening Bob and I were hoping you wouldn't mind walking to the restaurant if you're not too weary."

"Hey, I've still got plenty of kick in these old legs."

"Oh, good, would you like a drink before we leave?"

"Oh, let's have a drink at the restaurant. I think it's nicer sometimes to have a drink out."

"I agree completely," said Bob with a wide smile, as he approached the front door.

Maggie beamed when she saw Bob. At forty-two years of age, Bob's dark brown hair was graying at the temples, which served to give him a very distinguished look. He had a straight nose above thin lips, and possessed a warm, gregarious smile. His masculine good looks and his sparkling brown eyes always made Maggie light up whenever she saw him.

"Maggie, I must say, you're looking well, and if I weren't married...."

"Oh," Maggie cooed, as a pinkish hue blushed across her face.

"You know you've always had my heart, Maggie," he hugged her.

"I always told him," Catherine interjected, "with his winning smile he should go into politics."

"Oh, one politician per family is quite enough," Bob laughed.

"Despite his protestations, he'd be good at it, and I haven't given up trying to convince him."

"Be careful what you wish for," said Bob, "because as a conservative businessman, I might run against you."

"Oh, that would be lovely," Catherine smiled playfully. "We could debate the issues, tear each other apart making snide remarks and then go backstage and make mad, passionate love."

"Perhaps we should head for the restaurant," Maggie deadpanned, "before you two hunker down right here."

"Okay," Catherine laughed, "if we're all ready..."

After a long grueling winter, a glorious spring evening greeted Chicagoans as throngs of city residents were out in force along Michigan Avenue. As the trio exited the Hancock Building, a light breeze gently caressed them amid temperatures in the mid-sixties and Maggie absorbed the full ambiance the city offered. The setting sun had dipped below the skyline, and thousands of gleaming windows punctuated the darkness in the resplendent light of the city's skyscrapers. The result was a glorious illumination that marched ever upward against the contrast of a rapidly darkening sky.

"What a gorgeous city, and such a glorious Friday evening," commented Maggie.

"Yeah, and it's unusual for us," said Bob. "Most of the time we jump from winter into summer, and we Chicagoans don't take an evening like this for granted. When Chicagoans are blessed with a beautiful day, we treasure it."

At the intersection of Michigan and Ontario Street the wind whipped up from the south and caressed those awaiting a bus, which announced its arrival by a high-pitched screech of its worn breaks.

As a bus pulled to the curb, the door opened and a heavy-set dark haired man was among those who boarded. Perspiration glided down both sides of his clean-shaven round face, as he climbed the steps and moved up the aisle. Despite his bulk, his shirt hung so loosely it appeared several sizes too large, and, as he proceeded to the middle of the bus, he made a cursory count of twenty-five passengers. He sat down, leaned back in his seat and could feel his heartbeat pounding as the blood rushed through his veins. As his anxiety increased, his lungs heaved in labored breathing and he took several deep breaths in an effort to ease his strained, uneven respiration.

As the trio waited at the intersection for the light to change, Catherine craned her neck in an effort to look across the street.

"What is it?" Maggie asked.

"I thought I saw the man I asked you to check out, that William Grayson. I swear it looked just like him.

"Where?" asked Maggie.

"Across Michigan Avenue," Catherine pointed.

Maggie didn't know what he looked like, but said, "Oh! I forgot to tell you. I made a few calls about him, and there's no one by that name in the Virginia delegation to the convention."

A perplexed expression crossed Catherine's face as she craned her neck in an effort to catch a second glimpse of the mysterious Mr. Grayson.

_Was he following her_? _Did he contact her at dinner simply to learn whom she might support for president_? _No_. _That didn't make sense because he prompted her to contact Phillip Conrad_. _He wouldn't have done that if it were all just a rouse_.

William stood in a shop doorway across Michigan Avenue, the crowd on the sidewalk buzzing back and forth in front of him, as he stared across the street at Catherine Wells. S _he's been in the U.S. Senate for eight years. It just didn't seem fair._

"Well, I'm not going to worry about him right now," said Catherine. "It's a beautiful evening and we're going to put politics out of our heads," as she continued to gaze across Michigan Avenue but a bus crossed the intersection blocking her view.

The man on the bus had received his cue when he was jolted against the back of his seat as the bus pulled away from the curb. He stood up and reached beneath his shirt as his eyes widened and his face contorted in an expression of dreadful alarm, while a couple across the aisle noticed him suddenly stand up. He screamed something unintelligible but they had no time to contemplate what he uttered.

A ghastly, thunderous explosion engulfed the bus in a massive ball of flame.

Catherine was among those on the street hurled backwards with enormous force as large chunks of fiery metal shot high into the air as an enormous yellowish-orange fireball climbed skyward followed closely by a thick cloud of oily black smoke.

Catherine didn't actually hear the thunderous blast as her limp body slumped to the ground, blood streaming down her face.

On the sidewalk near the blast, a man fell to the pavement...one of his arms torn off at the shoulder.

A woman who was standing beside Catherine at the corner was killed instantly when struck by a large piece of the searing metal...her limp, lifeless body partially aflame as she slumped to the ground.

Several automobiles approaching from the opposite direction immediately exploded and were swallowed in flames. One of the drivers miraculously escaped unharmed but one of the other drivers was thrown from his vehicle, his body mangled in from the explosive force.

A third driver's limp body slumped lifeless against the wheel. In death, the weight of his body against the car horn blared a warning to oncoming vehicles, which screeched to a halt in a desperate attempt to stop short of the fiery inferno.

Pedestrians a hundred feet from the explosion were knocked off their feet---eardrums burst and bleeding from the concussion of the blast.

In the surrounding area windowpanes popped as their glass shattered into ragged chunks and bits of fine dust.

As the massive fireball soared into the atmosphere, a deathly, eerie silence ensued. Those near the blast area were dazed...slow to realize what had happened.

Stunned by the explosion all motion ceased, as the scene became as still as a photograph. Nothing moved except the oily black smoke that rose ever skyward, and the wavy fingers of flames, those yellowish-orange strands of death stretching upward contrasting against the once serene skyline.

Then the screaming started---a delayed reaction---loud, shrill screams of agony and fear. The inevitable sound of sirens followed and mingled with the screams of the anguished. To the injured and maimed the sirens were welcomed like angels' trumpets as they signaled help was on the way.

As movement slowly began to return to the area of the blast, the unmistakable smell of charred human flesh permeated the nostrils of the living.

Chapter 7

An elderly man exited a taxi and walked toward the hospital entrance as quickly as his arthritic knees would take him. A warm, brisk wind fluttered the sparse strands of gray hair on his hatless head, while dark circles surrounded his weary brown eyes.

As he entered the hospital, John Altman---a volunteer for many years---was behind the information desk and saw him approach. John noted the lines of worry and stress etched deeply into the old man's gaunt, pale cheeks. John saw that look of dismay upon many visitors and he knew instinctively the old man was here to see one of the victims from the explosion. Thus far the death toll had reached thirty-one while the number of injured stood at forty-seven. It could have been much worse.

"Excuse me," he said...the anxiety evident in his voice.

John smiled up at him. It was not a joyful smile, but the kind so often expressed in times of grief...a poignant bittersweet expression conveying regret in tragic circumstances.

"I'm here to see Catherine Wells. I'm her father, Adam Cantara," he said, in a distant, wispy voice.

John knew Senator Wells was in the hospital, but he referred to his computer and saw instantly the senator was still in the Intensive Care Unit. He bit lightly on his lower lip, the bittersweet smile having receded.

"Mr. Cantara, Senator Wells is..." he stopped abruptly catching himself in much too formal a response. "Uh...your daughter is in ICU. It's on the fourth floor. I'll give you directions," he said, as he reached for a map of the hospital and showed Mr. Cantara the way by tracing a path with a yellow highlighter. "When you exit the elevator on the fourth floor, turn right and go down the hallway. ICU will be through the double doors."

Adam Cantara, in a trance-like stare, nodded in subdued understanding. Distracted, by thoughts of his daughter, he hadn't heard much of what the man at the desk had told him but he took the map and headed for the elevator.

Adam walked deliberately and cautiously along a tiled floor because he saw one of those yellow signs. It made him shudder---Caution, Wet Floor---the sight of which can be so traumatic to the elderly.

As he stepped into the elevator Adam wondered about his daughter's condition, as he had worried about her long before he received the phone call. He learned of the explosion while watching the news, and tried to call Catherine immediately, and his anxiety increased with each passing hour he didn't hear back from her. He kept telling himself the chance Catherine was in that particular spot on Michigan Avenue, at that precise moment in time was extremely remote. The next day, however, he received notification his daughter was one of the injured and Adam took the first flight out of Portland, Oregon.

A bell sounded and Adam stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, turned to his right and traversed the hallway. Upon entering through the double doors, he approached the front desk.

"I'm Adam Cantara. Catherine Wells is my daughter."

"Oh, Mr. Cantara, as a matter of fact, the doctor is here checking his patients. Excuse me for a moment, and I'll find him. Please, have a seat," she gestured toward several chairs against the far wall, "and I'll be right back."

Adam nodded and took a seat. As he waited, he reflected upon his only child. Adam's eyes moistened as he recalled one of Catherine's favorite places---the Adler Planetarium where as a young girl she loved to view the planets and far away stars. It was the Planetarium where they had gone when Catherine was considering entering politics and a run for a seat in the Illinois General Assembly. Catherine hoped for encouragement and a resounding 'go get 'em', as her dad had always supported her ambitions. But her father's response that day initially disappointed Catherine and somewhat surprised her.

"Don't reach for the moon, Sweetheart."

There was a momentary awkward silence as Adam Cantara looked deep into his daughter's eyes, and added "because you might be selling yourself short...reach for the stars."

Catherine immediately threw her arms around her dad and hugged him as if she would never let go.

"Hello," said a voice through Adam's recollection, as he looked up through a foggy haze of misty-eyed memories. "I'm Doctor Fernandez," he said, as he sat down and extended his right hand. "We spoke on the phone."

"Of course," said Adam as he shook the doctor's hand. "How's my daughter?"

"She suffered a deep gash in her skull, sustained a severe concussion, and she lost a lot of blood."

Adam's face contorted in a father's pain for his daughter's condition. "Is she going to be..." but his voice trailed off before he could finish his question, as an emotional lump rose from the pit of his stomach and swelled in his throat.

"We're monitoring her very closely, Mr. Cantara, and though she's in and out of consciousness, we believe the worst has passed."

Adam Cantara exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

"Also, she doesn't need the aid of a respirator to breathe, and that is certainly a very good sign...but... "

Adam's eyes widened at the sound of that awful word. Why did that word have to intrude on their conversation?

"There is a complication. I don't know if you're aware of this, but Catherine is pregnant."

Adam's mouth dropped open in a stunned gasp.

"She's only a couple of months along. We're going to do the best we can for both of them, but our number one priority is Catherine."

Adam nodded in agreement. "Of course, of course, can I see her?"

"Certainly," the doctor nodded, "however, she may not know you're in the room. As I said, she's in and out of consciousness. Come on, I'll walk with you down the hall," said Doctor Fernandez, as he arose and extended his hand to assist Adam out of the chair.

The doctor moved slowly down the corridor so Adam could keep pace, and, as they walked, Dr. Fernandez turned toward Mr. Cantara to advise him of another aspect of his daughter's condition.

"I should tell you that since Catherine has not been fully cognizant for any appreciable period of time, we haven't had a chance to tell her the terrible news. She doesn't know her husband was killed in the explosion."

Chapter 8

In the Intensive Care Unit Adam Cantara sat by his daughter's bedside, and spoke softly to her, "Sweetheart?"

Catherine saw the blurred outline of someone leaning over her bed amidst a hazy background of soft white light. As she lifted her head ever so slightly even that simple act was a painful exercise. Her lips parted as she struggled to speak, but no words came forth. As she leaned back, the gentle nudge of her head against the pillow sent a surge of pain throbbing through her head.

Adam Cantara placed his hand gently on Catherine's shoulder and through his misty eyes choked back his emotion, as Catherine's eyes once again closed, as she sunk into exhaustion and descended into timeless darkness...

"Rise and shine, Senator," Catherine heard the voice of a man, as he entered the ICU.

Catherine slowly opened her eyes unaware of how long she'd been unconscious.

"We have to take you down the hall for a follow up MRI. Standard procedure in head traumas," he explained.

Catherine rubbed the sleep from her eyes, as the throbbing pain continued to pulsate through her brain.

"Here, let me help you," he said, as he assisted her into a wheelchair. He steered her out of the room and down the hallway to the elevator. As they descended Catherine rubbed her temple, the throbbing pain unrelenting. She could feel the blood surge through her body accompanied by the steady pain with every heartbeat. It was impossible to ignore and nearly unbearable to endure.

When the elevator opened, the attendant rolled Catherine down a long corridor to an awaiting tram that looked like an electric golf cart with no roof, and like most golf carts it seated only two people.

The attendant assisted in getting her seated and as he started to walk away, Catherine called to him. "Aren't you taking me there?"

The attendant stopped and turned around. "Your driver will be here shortly," he explained, and departed.

As Catherine waited, she noticed a bluish haze-like mist creeping slowly along the hallway like a silent fog rolling in from the sea. She thought the foggy mist suited her, because with the constant pulsing pain coursing through her body she couldn't focus on anything.

She noticed a tall, thin man walking toward the tram, the foggy mist quaking with each step he took as it engulfed his feet and lapped at his legs. He had long blonde hair that contrasted starkly against his darkly tanned face. As he neared, he noticed Catherine curiously eyeing the haze-like mist.

"Think of it as a layer of insulation---much like the layer of ozone around the earth. It protects the occupants aboard the tram."

"From X-rays?" asked Catherine.

The man smiled demurely without response as he got behind the wheel, and asked, "Round trip?"

Catherine looked at him quizzically.

"Just my little joke," he said, as he eased the tram away from the wall and started down the corridor. He drove less than a hundred feet turned down another corridor that descended so sharply and with such suddenness Catherine clutched the armrest fearful she was going to be thrown from the tram.

As they moved down a smooth concrete ramp, it reminded Catherine of an entrance to an underground parking garage---sans automobiles.

As the tram continued to descend the ramp narrowed into a dimly lit tunnel. The passageway was so narrow now there was barely enough room for the tram---the edges of the vehicle nearly scraping the walls on either side.

"I may not know my way around the hospital, but I know enough to realize this isn't the way," Catherine snapped.

"I'm afraid not, ma'am."

"Then I need to get off. I'm supposed to get an MRI."

"I'm sorry but I can't turn around. As you can see, it's much too narrow, but don't worry, we'll get you to your destination."

Suddenly, the dim light vanished and they were engulfed in total darkness and Catherine gasped. Instantly the tram lit up with tiny pinpoint lights within its interior and two high-beamed headlights pointed the way.

"Sorry about that. I should have turned the lights on sooner. Hope I didn't alarm you."

As the headlights illuminated the way, Catherine noticed the blank walls on either side were no longer smooth, finished walls of a building. The tunnel appeared to be carved out of solid rock and in her curiosity Catherine reached out and brushed her fingers across the wall. She quickly pulled her hand away, because it was freezing to her touch. She peered at the wall for a closer look and it appeared to be solid ice.

The driver commented. "I see you have discovered the walls are composed entirely of ice. Look closer, look into the ice," he urged her.

Catherine did so but her perception was hindered by dark wavy shadows caused by the movement of the lighted tram.

Suddenly Catherine gasped in terror.

Enclosed within the ice was a lifeless, unmoving body. Catherine gulped at the horrific scene---the face of a man embedded in the ice---his mouth and eyes wide open---his face frozen in a hideous silent scream of horror.

Catherine screamed, her horror echoing through the tunnel.

The driver appeared unfazed. "You have embarked upon a journey to a destination that has captivated mankind's imagination since the dawn of time," he said, as he paused and glanced at Catherine.

Her perplexed look prompted him to clarify. "You're going to find out what happens to people after they awaken. You're going to see their destiny. We have just passed the first level which is reserved for abductors. They robbed others of their freedom and so they pay the penalty---no freedom, no movement---but they are conscious and fully aware of their circumstance of being entombed in the ice. Now if you will stay calm, I promise you will be safe," he said, as the tram slowed and stopped.

The narrow passageway had widened as Catherine saw her chance and jumped from the tram onto a landing platform.

"Is there a problem here?" a voice came from the darkness behind her.

Catherine spun around and saw a man holding a lighted torch that cast wavy shadows across his face giving him a sinister appearance. As he moved closer, his features softened. He had a dark complexion and possessed a large head with a thick mane of dark black hair. His heavy eyebrows and wide forehead emphasized his large, dark eyes. Catherine noted he was powerfully built with broad shoulders and a brawny chest.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Call me M, as in the letter. And what do you think of your excursion thus far, Catherine?"

Taken aback, Catherine quickly snapped off another question. "How do you know my name?"

"I work here. It's my business to know," he said calmly, though his tone did not resonate with friendliness. As he spoke, he didn't smile, and his countenance was unemotional and business-like. His face reflected a look of deep seriousness, which made him appear pensive, as if he were considering some matter of great solemnity.

"I shall be your guide for the remainder of your journey, and I should explain that you can't go back. I mean that literally. You see, as you pass each level," he pointed behind them, as Catherine turned to look, "the walls constrict and continue to do so until the passage way is completely closed. This way please," he said, as he began to lead her down a cobblestone stairway. "Be careful now. The steps are rough and uneven," he cautioned.

Catherine hesitated. She took another look behind her, as if to confirm the way was indeed closed, and when she looked back both the tram and the driver had disappeared. She was alone as the light began to fade and M walked on ahead with the torch. With no other option Catherine reluctantly followed.

When she caught up with him, she asked, "Are you an angel?"

M muffled a chuckle. "No, I am a messenger."

_Ah, the M no doubt_ thought Catherine.

"What exactly is this place?"

"Come now, Mrs. Wells. You're an intelligent person. Certainly you have grasped the concept by now."

Catherine swallowed hard. He was right, of course, but as is the case of many traumatic moments she didn't want to acknowledge it, therefore hoping it wouldn't be true.

"Why am I here?"

M shook his head. "From time to time I am requested to conduct these tours, but why a particular individual is selected has thus far not been disclosed to me, and I have not asked. I figure if I am supposed to know I will be informed."

As they continued to descend, M paused, reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a silver medallion hanging on a silver chain. "Put this around your neck. You're going to need it soon to protect your sensory receptacles."

"What?"

"So you won't feel any pain."

Catherine eyed him with a suspicious stare.

"Oh, you'll be able to see, to smell, to touch, but it will not be to the fullest extent of what the souls here experience, and you will not be harmed as long as you wear this medallion."

Though confused, Catherine placed the silver medallion around her neck.

M nodded and gestured with his hand for her to enter as he opened a door, and said, "This is a fairly new section," as they entered a large room.

The only light came from the flicker of the torch M continued to hold tightly in his grasp. As Catherine scanned the room, the best she could discern in the dim light was that it looked like a giant warehouse. The path they were on meandered in and around stacks of oblong objects, one piled on top of another. Her eyes followed the stacks upward and they rose so high she couldn't see an end to them. They were grayish in color, over six feet long, rounded at the top, and each was partially covered with a green, filmy-like substance. Catherine stepped off the path and reached out to touch one. She felt the substance and rolled some of it between her fingers. It was damp and felt like moss and it was then she realized the objects were caskets. The entire warehouse was full of caskets, all of them piled atop one another. She reached out and tapped lightly on one of them, and found it was not made of wood, nor of metal, but of stone.

Suddenly, she screamed.

Something grabbed her.

Her heart pounded as she looked down and her eyes widened in horror as she saw a hand gripped tightly around the calf of her leg from an arm extending out from one of the caskets.

Catherine struggled to pull away and free herself from the firm grip but to no avail.

M approached but didn't appear overly concerned as he freed Catherine quite easily. "Don't worry. They can't harm you, but you'd best get back on the path," he instructed.

Catherine was breathing heavily as she again scanned the expansive room. The commotion had stirred things and she saw movement from each casket. She realized now each casket had two holes in them, one on either side where arms extended out of each opening. The arms were visible from the shoulders all the way down to the tips of scrawny, gnarled fingers that sported long, ragged fingernails. Every arm was moving, reaching, flailing wildly into the air at nothing...at anything.

"The caskets are of solid stone," explained M, "but those encased within are conscious. They know they have movement in their arms and hands, but not in their legs which are encased in the stone. They flail their arms in the haphazard fashion you're observing now, because they cannot see, as even their heads are encased in the stone. They are fully conscious and quite aware they are buried alive."

Catherine could not imagine how great their torment must be. With such an awareness of their circumstances, she thought it must be a gruesome experience for those incased in such a hell.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Thieves," said M. "These are people who stole the life savings of old men and widows, who embezzled millions and ruined the lives of many people. They cannot escape their imprisonment. It is really quite horrifying," said M, who shook his head, and added. "There are stockbrokers here, those who bilked millions of dollars out of untold numbers of unsuspecting people. Here too are those who stole the identity of others, those who emptied the bank accounts of innocent people and left them with nothing. Thieves are quite insidious to those who are victims of such crimes."

"You sound proud of conjuring up such a punishment," Catherine snarled.

M shot her an icy glare. "Do not mistake what I explain to you as enjoyment. "What they receive is justice! Explanations are part of the tour and those on this level are thieves, Mrs. Wells!"

Catherine cast her eyes downward in embarrassment, shifted uneasily from one foot to another without looking up to the steady, angry stare she knew was knifing through her from M.

Slowly, Catherine lifted his gaze. The dark eyes of M were indeed upon her as she had sensed, and she stammered, "I, uh, didn't mean to..."

"Come along," he said, as he resumed walking and led her deeper into the abyss.

Catherine turned and looked back a last time at the rows of stacked coffins. She saw the movement of arms was subsiding as they departed the second level.

As they descended Catherine began to feel warmer with each step as they came upon a wide stairwell. Catherine looked upward and noticed the opening was much wider than a normal stairwell. She then leaned over and peered down the stairwell to see if she could view what was below.

Suddenly, she heard a shrill scream from above.

M quickly pulled her back as a body fell through the stairwell and disappeared into the darkness below.

"What was...?"

"A recent arrival," M answered, "heading toward his destination."

"What exactly is our destination?"

M stopped and looked deep into Catherine's eyes. Without any emotion, he replied, "To the bottom of course, to the tenth level."

"I thought there were only nine levels," Catherine commented.

M chuckled. "We needed to expand."

As they reached the next level, Catherine closed her eyes, as she didn't wish to view the consequences suffered by yet another group of souls.

Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, she opened her eyes and squinted from a bright overhead light. Slowly, she began to focus. She turned her head slightly and saw the outline of a man seated by her bedside, and she whispered softly, "Dad?"

Adam Cantara looked up in surprise and immediately arose from his chair. He leaned over the bed and gave Catherine a gentle hug. His eyes misted and he choked back an emotional lump in his throat, as he whispered in a breathy sigh, "Welcome back, Sweetheart."

Catherine scanned the room with her eyes as best she could and asked in a hushed murmur, "Is Bob here?"

Chapter 9

Though the doctors told Catherine her baby survived the trauma unscathed and Catherine could look forward to a full term pregnancy, it was Adam who had the unenviable task of informing his daughter that Bob was killed in the explosion. When Catherine heard the horrible words, she felt a terrible gut-wrenching void, the kind of void that knocks the wind out of you and no matter how hard you try, you can't catch your breath.

Adam Cantara shuttled back and forth from Catherine's condo while she was in the hospital and was at her bedside everyday without fail from early in the morning until late into the evening. On those occasions when Catherine opened her eyes, he would talk to her and let her know she wasn't alone until once again she drifted back to sleep.

Catherine wasn't well enough to attend Bob's funeral, so Adam handled the arrangements at Queen of Heaven cemetery in the western suburb of Hillside. Later, when Catherine was released from the hospital, she and her dad went to the gravesite where Catherine knelt for more than an hour. She brushed her hand across the head stone, kissed the ground where her husband's coffin had been laid, and whispered her lament, "We never got a chance to say goodbye, Bobby."

Her dad continued to stay with Catherine and that meant a great deal to her. Physically she was better now but Catherine hadn't yet returned to her senatorial duties, so Adam insisted he stay with her until she returned to Washington.

Today, Catherine entered her walk-in closet to get something to wear, and saw Bob's clothes hanging where they'd always been. She knew she would have to discard Bob's things eventually, but not yet. It was too soon. Catherine reached out and took a sleeve of one of Bob's favorite shirts, a blue pin stripe dress shirt. She brought it to her face and brushed the sleeve across her cheek as her eyes began to mist. Her lips quivered with emotion as she took a breath and exhaled a soft sigh.

Other than visiting Bob's gravesite, Catherine hadn't been out and today she felt well enough to take a stroll along the lakefront. She dressed quickly and went to the kitchen where her father was fixing soup.

"Dad, I'm going for a walk."

"Would you like some company?"

When Catherine hesitated, Adam understood. "Oh, hey, that's all right. I really haven't given you much space. You go ahead. Relax. Enjoy the day. And besides, by not joining you, these old arthritic knees of mine will be forever grateful."

Catherine smiled and hugged her dad. "I won't be long."

When Catherine exited the Hancock Building she headed south on Michigan Avenue. It was a warm day as the calendar had turned to June and a cool breeze off the lake unblocked by rows of skyscrapers greeted her each time she crossed an intersection.

Catherine turned east at Millennium Park and proceeded to Lake Shore Drive where she strolled leisurely along the Chicago Harbor until she took a seat at the harbor's edge and dangled her legs over the side of the concrete embankment. Catherine was wearing shorts and after spending weeks in the hospital the sunshine felt warm against her skin while the cool lake breeze cooled her face. She wore a baseball cap to cover her shaved head and a pair of sunglasses further secured her anonymity to anyone who passed along the lakefront.

Alone in her thoughts, Catherine watched passengers as they boarded _The Shoreline II_ for a one-hour cruise of Chicago's skyline as seen from Lake Michigan. She glanced beyond the breakwater and saw how the miles miniaturized a freighter in the distance as it glided atop the tranquil waters of the lake.

Catherine looked to her left and saw the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, also diminished by distance while rotating effortlessly against the blue background of a near cloudless sky, while behind her to the west she could hear musicians performing in Grant Park.

To Catherine's right jutting into the lake on a thin piece of land stood the gray dome of one of her favorite places when she was a young girl---the Adler Planetarium. She wondered what awe-inspiring sights youngsters witnessed today of far away planetary bodies God placed in the heavens so long ago.

A blimp glided silently overhead while below several ducks paddled in the harbor and occasionally plunged their heads below under water searching for something to eat. The sound of several buoys jingled in uneven, intermittent intervals, while dozens of yachts and boats moved in and out of the harbor. Those at the helm cast a friendly wave as boatmen often do, but immersed in her thoughts Catherine did not return the gesture, as she gazed beyond them at the idle, lonely sail boats still moored in the Chicago Harbor. The tall barren masts waved ever so slightly from side to side as if beckoning her, as they bobbed from the gentle wake caused by the boats traversing the harbor.

When Catherine arose, she headed west, crossed Lake Shore Drive and ascended the stairs to Grant Park. As she approached three-tiered Buckingham Fountain she heard the crackling beneath her feet from the red gravel that surrounds the fountain and as she strolled by the breeze carried a cool refreshing mist from the fountain's spray against her sun-warmed skin.

Food tents dotted Grant Park and Catherine walked to a nearby ticket booth and purchased some tickets. She saw that Tiparos had a tent and exchanged her tickets for the chicken satay with peanut sauce and a cucumber salad along with a bottle of water. Catherine eyed an open picnic table shaded nicely by several trees. She sat down and opened her bottle of water and took a sip, started on her salad and found she was famished. As she enjoyed her meal, nearby an American Indian treated those in the immediate vicinity to the melodic tones of _Let It Be_ on a high-pitched pan flute.

When Catherine finished eating, she noticed a couple walking casually across the grass holding hands as they moved unhurried through Grant Park. Suddenly, Catherine put her face in her hands and began to sob. Tears came often to her now and usually without any warning.

Nearby, William Grayson was seated on the grass, his back against a tree. He watched Catherine sobbing but he made no move toward her.

Catherine felt as if the awful Hand of God had singled her out; had reached down and shattered her all too gifted life; and brought despair where only serene peacefulness had resided. Catherine slammed her fist against the table, and decried, "Why God? Why? Why Bob?"

Chapter 10

That evening, Catherine warmed some milk to help her relax. As she nestled under the covers, she took several sips and the warm liquid felt soothing going down. She set her cup on the nightstand, and reached for the book she recently started, but after only half a dozen pages her eyes grew heavy, the book languidly slipped from her grasp, and she drifted off to sleep...

Catherine was back in the tunnel and the heat was insufferable. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the perspiration from her face as M reappeared in the darkness. He reached out and tugged on the medallion around Catherine's neck to be sure it was securely in place.

"As warm as you are now," he said, "it's going to become more uncomfortable as we continue to descend. Whatever happens, do not remove your medallion," he instructed her sternly. "We're on our way to level nine where the pain of fire begins."

"I only remember descending to level two."

"Well, how unique for an earthly being not to remember the entirety of your dream," he chuckled. "Come along."

As they continued, Catherine recalled how serious and business-like M was in the beginning of the tour, even aloof and distant. Now he seemed markedly more personable as they descended deeper into the abyss. She wondered if maybe that was by design and distracted by her thoughts Catherine stumbled and the medallion flew off her neck. Instinctively, she extended her hands to break her fall and when she hit the ground she screamed.

M spun around and hurriedly helped Catherine to her feet.

"The ground burned my hands!"

M knew why and immediately scanned the stone floor and spotted the medallion. He picked it up and placed the chain back around Catherine's neck.

Catherine looked at her hands in surprise as the searing heat had not left any mark upon her.

"You won't see any affect. You'll have no scar, no mark of any kind. In this place you merely feel the pain, a concept which many have great difficulty grasping. Man is so concerned with arriving at scientific explanations he cannot conceive of a world like this---one that cannot be explained by the world of physics. The idea of a fire burning without consuming is a concept very foreign to the mind of man. How could pain be a reality if there is no flesh?"

_The burning bush_ , thought Catherine, as she brushed herself off, and saw a faint light flickering in the distance. It was the first time she saw any light in this subterranean world other than that emitted by the torch held by M.

As they continued Catherine heard something. It was faint but unmistakable. In the distance, she heard the muffled but agonizing wails of pain.

"I should point out that souls on level nine have murdered. They have destroyed the most precious gift of all---human life---and when a life is taken, the uniqueness of that human being is gone forever. Your Creator has forgiven the killers for what they did."

"Murderers have been forgiven?"

"Yes," M confirmed, "but don't be mistaken for absolution without consequence is not justice."

"The Creator makes the rules here and it's actually the victim who absolves the murderer. If there were multiple victims, the murderer must speak to each of them and receive absolution from each one. If you see one of the suicide killers, be sure to observe their reaction. As they awaken see if you detect any horror in their eyes."

Catherine's pulse quickened and her eyes widened in dark enmity as she wondered if one in particular had arrived. She wanted to ask M if he was here, but she stopped herself, as M continued his discourse.

"Level ten is reserved for the teachers of hatred. They are the very worst of humanity and reside at the bottom of the abyss. They manipulate and infuse hatred into the pliable receptive minds of children and young adults."

Catherine cast her glance downward. She knew of such individuals both abroad and at home as hatred can navigate even the most severe geographic boundaries.

"Your Creator established a different rule for those on the lowest level. Perhaps you can guess who must forgive them."

Catherine looked up. Lost in her thoughts she hadn't heard M's last comment.

"Now stay in the middle, follow the corridor, and do not stray from the path," he gestured ahead for her to proceed, as he handed her the torch.

"You're leaving me here?" Catherine asked in wide-eyed dismay.

"A little farther someone is awaiting your arrival. He will lead you through the final stage of your journey. Just be sure you continue to wear your medallion, and you will not be harmed," said M, as he stepped away.

"You can't just leave me here alone!" Catherine yelled, but M was already gone. Catherine attempted to follow but a wall spanned the width of the corridor to block her way. Unable to go back and fearful of moving forward Catherine stood motionless, alone, her only companion the flickering light of the torch.

Finally, with no alternative she cautiously moved forward.

With each step the faint light in the distance grew brighter, while the heat intensified, and a smoky fog-like mist rose from beneath her feet and engulfed her up to her waist. As she continued she saw a man standing sentry-like by a monitor mounted on the wall.

"Mrs. Wells?" the sentry asked.

Catherine was taken aback that yet another person in this shadowy world knew her name. She nodded uneasily, as the flickering nature of the torchlight served to illuminate the man's face in a sinister appearance. He was a tall, thin man, who looked to be in fine shape though not nearly as broad shouldered or muscular as M. His hair was cut short, too short to be combed. He had a straight though longer than average nose above thin lips that curved upward in a gracious smile.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Call me E...as in the letter," he said, and just as M, he too made no attempt to inform her of the meaning of the initial.

"I see you are wearing your medallion. Good. Did M explain it would not be safe to remove it?"

Catherine nodded.

"Good."

"There is an influx of additional souls making their first appearance and you can help."

"Me?"

"I want you to observe the processing of the new arrivals," he motioned toward the monitor.

Catherine looked up at the monitor and saw four people standing calmly on what appeared to be a theatre stage. There was an audience in attendance and every seat was occupied.

"It's one of the auditoriums in transition above," said E. "Transition is a place between your world and this one---where souls are processed."

"Do you mean judged?" Catherine inquired.

"No, I mean processed. Those on stage have already been informed of their fate and are waiting for their sentences to be carried out."

"Who are they?"

"Well, let's see. The old man there on the far left is a Hindu. As you can see from his appearance, he lived a long life. He died of natural causes."

Catherine stared at the old man, and, though she was looking at him through a monitor, she detected a distinctively gentle manner about him.

"He lived in India and worked as a farmer," E continued. "Actually, he is much younger than you might think. He had a hard life providing for his family."

Catherine nodded, as she observed his worn and weathered face, his gnarled hands and the severe stoop from a lifetime of hard manual labor.

"The one next to him is a young Jewish woman. She was killed in an automobile accident," E explained.

Catherine observed her soft features and detected a playful twinkle in her eyes and Catherine wondered what pleasant thoughts were going through the woman's mind as she stood with the others.

"The third one is a Buddhist," said E.

Catherine saw a gentle contentment upon his face and within his eyes. It looked like he was fully at peace with himself and his circumstance and he brought a smile to Catherine's face. "What happened to him?"

"He was simply too close to the river during the torrential rains. He was trying to get his family out. With his help, they all made it to safety. He literally jumped into the turbulent current to save one of his sons, but sadly he could not save himself and met his death by drowning."

"Oh, I see," said Catherine, _a hero_ , she thought, as she looked back at him and didn't see a hint of anger in his eyes regarding his untimely death.

"The one on the far right is a Shiite Muslim. He died beneath the rubble of an earthquake in Iran."

"Oh," said Catherine regretfully.

"Even as he stands upon the stage, his family is frantically searching for him praying he might still be alive beneath the rubble but...," his voice trailed off.

"By the way, you are a Christian, are you not?"

Catherine was surprised by the question. "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"It's just a formality that I needed to confirm before proceeding. So, would you like to do the honors?" E asked, as he gestured toward a lever on the wall below the monitor.

"What do you mean?"

"Their sentences have already been pronounced. It's time for them to depart for the abyss."

"I don't understand. What did they do?"

"It's what they didn't do."

"Don't speak in riddles to me. I'm not in the mood."

E smiled demurely. "Please accept my apology, as no offense was intended. To put it simply, they did not convert."

"Convert to what?" Catherine asked.

"To your faith, Mrs. Wells," E answered. "They are not of the Christian faith and therefore cannot be admitted to heaven."

Catherine was stunned.

"Come now, Mrs. Wells, you have believed all your life the only way to heaven is through Christianity. Where else could they go? There is no limbo, never was. That was an invention of man, not of God. So, Limbo is not an option. Therefore, they must come here. There is no other place for them."

"But what did they do wrong?"

E rolled his eyes in frustration that his explanation had not sufficed. "It is as I said. They are not of the faith. It is not a matter of wrongdoing. They simply cannot be admitted into the presence of saints and walk with the angels when they do not believe in the Christian faith."

E motioned with a tilt of his head toward the monitor. "Observe the floor upon which they are standing. The lever will release a trap door and they will drop into the abyss. You merely pull the lever and it will be over for them."

"You actually expect ME to send them into the abyss?" Catherine asked incredulously.

"Prolonging it will only serve to make it more cruel for them. They are ready now, Mrs. Wells. You see," said E, as he pointed to the monitor. "They are not wearing their medallions and await the fate that has already been pronounced. If you do not wish to pull the lever, then I shall do it anyway. Either way, the abyss awaits them. I just thought as a Christian, you would wish to fulfill God's will."

Catherine looked back at the four souls awaiting their departure and considered what E had said. She was again amazed each of them looked so content in view of the fate that awaited them.

Catherine then saw someone out of the corner of her eye---a man who was some distance away but was walking up the corridor. When he stepped out of the darkness and into the light, Catherine was stunned to see it was William Grayson. He had a curious expression on his face as if he wanted to see what Catherine was going to do.

Catherine turned back to E, and asked, "Are you absolutely sure this is where they must go?"

E smiled sincerely and his eyes conveyed a heartfelt honesty within him. "Yes, I'm sure. I've been working here for many millennia, longer even than your first guide, M," he said.

"Well," she said, as she raised her arm and gripped the lever, "if it has to be done..." her voice trailed off, but, as she tightened her grip on the lever, she hesitated.

E shifted his weight from one foot to another as he waited impatiently.

Suddenly, Catherine felt the strength of a strong, vice-like grip upon her forearm.

It was M!

E's lips curled into a snarl and he emitted a low-pitched raspy growl at M's intervention.

M's grip on Catherine's forearm was so strong she thought the bones in her arm would snap with a flick of his wrist. Catherine loosened her grip on the lever as M placed a hand onto each of Catherine's hips and lifted her up and away. M then reached across her and in one swift jerk he pulled the lever. Suddenly, a trap door opened beneath where Catherine had stood just a moment before.

Flames shot upward through the opening from the fiery furnace below and illuminated the dimly lit corridor as long narrow strands of hot-yellow flames shot upward out of the trap door accompanied by thick clouds of black smoke. Catherine felt the searing heat as it arose through the opening, and she screamed in a shriek of horror as her heart leapt into her throat. A loud deafening rumble roared from the energy of burning fuel---the sound resonated and reverberated through the narrow corridor. Above the din of the churning flames, Catherine covered her ears in an effort to drown out the hideous, bone-chilling shrieks of agony that bounced off the walls and echoed down the corridor.

M pulled the lever up and the trap door closed. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Catherine took a deep breath. "I think so," she sighed.

"The Great Deceiver is most accommodating, ever ready to assist anyone in their own demise. He'd have snatched the medallion from around your neck as you fell through the trap door, the force of your fall snapping the chain," M explained.

Catherine turned toward E and saw that he looked substantially different. His nose was no longer straight, but was crooked and hooked. His ears looked larger and pointed, and his lips were as black as coal, while his teeth had grown into long brown stained fangs.

E did not speak but cowered in the corner with a silent scowl.

"You have no control over her," said M. "It is only through treachery and deceit you can ever hope for anyone to do your bidding, Eblis," said M, referring to him by name.

Eblis sprang from his squat position into the air, vaulted across the corridor, and in one quick motion grabbed the lever. When the trap door reopened, he leapt into the opening and quickly disappeared into the abyss below. As he descended, the fire leapt up to greet him, as the flames again shot high into the air through the opening.

Catherine shrieked.

M reached through the trap door into the cauldron below, as if he were dipping the tip of his finger into an inkwell. As he pulled his hand out, he closed the trap door, which immediately muffled the loud din of the agony from those below. M straightened up and with his finger he wrote two words in the thick, black wavy smoke that lingered in the tunnel...

The Bridge

And just after M finished writing, standing beside those words written in the smoke stood Catherine's father and William Grayson. Both appeared unconcerned.

"Dad," Catherine screamed! "What does it mean, Dad?"

Chapter 11

When Adam heard Catherine scream, he quickly arose and moved as fast as his old legs would take him toward his daughter's room. He paused at the doorway and banged loudly on her bedroom door. When Catherine screamed again, he opened the door, flicked on the light and went to her bedside. She was thrashing and her face was wet with a nightmare's perspiration, as Adam placed his hands on Catherine's shoulders.

"Catherine, Catherine. It's okay. You've had a nightmare, but you're okay now."

Catherine's thrashing subsided and she opened her eyes. She squinted in the light and saw her father. "Oh, Dad, I had such a terrible nightmare."

"I know," he soothed her, "but it's over now."

"I'm so glad you didn't listen to me, that you didn't go back to Oregon."

"I'm glad too, and I'll stay as long as you need me to stay---and then some. Are you feeling a bit better?"

Catherine nodded slowly. "Yeah, what time is it anyway?"

"It's about two-thirty."

"I think I'll get up for a while."

Adam smiled. "Well, if you don't mind some company, I'll join you."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

They went to the living room and fixed their own drinks---a seven-up for Catherine and her dad fixed himself a bourbon and coke.

They sat down on the sofa and Catherine shook her head. "That has to be the weirdest dream I've ever had in my life."

"Well, it's no wonder with all that you've been through."

"I saw the levels of hell, Dad," Catherine blurted out.

"Hell?"

Catherine nodded. "Yeah, I don't remember each level but I know there were ten, and there are different punishments meted out to souls on the different levels.

Adam pursed his lips and nodded.

"You were in my dream too, Dad."

Adam chuckled. "I know I've made some mistakes in my life, but I trust they weren't that serious."

"No," Catherine smiled, "you were only walking in hell's hallways."

"Oh, well, that's much better," he laughed. "So, was I on my way in, or on my way out?" he asked, as he took a sip of his drink.

"You really want me to tell you about it?"

"Sure, I'm up now...what the heck? Or would it be more appropriate in this particular conversation to say...what the hell?"

Now Catherine laughed heartily.

"It's good to see you smile, Kate."

Catherine wanted to say it felt good as well but something within her prevented her from saying so as if she were experiencing a feeling of guilt at displaying happiness, and she took a sip of her seven-up as if it would be an elixir to alleviate her concerns.

"Well, okay. It started in the hospital. I had the first nightmare there, and then one tonight. There was a man. His name was simply M, as in the initial. I think he referred to himself as a messenger, but it seemed as though he was more like a tour guide, explaining the various levels as we traversed them."

Catherine proceeded to detail as much of her nightmares as she could remember, and finished by saying, "I saw a man that I met briefly some time ago at a restaurant in Washington. His name was William Grayson."

Adam shrugged, not recognizing the name.

"In the nightmare he was just standing there watching me, and at the end of the nightmare tonight, M scrolled two words in the smoky haze."

"What did he write?"

"The bridge," Catherine replied succinctly.

Adam's eyes widened in astonishment but Catherine didn't notice her dad's reaction, as she had lowered her gaze to take another sip of her seven-up.

"That's when I saw you for the first time in the corridor," she continued. "You just kind of appeared out of nowhere and stood beside those two words as they hung in the smoke. That's when I woke up."

Catherine then noticed her father staring into space.

"What is it, dad?"

Adam hesitated slightly. "I...uh...might know what it means," he said bluntly, as he took a gulp of his drink, "but if I told you, you wouldn't believe it."

"What the heck. We're up now. Two lonely souls wide awake in the middle of the night. Why don't you try me?"

"I have to warn you. It's pretty far out. You may think your old man needs to be put away."

"It can't be any crazier than the levels of hell."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Adam sipped the last of his drink. "Okay, but first I'm going to need a refill," he said as he arose.

When Adam returned with another drink, he sat down, and began. "It was a long time ago. Your mother and I had already been divorced. I think you were only about ten years old, maybe eight. Anyway, it was after the divorce, when I had an operation."

"I remember that, Dad."

Adam nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah, but what you don't know is what I never told you."

Catherine straightened up in her chair, and leaned in closer to her dad.

"When I was in the hospital, I went somewhere. Maybe it was one of those near death experiences, or maybe it was simply a dream for want of any other explanation, but I went to a place called transition."

"Oh, my," Catherine's hand went to her mouth, "the four people I saw on the stage were in transition."

Adam continued. "In my dream it was a place every person visits before they move onto heaven, or are sent elsewhere as the case may be. There were trees, parks, streams, domesticated animals, birds, and people of course. It was very serene, quite beautiful, and there were cities too that you could visit, and yet, as lovely as it was, it wasn't heaven. Each of us there was given a silver medallion on a silver chain to place around our necks."

Catherine's mouth fell open, as she interjected, "To protect us from the heat of the depths."

"The medallions we were given weren't for protection," said Adam. "They called them mind medallions. You wouldn't believe the things we could do when we placed those medallions around our neck and concentrated. If we got hungry, we could make a cheeseburger appear out of thin air or an entire steak dinner for that matter if we wanted."

Catherine laughed. "Leave it to you to request cheeseburgers and steaks."

"God, it was a wonderful place. That's where I met Mary."

Catherine looked up at her dad with confusion showing on her face.

"Yeah, this is the part I thought you'd think sounded crazy. I'm not sure I can actually explain it, but I found out later Mary was undergoing an operation at the same time I was in the very same hospital in the adjacent operating room. We'd never met before I saw her in transition for the first time," he paused for a moment in fond remembrance of the lady he loved. "I didn't know until I awoke later, when one of the nurses said they thought they'd lost me, because I'd been gone for a couple of minutes. I found out later my heart had stopped on the operating table."

Catherine gasped, "I had no idea your operation was that serious."

"I know. It was because you were so young. After you grew up, well, there was never any reason to tell you," he said, as he shrugged his shoulders.

"You actually died on the operating table?"

Adam smiled, as he took another sip of his bourbon and coke. "So it was inferred but only for a short time. Anyway, the nurse told me she overheard some doctors talking about the lady in the operating room next to mine, that she'd been gone for almost two minutes, but they got her back too."

"Mary?"

Adam nodded. "We were both gone at the exact same time. I guess that's logical, if any of this is to make any sense at all. A couple of days later in a hospital hallway we were both still hooked up to our respective IV's and we met for real. We were together for the next eighteen years," said Adam, as he took a sip of his drink and then stared at the contents in his glass.

Catherine knew her dad still missed Mary very much.

"Remember how I used to write?" he asked.

"Of course, Dad, I guess I'm a bad daughter, because I haven't asked if you still write."

"You're a great daughter, Kate. Don't ever doubt that. As for my writing I don't do much anymore. Older now you know. The words don't flow as quickly as they once did," he chuckled. "Anyway, I mentioned it because when I met Mary back in my dream we were informed that we could travel from transition back to earth if we wished to do so. We were told not to look up loved ones because no one would be able to see or hear us and therefore might be rather traumatic for us. So, we were free to visit any place on earth, and wouldn't you be surprised to know the place we chose was a city neither of us had been before."

Catherine looked inquiringly at her father. "Hmm, let's see. You meet a woman for the first time, someone you were attracted to, so I'm guessing it must have been one of the big three---London, Rome, or Paris."

Adam smiled, "Washington, D.C."

"You're kidding me!"

"Honest. When we were there my writing came up in conversation and Mary asked me of all the stories I'd ever written, which was my favorite."

" _The Reflecting Pond_ ," Catherine interjected. "I remember you telling me once that was your personal favorite," she smiled. "So, what happened?"

"Well, Mary grabbed her mind medallion, concentrated on the story, and in a moment she was holding a printout of it in her hand. Like I said, those medallions could work wonders. Mary proceeded to read it and she liked it so much she led me to the cemetery where the one I wrote about was buried and she placed the pages beside his gravesite. I don't think anything anyone has ever done in my whole life ever touched me more than that gesture of Mary's," Adam said wistfully.

"You're right, what a truly lovely gesture."

"Well, after Mary placed the print out beside the grave, we talked for a minute and suddenly there was someone kneeling by the gravesite, someone we hadn't even seen approach."

"Who was it?"

"Do you remember Arbatel from that story?"

Catherine squinted and lines formed on her forehead as she concentrated. Finally, she said, "Yeah, yeah I think so. Wasn't he the keeper of the cottage?"

Adam Cantara felt a twinge of pride his daughter remembered his little story after so many years. "Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but Arbatel stepped right out of the pages and took on form and substance and knelt beside the gravesite of the man who had visited his cottage."

"Do you remember the bridge in that story?" Adam asked his daughter.

Catherine's eyes now widened. She'd forgotten about the bridge, but now it came flooding back to her. "Yes! I remember Dad! I mean I'd forgotten until this very moment, the people who went to the cottage stood on the bridge and looked out over the pond."

Adam nodded and whispered, "Yeah."

Catherine took another sip of her drink as she contemplated what her father had related. "You think, after all these years, that story popped into my head somehow and that's why M wrote--- _The Bridge_ \---and because you are the author of the story that's why I saw you standing there in my dream? That it simply popped into my subconscious?"

Adam sipped his bourbon and coke, shook his head slightly, and said, "I doubt it that's what it was. I mean, it could have been that but perhaps it was something else entirely."

"Like what?"

"A. L. Cantara," her father answered.

Catherine looked quizzically at her dad quizzically. "Your initials and last name, I don't understand," she said shaking her head.

"Yes, and when you take those two initials put them together with my last name, it spells alcantara," he said, as Adam reflected upon his life. "It used to be I would entertain illusions about doing something in my life, something important. Illusions of grandeur I suppose one would call them."

"You've always meant a great deal to me, Dad."

Adam smiled tenderly. "Thank you, sweetheart, and I don't mean to minimize that. You mean a great deal to me too. I just thought there was something else, something more. That maybe I was some sort of link."

"I don't follow you, Dad."

"Well, don't feel bad. It's taken me all this time to fully understand it myself. You see it wasn't until tonight, when you described your dream, that it really became clear to me. You know my grandparents were from Austria. Well, a good number of Arabic speaking people migrated north into central Europe over the centuries. Many settled in Austria hundreds of years ago. My last name is a common Muslim name."

"I don't see where that's...

"Alcantara is an Arabic expression. It means---The Bridge."

Catherine looked astonished at what her father said. She straightened up in her chair, stared at him in disbelief and in a muted whisper uttered, "Wow!"

"I used to think in some small way that I was the bridge, but sometimes a man's destiny is not within himself but in his children. It's you, Catherine. You're the one who is going to cross the bridge in a rendezvous with destiny. I don't know how that's going to happen or for what purpose, but I truly believe in my heart, from the very depth of my soul, there is a reason you have been placed upon this earth at this moment, at this particular time in history."

The pragmatic Catherine Wells replied, "Dad, I appreciate what you're saying, I really do, but I don't really believe in what some would call fate. We each carve our own path," she said, as a tender smile crossed her face, and she added, "People don't speak of their destiny while they're alive. If they did, it would smack of megalomania. It's only after people are gone that anyone ever says whether someone achieved their destiny."

Adam began to feel embarrassed and looked away to avoid his daughter's eyes. "Well, let's just call it the ramblings of an old man then. Like I said, it all sounds pretty crazy," as he swigged another gulp of his drink.

Aware of the awkwardness her father was feeling, Catherine said, "Not at all, Dad, but on that note I think I'll head back to bed."

"Yeah, it is late. Sleep well, Kate."

"Thanks," she said, as she arose and kissed her dad on the cheek. "You have a good sleep too."

Chapter 12

Tom Washburn paced nervously in his Washington, D.C. office as he held his cellular phone to his ear and listened to the ranting of Thaddeus Beauregard, the senior senator from Tennessee.

"Now, Tom, you know that I think the world of Catherine. My God, my heart goes out to her. She has the unenviable distinction of being the very first U.S. Senator to lose a spouse in a terrorist attack, and I pray to God that she'll be the last. But I have votes pending on the senate floor, lad, and I simply need to know whether or not she's coming back to the Senate."

"She...uh...she'll most certainly be coming back, Senator."

"When, lad, I need to know when."

"I don't know exactly."

"Well, have you spoken to her?"

"Yes," Tom answered. He was not lying. He had indeed spoken to Catherine, but she had been non-committal as to when she would return to her senatorial duties. It was Tom Washburn who announced to the senator's entire office staff a plan that each one of them would fly into Chicago to visit her while she was in the hospital. He organized it so that two of them would visit her one day, followed by two more each day thereafter until they had all done so.

Tom knew the senator was released from the hospital and convalescing at home, but exactly when she would return to Washington, he didn't know.

"So let me get this straight son, so that a plain talkin' fellow from Tennessee like me doesn't misunderstand. You're her chief-of-staff, you've spoken to her, but you don't really know when she'll be back. Have I got that right?"

"Senator, I..."

"Mr. Washburn," the senator interrupted. "I just wanna ask you one question, and I would appreciate a forthright answer, if you could manage one, son."

"Senator..."

"Did you specifically ask Senator Wells when she would be returning to the senate?"

"Uh..."

"Excuse me Mr. Washburn. I have another call coming in. Please contact Senator Wells this morning, and do let me know before the end of the day as to the exact date of her planned return. I 'preciate it," he finished and abruptly hung up.

"I'll certainly..." Tom began, but found he had been disconnected. He abruptly slammed his cell phone closed. "Shit!" he yelled, as he continued to pace the floor. "I've talked to her, and I know she's physically well enough," he mumbled. "Who else could maybe light a fire under her? Get through to her. Convince her to come back."

Suddenly, a thought struck him and he snapped his fingers. "Yeah, yeah!" he yelled, as he opened his cell phone, scanned his address book, and placed a call.

Chapter 13

The next morning Catherine was exiting the elevator in the Hancock Building on her way to take another walk, when she noticed someone entering. It was a woman, and she had caught Catherine's eye because she was walking very slowly with the aid of a cane. When Catherine looked closer, her hand immediately went to her mouth. She gasped, as she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Maggie!" she yelled.

Catherine ran toward her and put her arms around her, and hugged her warmly. "Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry I didn't call. I was told you'd been hurt, but..."

"But it wasn't time yet for this old battle axe to cash out," Maggie grinned.

Catherine released her hug, stepped back and said through a wide smile, "You look great, Maggie, really great."

"It's that damn hospital food. I lost fifteen pounds, but since I got released I've been visiting Chicago restaurants and working real hard at gaining that back," she chuckled. Say, let's get some coffee. I'll tell you all about it and we can catch up."

They went out to the sidewalk along Michigan Avenue where Catherine immediately flagged down a taxi and instructed the driver to drop them at the corner of Washington and State. The cabbie swung west a couple of blocks and then south and they arrived at the intersection in a matter of minutes. As they got out of the taxi, with a nod of her head, Catherine motioned across the street. "The Atwood Café...it's a nice little place on the ground floor of the Burnham Hotel."

Maggie was immediately delighted and impressed when they entered as she eyed the red-brick-walls and cherry-wood floors beneath eighteen-foot ceilings and square columns.

"As a downstate girl, it never ceases to amaze me how thoroughly grand this city is."

Catherine eyed an open table by the window looking out over Washington Street and asked the hostess if they could be seated there.

"No problem," the hostess smiled, as she led them to the table. "A waiter will be right with you," she said and departed.

As the ladies sat down, Catherine said, "I'm glad it's before the lunch hour, otherwise this place would be packed."

"This is nice," said Maggie, as she gazed out at Washington Street and eyed the pedestrians moving past the window. "I love to people watch."

When the waiter approached, they each ordered a croissant and coffee.

When he departed, Maggie turned toward Catherine, and Maggie's countenance was noticeably changed. The touristy awe she had shown upon stepping inside the stylish Atwood Café had vanished and was replaced by a look of deep regret.

"I'm so sorry about Bob."

Catherine nodded silently.

"He was a hero, you know," said Maggie.

Catherine looked at her quizzically.

"You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Well, I don't remember too much about that evening. It all happened so fast, but I do recall someone was yelling something really loud, I mean so loud you could hear him above the din of traffic. It sounded like it was coming from the street through an open window from one of the vehicles. I don't know what Bob heard or what he saw," she shook her head, "all I know is he pushed me to the ground just before the blast," said Maggie, as she pulled a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed away some moisture from her eyes. "He literally saved my life."

Catherine bowed her head and in an almost inaudible whisper that choked with emotion, "I didn't know that."

The waiter approached with their coffee and croissants. As he set their orders on the table, he felt the heavy atmosphere of a grave discussion, so he did his job quickly and departed without saying a word. He would check on them later.

When they were alone once again, Maggie said, "I truly wish it had been me instead of Bob."

"Oh," Catherine shook her head profusely, as she reached out toward Maggie and took her hand in hers. "You mustn't ever say that, Maggie." Catherine stroked Maggie's hand gently and then released it, and asked, "Tell me, Maggie, how are you doing after all of this? Are you okay?"

"As it was, I only lost a leg. I was very fortunate. I have a prosthetic, and it's working out okay, though I'll need my cane for a while. It's marvelous what they can do nowadays with artificial limbs."

Catherine nodded. "I'm amazed you're walking on it already. Is it painful?"

"Oh, there's certainly a twinge now and then, but nothing this old broad can't handle," said Maggie, as she banged on her artificial limb, and added, "The nice thing is that they're like cowboy boots."

"Huh?"

"The more I walk on it the better it seems to fit, but enough about me. How are you doing?"

"Well, I do have some news."

"What?"

Catherine took a deep breath, let it out, and answered, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh, Catherine, that's wonderful! How far along are you? When did you find out?"

"I'm about three months along now. I didn't know about the baby until..." her voice trailed off, but she fought back the emotion and continued, "until they told me when I was recovering in the hospital."

"Oh," said Maggie, as her eyes reflected her sudden realization. "Bob never knew?"

Catherine shook her head regretfully, "No."

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" she asked with a smile trying to interject a lighter tone.

"I haven't asked. Probably won't. I'll wait until it's born. I guess I'm old fashioned in that sense."

"Well, you old fashioned sentimentalist at least you'll certainly have plenty of time to come up with boys and girls names between now and when it's born."

"Oh, and don't say anything about the baby," said Catherine. "I haven't spoken to anyone about it other than my dad until you now. The doctors told me the baby is fine and I should go full term. I just don't want anyone to know yet."

"I understand completely," Maggie nodded, as she reached for her coffee and took a sip.

As Maggie returned her cup to its saucer, she looked across the table at Catherine, who was taking a bite of her croissant. Though she had laughed just a moment before, Maggie could clearly see the pain in Catherine's eyes as they reflected the heavy heartache she carried within her. Maggie thought she looked like an entirely different person than the one Maggie had seen just two months ago. Gone was the strong, confident woman who walked the corridors of power in the nation's Capitol. Now she looked vulnerable and very fragile. She too had lost weight during her stay in the hospital and her face looked gaunt, and pale. It also appeared to Maggie that Senator Catherine Wells had lost something else when Bob was killed, something very dear to her---her sense of purpose. Maggie decided to probe directly and bluntly.

"How about you, Catherine, are you feeling well enough to return to work soon?"

Catherine shrugged silently, her eyes still looking away.

Maggie changed tactics slightly. "I heard everyone came to see you in the hospital."

Catherine nodded, as she looked across the table at Maggie. "Yes, Tom arranged it. That was very nice of him, very nice of everyone. I was kind of in and out of consciousness, so I don't remember actually seeing everyone, but I know they were there. It meant a great deal to me."

"I'm sure it did," Maggie nodded in agreement, "and you mean a lot to them. They respect you very much, you know."

"I know, thanks," acknowledged Catherine with misty eyes. "Oh, I also got several dozen roses from the senate at large and a very lovely note signed by each senator. That was very touching."

"You know, your entire staff is wondering when you'll be back."

"I know."

"Have you given it any thought?"

Catherine responded with an affirmative nod.

"It might be the best thing for you. You know, staying busy, keeping your mind occupied."

Catherine made no comment but simply looked at Maggie with a blank stare.

"You know, everyone is really shaken up about what happened. People are really frightened. Maybe you could do something about it," said Maggie.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I've been checking my messages regularly. That representative from I.M.A.T. called again."

Catherine's nostrils flared in anger and her eyes conveyed a deep seeded rage that surfaced at the mention of the acronym. "I don't want to have anything to do with that organization!" Catherine snarled.

Maggie was taken aback by Catherine's abrupt change in temperament. Of course, Maggie knew Catherine was speaking out of the deepest hurt anyone could ever feel---the loss of a loved one.

Embarrassed by her outburst, Catherine looked away, and her eyes focused into a steady stare, as she saw a man through the window as he walked along the sidewalk. He paused momentarily, and glanced in her direction. He looked right at her before he resumed his walk down the sidewalk.

Maggie noticed Catherine staring and as she turned to have a look see, Catherine shrieked, "Oh, my God!"

"What is it?" Maggie asked, as she scanned the area outside the window.

"It was him again!"

"Who did you see?"

"William Grayson!"

Maggie recalled that Catherine has spotted him once before in Chicago. "This is the second time you've seen him in the city. He's stalking you, but don't you worry. I'm going to find out once and for all what this fellow is doing, even if it's the last thing I do. And speaking of finding people, I tracked down that old coot Phillip Conrad."

"You did?"

"Yeah, and guess what? He's not far from here. He's retired and lives in Des Plaines," said Maggie referring to the Chicago suburb.

"When did you, how were you...?"

"I got bored," Maggie smiled widely, "and you can bet I'll just as surely track down that mysterious Mr. Grayson too."

"You're amazing, Maggie."

"Thanks and whether you realize it or not you're pretty amazing too."

Catherine smiled weakly, the kind of smile that acknowledges a compliment but also dismisses it as not necessarily true.

As Maggie studied her boss, she said, "I've decided something for myself."

"What's that?"

"I've had enough rest and I can continue my rehab in Washington. I'm going back to work...how about you, senator?"

Catherine stared in silence at her Appointment's secretary. She admired her strong will. As for herself, physically Catherine was sufficiently recuperated to resume her duties as a senator. Emotionally, she wasn't sure, but she saw how far Maggie had come since that horrible night. Perhaps she could draw strength from her. Slowly, a grin crept across Catherine's face.

Maggie's eyes widened in anticipation of a positive answer, "Is that a yes?"

"Perhaps, but first, do you have any plans tomorrow morning?"

Chapter 14

The next day a limousine met Catherine and Maggie at the Hancock Building from where they departed for Des Plaines and arrived in the suburb at ten thirty in the morning.

"When I got the address on Mr. Conrad, I learned that he spends his mornings, afternoons, and many evenings at George's bar on south Cora Street just off Algonquin Road."

Catherine gazed at Maggie in amazement. "How did you ever learn that?"

Maggie chuckled. "Oh, that's easy. Once I got his address, I placed some calls to his neighbors. Seems the IRS wanted to talk to him about a possible tax refund and couldn't reach him at home. A neighbor said I might find him at George's bar."

When Catherine frowned, Maggie added, "I didn't say he was actually getting a refund...only that it was a possibility," as she looked out the window to avoid further eye contact with her boss.

As they pulled in front of a dilapidated tavern, Catherine said, "Phillip Conrad is a strange man to say the least, and if I'm going to learn anything from him, he might be more inclined to open up if I'm alone."

Maggie looked at the exterior of the building that was much in need of paint and repairs, a rusted gutter drooping over the front door. With a raised eyebrow she replied, "I'll make the sacrifice."

Catherine glanced down the block and spotted a small café. "Maybe you and the driver can have some coffee while you wait. I don't know how long I'll be."

"Take your time and kick the old coot in the ass for me," Maggie chuckled.

Catherine walked to the entrance and found a screen door partially ajar, warped from weather and age. When she entered, she paused allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior and heard the cheers from a television reverberate through the tavern as the announcer boomed that someone had just hit a home run. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a vacant pool table on her left with a couple of cues lying atop its worn, faded green felt. To her right three men sat in uneven intervals on old wooden barstools.

As Catherine glanced around the perimeter, she observed some tables along the back wall and immediately recognized the willowy political advisor seated alone.

As Catherine began to walk through the bar, heads turned as she was eyed lustily by the patrons and the bartender alike. As she neared Mr. Conrad, Catherine noticed his unkempt frizzy white mane that extended over his ears and well down over his shirt collar, while bushy white eyebrows added to his disheveled look. Though he was indoors, he wore a wrinkled brown windbreaker over a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A glass on the table was two thirds full of some mixed drink, and within his reach was an ashtray containing half a dozen discarded butts. Smoking in some bars was now permitted by a recent change in Illinois law mirroring that of some other states which allowed smoking in bars by those establishments serving food if the majority of their receipts were in serving alcoholic beverages.

Catherine noticed him raise a cigarette to his mouth and his hand trembled noticeably. His eyes, gray and tired, were cast in an upward direction as he watched the baseball game on the television above the bar.

"Excuse me. Mr. Conrad?"

Phillip Conrad lowered his gaze from the overhead TV and momentarily looked at the woman who had intruded upon his tranquil solitude, but he gave her no verbal acknowledgment as he lazily returned his gaze to the television.

"My name is... "

"I know who you are," he said without looking away from the TV. "I didn't spend fifty years in politics not to recognize one of our great legislators," he said mockingly. "I worked my ass off for people like you all those years. Never even had enough time to spit, but now I do," he said, as he turned his head and spit on the floor, and with the back of his hand wiped away some spittle that dribbled onto his chin.

Catherine appeared unperturbed.

He glanced toward her and said, "So what's a U.S. Senator doing in a dump like this? I'm bettin' this isn't the kind of place you frequent when you wish to get laid," he smirked.

Catherine let his crude comment go unchallenged, as she wasn't about to be baited by him. "May I sit down Mr. Conrad?"

When he shrugged his shoulders in a non-objecting manner, Catherine pulled out a chair and took a seat. His gaze returned to the television. "It's a replay from last night's Red Sox/Yankee game, so if you know the outcome, don't say a fucking word."

"No problem," said Catherine, as she glanced upward. "Who's winning?"

Phillip Conrad ignored her attempt at meaningless conversation, but commented, "It's a very symbolic game. In case you haven't noticed the Red Sox logo has a very strong resemblance to the country outline of Iraq, and just like in Iraq the hated Yankees are in town," he laughed.

"Perhaps nobody is winning and the game is tied, Mr. Conrad."

He smiled at her.

"You're a long way from Washington, D.C.," said Catherine.

"So are you," he shot back at her, "but I grew up in Des Plaines."

"Oh," Catherine nodded, "I don't know if you remember, but we met once... "

"Yeah, I remember. What do you want?" he asked curtly.

"I'd like to ask you some questions about your last job as a political advisor."

"I'm retired," he said bluntly, leaving no doubt in Catherine's mind it was going to be difficult getting Mr. Conrad to open up to her. "You know I was the acknowledged expert on politics."

Catherine eyed the old man while bracing for an onslaught of political reminiscences.

"There wasn't a politician in Washington, in the whole damn country, that hadn't heard of me. Hell, even when I was working for one of them, dozens more contacted me to seek my advice. Spent nearly half a century advising some of the most successful and influential politicians of our time. Had some unsuccessful ones too---those who didn't follow my advice. Fuck 'em," he chuckled, as he reached for his glass, took a sip of his drink, and then continued.

"Shit, we had an opponent once that was decorated in the first Gulf War and we got ourselves an Army General to go on television and say medals were handed out like candy in that war. Just that little nuance cast doubt on the medals our opponent earned in combat. It was truly marvelous and the most beautiful thing of all is my guy never served in the military," as he burst out laughing, "That was one of my all time favorites!" he shook his head in full laughter, "we actually got people to believe the one guy who went to war and received medals was the unpatriotic slug. God, I loved how we manipulated public opinion."

When he paused to take another drag on his cigarette, Catherine asked, "Why did you leave Senator Handley's campaign so abruptly?"

"Like I said, I retired. God, I can't believe some of the dweebs I advised over the decades, most of them too stupid to unzip their pants and take a piss without consultation," he said, as he glanced across the table, and added, "or pull down their panties as the case may be," he smirked. "You see I did advise a few women in my time too. As a matter of fact, I got a bonus from a couple of those females over the years that only a woman could grant," he smiled proudly.

"But I'll tell you, if the American people only knew how stupid most of their politicians are, they'd be absolutely appalled. I certainly made them appear smarter than they actually were. Never was fully appreciated though. Now, I just come here at nine o'clock in the morning, and when the afternoon rolls around I watch a live ballgame if there's one on," he said, as he glanced upward at the television. "It's a good life---no stress, no cares, and no assholes relying on my advice to get elected," he said, as he took a drag on his cigarette. He then reached for his drink, lifted his glass, and he stared at its contents. "Bourbon is good stuff. I never knew what I was missing. Did you know I didn't start drinking until I retired? Yeah, just recently I picked it up. All those years I never drank. It's true," he said, as he glanced at Catherine. "Ah, what am I saying? I don't give two cents if you believe me or not."

Catherine remained silent.

"You see I had to stay sober because those dumb candidates were half drunk most of the time. You politicians sure do exceed the national average when it comes to alcohol consumption. I'd attend those uppity Georgetown parties by those dried up hostesses who wanted to feel like they were somebody important. Shit! I could have showed them how important they were," he said as he made an obscene gesture with his hands, "but I had to maintain my decorum and my faculties so I could listen in on all the conversations---get a tad of information here, a smidgen of information there. I had to stay sober and I was absolutely the best at gathering information! The more you know about someone, the better you can do against them. That's what made me so good. Information is power and I was the best at gathering it," as lifted his glass.

"No doubt about it, you were the best, Mr. Conrad."

He abruptly pulled his drink away from his mouth and some of it dribbled down his chin. "Don't patronize me, you bitch!" he yelled. "So, maybe you did come here to get laid after all. Maybe that's how you get your kicks---a senator screwing the common man. Is that it, Senator Wells? Are you slumming?"

Though Catherine was disgusted by Mr. Conrad's tasteless comments, she didn't convey it in her body language.

He leaned across the table toward the senator, and said, "See, I don't have to be diplomatic anymore, not to you or to anyone else. Don't have to hold my tongue around inept politicians who are so stupid their idea of a reach out foreign policy is dining on Indian food once a month. Hell, I don't even have to be civil. I can say anything I want to you or anybody else. The amenities and the bull shit are over!" as he took a gulp of his drink and emptied its contents. He turned toward the bar, and yelled, "Hey, George, getting' a little dry over here."

Phillip turned toward the senator and gestured silently asking if she would like a drink.

She shook her head.

"Suit yourself."

Suddenly Phillip Conrad's demeanor changed as his shoulders slumped and he glanced downward. When he looked up at Catherine, the anger in his eyes was replaced with a look of sadness bordering on regret.

"I can't tell you how many times I had to eat shit," he began in a melancholy voice, "because I was working for one candidate or another just so they would have a better chance to get elected. You see if people whose support we needed got pissed at me then they'd be pissed at the candidate. Couldn't let that happen. I had to eat shit. I always put the candidate ahead of myself...always!"

"Is that why you're so bitter?"

The regret on Phillip Conrad's face quickly evaporated, and his eyes sparkled, as he replied, "Bitter? Hell, no! Now that I've retired I'm free. Just like Dr. King stated," as he bellowed in a loud voice, "free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, I'm fuckin' free at last!"

Catherine turned in the direction of the bar. Though his voice carried throughout the run down establishment, not a single head turned in the direction of the loud outburst.

The bartender approached and set another bourbon and water on the table. George remained at the table long enough to give Catherine another once over as he had done when she first entered the bar---from her eyes to her toes while lingering at every stop in between. He hadn't recognized her as one of the U.S. Senators from Illinois, and he smiled lustfully at what he saw.

Catherine turned, looked directly at the swarthy, overweight bartender, and commented, "Think of me as someone you'll never have the next time you're fantasizing in the shower---that is, if you ever bathe."

Phillip Conrad clapped his hands together and let out a loud whoop. "Oh, she got you good, George! That's better than a kick in the balls, and that's what you get for staring."

George muttered a breathy, "Bitch," as he headed back to the bar, while Phillip lifted his glass and nodded to Catherine in a salute for a job well done.

"You just demonstrated how great it is being free, Senator. Let me tell you, at my age I can get away with more than you could ever imagine. Hell!" he burst out laughing, "last week I was at the grocery store and there was this woman in the produce section. I reached out and starting stroking her ass for no other reason than because I wanted to touch her. Well, she started shrieking, I mean she was whaling! The manager comes out and all the while she's still screaming and that dumbass manager detains me right there in the grocery store. He calls the police and makes me wait in the store until the cops arrive. Well, the police get there, take down the information, you know---interview the suspect and victim alike---and they walk me out of the store to the patrol car, and put me in the back seat. And you know what they did? They busted their guts laughing. They pretended they were taking me downtown, but they drove around the block, and they let me out. See! You wouldn't believe what kind of shit I can get away with. Yeah, I sure am looking forward to the next time I see a foxy lady in the produce section because I'm going to reach for a pair of melons the very next chance I get. My, oh my, I do love retirement," he smiled, as he lifted his drink, his hand trembling, the contents swishing in the glass. He saw the senator notice his shaking and he commented on his condition. "Parkinson's among other things," as he brought the shaking glass to his lips for another sip.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said sincerely.

"Don't be. I've lived a good, long life. I've advised presidents and would-be presidents alike. Only one regret."

"What's that?"

The grin on Mr. Conrad's face widened into a full toothy smile, as he said, "That we never worked together, Senator. I think we'd have made a good team."

"I'm surprised. Here I thought you held all politicians in contempt."

"Nah, just the dumb ones," he said, as he shook his head incredulously. "God knows there are plenty of those, but I admire the smart ones...like you. You impressed me. You were all of thirty years old when you first ran for the senate. That's barely legal as they say. You didn't come from a political family and didn't have the connections people of wealth have. Your victory was truly remarkable, but there was one other thing that impressed me even more."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"That you won a senate seat without me," he laughed. "That alone showed me you were smarter than the average politician."

Catherine smiled demurely.

In a moment of decorum and sobriety, he commented, "I understand you lost your husband. You have my condolences."

Catherine nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, like I said, I'd have enjoyed working with someone like you. Wouldn't have minded hiking your skirt up a time or two either," he chuckled.

Catherine's eyebrows arose in mild exasperation---so much for Mr. Conrad's momentary civility. "I don't know if you'd consider it working together, but I did come here to speak with you."

"Hey, we're conversing," he insisted, as he noticed a man enter the bar. "He's a Jew," said Mr. Conrad.

"Oh?" Catherine turned to look, "and that's a problem?"

"The problem is the big picture, Senator---Israel."

"Are you anti-Semitic, Mr. Conrad?"

"Pragmatic."

"There it goes!" the broadcaster bellowed as another home run soared over Fenway's green monster and Phillip Conrad pumped his fist, "Tremendous!" and then continued without skipping a beat. "Why the hell do we buy oil from the Arabs?"

"Because we need it, of course," noted Catherine.

"If any country wants to survive in the pantheon of history, it does nothing more and nothing less, than what is in that country's best interest. That's why we get into wars against some countries, and why we avoid them with others. Pragmatism! That's why we enter into trade agreements with some countries, and why we place economic sanctions upon others. Pragmatism! That's why we demonize some leaders, and get in bed with others who are equally as ruthless. Hell, you should know about getting into bed with people after eight years in the senate cloakroom with your fellow senators. Smarten up Mrs. Wells! America does what is in our best interest, not what is in the best interest of some other country though sometimes those interests are not mutually exclusive."

Catherine did not enjoy being lectured on government by a man she believed had entered dementia, but she would take his chastisements and his rudeness if she could get closer to what she wanted to know.

"So you subscribe to the Machiavellian philosophy."

"You're damn right I do but our damn concept of what is moral keeps getting in the way. In the 60's the CIA enlists the mob to bump off Castro. The attempts are uncovered in the seventies during the Church Committee investigations, and the American people are absolutely appalled our blessed democracy could ever condone assassination. Those pansy-ass liberals lament how we could ever approve such a policy. And what do we do about it? We stop all covert assassination attempts on foreign leaders. Now, in the age of terrorism we're at it again, to say nothing of torture. Now that the pendulum has swung back; it's okay again," he said, as he shook his head in disgust. "Hallelujah! What we're doing is ethical. We can all go to heaven! Hell! We're our own worst enemy," he yelled, as he pulled out another cigarette. He lit a match, and his hand quivered again as he raised it toward the cigarette.

Catherine was tempted to reach out and steady the old man's hand, but she thought better of it. She felt he got along well enough before she walked into the bar, and he probably wouldn't appreciate the gesture. After a couple of misses, he got his cigarette going, took a long drag, and said, "This thing about Israel though, it makes no sense. Those wacko evangelicals are runnin' around with the delusion the time is at hand for the Second Coming. So, why do they support Israel? Because it's morally right? Hell no! They think there's something in it for them---their glorious rapture! Damn hypocrites! Don't kid yourself; they're no friends of Israel! Jews are outcasts," he smirked, and added. "Non-Christians are not included in the rapture, and don't give me any moral argument," Phillip Conrad ranted on. Moral certitude is fine until it butts up against arrogance until you can no longer tell the difference. Why hasn't the American Congress ever authorized intervention to stop the slaughter in black Africa?" he screamed, "because there is no economic reason for the great U.S. of A. to get involved. Pragmatism! Not to mention white America would never tolerate spilling the blood of their sons and daughters on the Dark Continent. Take your moral argument and stick it between your legs, Senator. There is no such thing as noblesse oblige in world politics," he said, as he leaned toward the senator, and added with a smirk, "but you develop an economic reason to be involved in Africa, and you watch how fucking fast we become noble!"

Phillip Conrad took a drag from his cigarette and continued. "That's just governments. It's much different when you consider individual politicians. They do all kinds of risky things. The road to power is congested with those who at breakneck speed pursue their personal ambition over conviction," he mused, as he looked into the senator's eyes, and asked, "What is your ambition, Senator? More importantly, what are your convictions? Not the mundane issues of tax cuts and balancing the budget, but the beliefs you hold in the very depth of your soul. When you're riding the highway of personal ambition, have you ever asked yourself what would make you take a detour from your pursuit of power and influence? Do you believe deeply and strongly enough in anything that would cause you to abandon your personal political goals?"

"My beliefs are... "

Phillip Conrad flicked his hand in the air to wave off her would-be response. "Your beliefs, like any politician, are formulated by the contributions to your campaign. Outsourcing American jobs was economic treason to the American worker but there wasn't a Teddy Roosevelt among the lot of you gutless politicians, not a legislator nor a president over a forty year period that would stand up to the corporations and tell them no---you're not going to send jobs overseas to our economic detriment," he snarled, as he inhaled a long drag from his cigarette.

"If I recall your bio correctly, you were a history professor," he grinned confidently.

Catherine was actually taken aback a bit that he knew her background.

He continued. "You must have told your students at some point how the Praetorian Guard was stationed in the palace to protect Roman emperors."

"I taught American History," Catherine stated.

"But certainly you've read Gibbon and others and you're aware the Praetorian Guard witnessed the excesses of the Roman emperors, their cruelties, their mistakes and their ineptness. Ultimately when the Praetorian Guard killed one of Rome's emperors and replaced him with someone more to their liking and more plentiful to their purse, other assassinations followed more easily. And guess what the Praetorian Guard discovered? Each time they created a vacancy, there was a line of those who sought the throne and were willing to pay lever greater sums of money to secure the throne. The Praetorian Guard sold out and so contributed to the decline of the Roman Empire."

"What's your point?" the senator asked.

"I have to spell it out for you, do I? Special interest money to aspiring politicians is America's Praetorian Guard, Senator Wells."

"My, what pearls of wisdom but it's easy for someone who's never sought an elective seat in government to..."

"The point is I've been there," he interrupted her. "I know how the game is played. Money is at the core of every politician's beliefs---cold, hard cash. And, of course, we all know the name of those who sell themselves for money, don't we senator? You see there are lots of ways for a female senator to spread her legs."

Catherine's eyes flared in laser-like contempt.

Just when she thought Mr. Conrad was beginning to be lucid he degenerated into irrational thought and crude comments.

"Ah, the hell with it," he said. "I didn't give two shits about your beliefs before you sashayed your ass in here today, and I certainly won't be lying awake tonight wondering what you think. Besides, my views don't matter anymore."

Suddenly Phillip Conrad leaned back in his chair and became very quiet, as if he realized a sudden insignificance in his life---as if his retirement had rendered him obsolete. His eyes looked toward the television, but a veil of depression fell across his face. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and stared into his drink. Without looking up, he said, "The curtain is coming down, Senator Wells. I have no regrets and I make no apologies for anything I've done and certainly not for anything I've said. I had a disagreement with a politician that was vehement and irreconcilable, so I retired. For me, that's it. No more political bullshit from spineless candidates. No more strategy sessions with brainless politicians who have no convictions of their own. No more closed door meetings to plan the election of a politician who is running merely to satisfy his own personal ambition with no care whatsoever to the people he would represent. I am done. Finished! And as far as this conversation is concerned, it has concluded, Senator," he said abruptly, as he pounded down the last of his drink and waved to George for another.

Catherine hesitated as she eyed the old man. She knew the patrons who entered this dilapidated bar in Des Plaines, Illinois would never know how involved this man had been in America's political process. They would have no knowledge that he once advised presidents and had literally been a king maker. Obviously, he wanted to return to his roots to spend whatever remaining days he had. The people he once knew in this town were long gone, and nobody here was familiar with the weighty contributions he made to the American scene for half a century. Now, he could enjoy his new found anonymity, drinking and smoking, sitting at a small table in the back of an innocuous bar---where nobody knew his name.

Catherine arose, and said, "Perhaps we'll meet again one day, Mr. Conrad."

"I doubt it," he replied, as he took another drag of his cigarette, and this time exhaled in the senator's direction.

Catherine fanned the smoke away with her hand, turned away, and headed for the door. When Catherine stepped outside, she took a deep breath and filled her lungs with the crisp, smokeless fresh air.

Maggie spotted her from across the street. "She's out. Come on, let's go."

Catherine waited on the sidewalk as Maggie and the driver crossed the street. "How did it go?" Maggie asked.

"He's imploding...a bitter angry man who is quite certifiable."

"Oh, it went that well, huh? So what pushed him over the edge into lunacy?"

Catherine turned and eyed the dilapidated establishment as she considered the man inside, and answered, "We did."

"Huh?"

"Pack your bags, Maggie. We're heading back to Washington tonight."

"Hot damn," Maggie roared. "My bags are already packed, Boss. I've just been waiting for the word from you."

Chapter 15

Early the next morning Catherine arrived at the old Senate Office Building passing through the rotunda where the dignified statue of Richard Russell stands. It is his memory that is honored as the late Georgia senator served that state from 1933 to 1971. The building was renamed for him. Upon entering her outer office she found Maggie was already seated behind her desk.

"Welcome back, Senator," Maggie greeted her with a warm grin.

Catherine attempted to hide a wry smile as she approached, while she shook her head, and said, "No matter how conscientious I think I am...."

"Well, you only have to answer to the voters. I, on the other hand, have a much tougher boss."

Catherine chuckled and noticed a book lying on Maggie's desk. "What are you reading?"

"Since I'm planning on staying late to catch up, you'll never believe the book I brought in to read during lunch and dinner...a history book."

"I thought history was too dry for you," Catherine smiled.

"I guess you've finally made an impression on me," Maggie laughed.

"Well, I must be getting better at playing the role of an influential politician. It only took you a decade to pick up a history book."

"Well, I've grown weary of mystery novels. Eventually you get bored at reading endings with a twist...after twist."

"Hmm," Catherine muttered as she picked up the book and perused it. "What era?"

"Uh...it's just after the American Revolution, but before the formation of the government."

"Ah, 1781 to 1787. That's a narrow window. Be sure to make notes and I'll quiz you on it when you're finished."

Maggie's sardonic sense of humor rose to the forefront. "You must know by now that impressing you is my mission in life."

"Refresh my memory. How was it I happened to hire you?"

"Oh, I remember very clearly, Senator. You were a political puppy barking up a storm about some inane issue and desperately in need of my services. Oh, and speaking of my services, you have an appointment."

"I've been back for all of two minutes. So, what's the topic of this impromptu meeting?"

Maggie feigned scanning her notes and picked up a sheet of scratch paper. "Hmm, says here it's confidential."

Though she tried hard not to show it, Maggie was aglow inside. It felt so good to be back behind her desk bantering with the boss.

"And what's the identity of my appointment with the secret agenda?"

"James Bradberry."

"James?" Catherine asked quite surprised. She knew the name well, if not the person. As the former campaign manager for the late Governor Moreland, Mr. Bradberry and the senator had numerous discussions regarding the governor's campaign, and they had spoken extensively when formulating the governor's strategy for the Illinois primary.

"I guess it's my week for political consultants."

"I went ahead and showed him into your office," said Maggie.

"Yeah, that's fine," Catherine nodded, "just do an inventory on the pens and pencils after he's gone," she smiled, turned toward her inner office and entered.

Mr. Bradberry was an extremely articulate young man and was already a seasoned political advisor at the tender age of thirty-two. He graduated from Georgetown University when he majored in political science, and quickly obtained a Masters Degree from the University of Virginia. With the close proximity of Washington, D.C., he made the most of his opportunity. He made contacts, beginning with the House of Representatives. He studied the legislators thoroughly, examined their voting record, as well as the constituency in their home districts. He soon formed a list of the top five representatives he believed were vulnerable, and could be defeated in a re-election campaign. He then contacted the opposition's state party chairmen in the candidates' home states, laid out plans on how to unseat the incumbent, and made his pitch as a political advisor to whomever the opposition might nominate. He did this in five different states and eventually one of the candidates hired him. Meanwhile, James also let it be known throughout the Capitol he was going to be instrumental in unseating the current office holder in the House of Representatives. When the incumbent lost, James Bradberry was a full-fledged political consultant.

Two years later, James was ready for his next major role---not a mere consultant but the campaign manager for another challenger. Soon James Bradberry was 2-0 and was highly sought. Around Washington during those early campaigns, they called him Jimmy, the boy wonder, but when his victories mounted, many began referring to him as Mr. Bradberry.

James was seated in a chair in front of the senator's desk, his back to the door, when Catherine entered, and at the sound of the senator entering James immediately arose and turned toward the doorway.

"James, I didn't expect to see you on my first day back in Washington."

"I apologize, Senator Wells," he said, flashing a bright energetic smile.

"No need," she said as they shook hands, and she added. "I'm curious though. I didn't even know myself until yesterday I was returning today. How did you know?"

"I make it my business to know the comings and goings of various legislators."

"Oh? Do you tap our phones?"

"Nothing as so intriguing as that," he chuckled. "A few sources in the airline industry, a name comes up on computer a ticket has been purchased in someone's name, and call is made---to me."

"I see. Impressive network of contacts you have at your disposal," she smiled, as she gestured for James to return to his seat. "Well, please tell me the nature of your visit this morning but I must warn you I've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Oh, I understand perfectly, and I won't take but a couple of minutes of your time."

Catherine set her briefcase on her desk and turned toward her visitor. Rather than walking around her desk and sitting in her chair, she leaned back against the front of her desk and, said, "Before you tell me the reason for your visit, I'll ask a question of you first, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, Senator," James smiled outwardly, but inwardly his political radar arose instinctively and sent his brain a warning not be taken unawares. It's not only politicians who are constantly on the lookout not to be tripped up. Their advisors are also continuously on the alert.

"You may not know the answer, but if anyone does, it is likely to be you."

That raised Mr. Bradberry's curiosity level to a point he was not only prepared, but now also looking forward to the senator's question.

"If Governor Moreland had lived, would he have asked me to be his running mate?" she asked and in doing so fully understood she was revealing her heretofore hidden ambition of being Vice President.

"You do come right out with it, don't you, Senator?" James chuckled, but the question had been put to him so bluntly Mr. Bradberry's arrogant ego increased yet another notch because his political instincts had been correct in warning him to be on the alert.

"I like straight talk, Mr. Bradberry."

"Yes, I can see that."

Mr. Bradberry's political instincts had alerted him, but his hesitancy in answering also told Catherine quite a lot. Disappointment flashed across her face mitigated only slightly by the fact she was not completely surprised.

"That's why I ask blunt questions, Mr. Bradberry, and your reaction told me all I need to know---except the why, of course."

James came to the senator's office this morning for a very specific purpose, and if he was to succeed in the proposal he was going to broach with her, he thought it best he be honest with her now to build the trust he knew he would need.

"The governor was using you, Senator. He was stringing you along with the vice-presidency, or at least leaving the possibility out there, so you would give him your full support in winning the Illinois primary and the nomination."

"But he already knew he had my full support. I was the first one in the senate to endorse his candidacy and I campaigned for him across the country long before any of the primaries even began."

"That was the whole point, Senator. He wanted your continued support. It had nothing to do with you personally as a politician. He was simply old fashioned. He didn't have the courage to take a chance on having a woman on the ticket."

"I see," Catherine nodded. Using people was a Washington staple. Some politicians simply did it better than others.

"Who would have been his choice?"

Mr. Bradberry shook his head. "I really don't know and I'm not trying to be coy. It's just that we didn't discuss specifics. His focus was on obtaining the nomination."

Catherine nodded. She could take James at his word on that.

"From what I picked up on during our conversations," James continued, "I think he was leaning toward someone from the south to balance the ticket. He figured if he won the Illinois primary, and subsequently the nomination, he wouldn't need you as much after that. Oh, he couldn't afford to piss you off. He would still have requested your assistance in the fall campaign, but I think he would have used the argument of a more balanced ticket to placate you. My guess---and it's only my opinion because we didn't discuss any specific names---is that it would have been McAuliffe of Florida."

Catherine nodded again in acknowledgement of what James told her, but she didn't dwell on it and she quickly changed gears and addressed the matter at hand.

"Well, such is life. So, what is it that you wanted to see me about, James?"

"Well, I'm probably not one of your favorite people right now."

Catherine waved a hand into the air to dismiss his comment. "Don't worry about it. It was the candidate, not you. Please."

"Well, it's very much along the lines of what we've just discussed."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I have a proposition for you. About a week after the governor's death I went to work for Senator Handley's campaign."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, and that he re-entered the presidential race after the governor's death."

"As did several other candidates," said James. "Anyway, at the time I joined Senator Handley he already had a campaign manager, so he hired me on as a consultant. My proposition to you is that the vice-presidency may still be within your reach."

"Oh?" said Catherine. Mr. Bradberry certainly had Catherine's attention upon mention of the vice-presidency. She was intrigued and gently prodded him, "And?"

"I want you to hire me for my political expertise, as one of your advisors. With Governor Moreland now deceased and the field crowded with presidential contenders, Senator Handley needs a way to break out of the pack of five candidates."

"And the field won't stay at five for very long," Catherine surmised.

"Exactly, it'll get more crowded---all the more reason that Senator Handley will need to do something that will separate him from the pack of candidates. He needs that something to be dramatic to make him standout."

"And what do you have in mind?"

"That depends on whether or not you and I can come to an agreement, but I could 'advise' Senator Handley to announce his choice as vice-president now rather than waiting until the convention. No other candidate has announced his vice-presidential choice and Handley would really get the jump on the rest of them."

Catherine nodded as she considered the political advantage of doing so, while James allowed the senator some time to consider the proposal before he continued.

"The way I figure it, there's no conflict of interest on my part, or on yours, because you would be paying me regarding a vice-presidential possibility. In other words, you wouldn't be in competition with my employer, Senator Handley. Also, it's not uncommon for political consultants such as me to have several clients simultaneously. In this case, however, no one would know that you are employing me. That would be confidential and in fact imperative for my idea to work."

"So, you would mention your idea to Senator Handley of naming his VP now?"

James nodded affirmatively.

"And then you'd propose me as a possibility?"

"Oh, heavens no," James chuckled in a condescending manner, as if Catherine should have read his mind. It was trait that did not endear James to those with whom he came in contact. Whenever he thought someone was incorrect, he would chuckle at them...a derisive little laugh intended to make them look and feel foolish. It worked exactly that way more often than not.

"Here's how it would go down. I'd make the proposal that Handley announce his choice now, to get a jump on the other presidential candidates, but I wouldn't be so blatant as to mention your name as one of the possibilities. He and his campaign aides might see through that since I worked for Moreland and you endorsed the governor early on in the process. I would merely lay the groundwork by suggesting Senator Handley announce his choice now. I would explain it as a strategy intended to get the jump on the other candidates. I would then suggest he and his staff get together and compile a list of names of possible vice-presidential candidates---a short list so we could move quickly on this, and that we wouldn't want what we were doing to leak. If the senator's staff invites me to participate in the process, fine, but I would refrain from mentioning any specific names. I have every confidence however that somebody on the senator's staff would most certainly place your name on the list of possibilities."

Catherine put her hand to her chin as she pondered the possibility, and a smile flashed across her face. She straightened up and walked around the side of her desk as she silently considered Mr. Bradberry's proposal and sat down as she continued to eye the young political consultant.

"It's quite possible that my name won't make that list," commented Catherine.

"It's also quite reasonable to expect that it would," James countered.

"Okay. Let's say my name is mentioned, then what?"

"Then I could talk about you freely and openly, because I wouldn't have been the one that suggested you. As a matter of fact, as Governor Moreland's former campaign manager, my opinion would most certainly be sought, and I would be expected to tell the senator and his staff about you when the VP candidates are discussed. They'd want to know what you did for the Moreland campaign. Of course, they know a bit already what with your campaign appearances around the country, but I could give them the specifics, the stuff behind the scenes that they wouldn't know. You see that would be the whole point of my proposal to you now---I could really talk you up. I could sell them on Senator Catherine Wells as the vice-presidential nominee."

"You know, it sounds rather devious, but it just might work, James," Catherine grinned, as Mr. Bradberry leaned back in his chair, his ever-present confidence reflected in an arrogant smile.

"You are a scheming son-of-a-bitch, aren't you, James?"

"I'm one of the best," he agreed proudly.

"Politically, it's rather ingenious," Catherine mused. "The focus would be on the other four candidates, but not in a good way. They'd be taken unawares and they'd immediately be on the defensive. Once Senator Handley announced his choice as VP, the other candidates would be fielding questions ad infinitum as to whom they would choose."

"And none of them would be talking about the issues or their candidacies," James pointed out. "They'd all be scrambling to name their choice of vice-president before the field of possibilities was reduced even farther. Senator Handley would, in effect, trump them all," said James, as his smile widened, "and Handley would also benefit by looking presidential. And perhaps most importantly, just like a playground pickup game of softball when the captains of the teams are choosing up sides, Senator Handley would leave the perception with the delegates and the American people, that the first one picked---namely you---was the best one available."

"Hmm, interesting concept and you might be right about those perceptions," Catherine nodded, as she considered the matter. "Let's suppose I say yes, but your plan simply doesn't work."

"Doesn't work?" James snickered.

"I know such a thought is quite foreign to you, but humor me, Mr. Bradberry. Suppose Senator Handley agrees with your idea, but when the list is composed, I'm either not on it, or he decides he wants someone else from the short list. Who knows, perhaps he shares the same reluctance of placing a female on the ticket as did the late Governor Moreland."

"Well, if that were the case then your wallet wouldn't be lighter, because if you don't get on the ticket, you don't lose a dime. You pay only if you're named as Handley's vice-presidential choice. And of course if you're not chosen, you'd still be free to hook up with someone else as their VP, so no doors would be closed to you. I'd say it's a win/win situation for you anyway you want to look at it."

"Of course, "I wouldn't want anyone to know I was in any way seeking the nomination for the vice-presidency," Catherine cautioned.

"That's essential. My whole plan is based on confidentiality. Neither of us wants it to leak out that you and I connived in this little scheme. Why do you think I arrived here as the roosters were awakening? I want it to be a stealth operation as well. It is in fact imperative that people don't get wind of you seeking the vice-presidency, so that Handley's staff will think that it's their idea to bring you onto the ticket. I can assure you if anyone hears about your ambitions for the number two spot that they won't be hearing it from me, because secrecy is the very essence of my plan."

Catherine picked up a pencil and began to tap it against her desk as she pondered the possibilities of the proposal James had presented to her. She weighed the pros and considered the cons. Secrecy certainly was the key. Then if the plan didn't work no harm would be done.

There was also something else in her favor. Since the payment wouldn't be made until after she was announced as Senator Handley's choice as vice-president, if it ever got out beforehand, she could simply deny it. As no payment would have been made at that point, there would be nothing to link her to Mr. Bradberry.

Next, Catherine weighed whether she could trust the man seated across from her. While James stretched his legs and glanced at the many pictures of heroes on the senator's office wall, Catherine considered James Bradberry, and reviewed what she knew of him, as she watched him, studied him, and sized him up. She knew how he got his start in politics and she admired his ingenuity on selling his expertise. Catherine concluded that young Mr. Bradberry would not dare divulge their arrangement, because it would eventually get out that he couldn't be trusted. Then he would be absolutely finished as a political consultant in the District.

Catherine walked toward Mr. Bradberry, glanced at the pictures of those who she admired, and commented to James, "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't take a glance at one or two of them."

James nodded, as he continued scanning the faces.

"They serve to remind me that people can do courageous and honorable things," said Catherine without flinching.

As James turned back to face her, he saw a wide grin across her face, which in turn prompted a wide grin from him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said.

"I meant what I said, Mr. Bradberry. There can be absolutely no leaks."

"I understand. I'll do my absolute best so you'll never have any reason to regret it."

"Well, I guess we're done then," said Catherine.

"Well..." he stammered.

"Oh, yes, of course, we must agree on an appropriate fee," said Catherine.

James smiled sheepishly, as he nodded, "but we don't have to discuss that today," James smiled, as he extended his hand, and they shook. "Just one question," he said.

"What's that?" Catherine wondered.

He pointed to one of the pictures. "Who's that?"

Catherine was slightly amused that was all he wanted to ask, and replied, "Anwar Sadat, former President of Egypt."

"I thought I recognized him, but couldn't quite place him. Well, you have a nice day senator."

"You have a good day also, Mr. Bradberry," said Catherine, as she escorted him to the door.

"I'll be in touch, Senator."

After James Bradberry exited, Catherine went back to her desk and sat down. The visit from the young political consultant rekindled Catherine's ambition to become the nation's first female Vice President, and she reached for her phone.

"Maggie, get the staff together. Tell them we'll be discussing the presidential candidates, and we'll meet in the conference room in thirty minutes."

After she hung up, Catherine's thoughts returned to her meeting with Mr. Bradberry, as she contemplated the possibilities of his plan. As she reviewed their discussion, something stood out quite starkly revealing a great deal to her about James Bradberry. Though it was Catherine's first day back, James Bradberry never once mentioned the explosion that Catherine survived, nor made any reference as to the loss of her husband.

Chapter 16

Catherine arrived early at the conference room intentionally because this would be the first time her staff had seen her since she was in the hospital. As her staff filed in, each greeted her return to the Senate in their own way, as they paused to shake her hand.

"Welcome back Senator Wells"... "You look great, boss"... "Glad to have you back, Senator"... "We were all praying for you, Senator"...and so it went as each of them welcomed her back. Some complimented her on the tam Catherine wore, while others felt a bit awkward and would feel uncomfortable bringing attention to it. Once everyone greeted her and was seated, Catherine made an effort to acknowledge their thoughtful consideration.

"First of all, I want to take this opportunity to say thanks to each of you for visiting me in the hospital. I know I wasn't quite lucid during several of those visits, but I want you to know I very much appreciated each and every one of you being there. I shall cherish your kindhearted gestures all the days of my life, and may I also say it's good to be back to work with all of you," she concluded with a smile.

When her staff broke out into simultaneous applause, Catherine's smile receded into a countenance of genuine affection.

"Thank you again," she nodded, "and now that I'm back to work, I shall come right to the point. I have called us together to discuss the five presidential candidates, their views, and how those views coincide with ours. We'll discuss which of the candidates most needs the support of yours truly to win the nomination, and, conversely, which of them may not need my help at all.

Does anyone have any questions?" Catherine asked, as she perused the faces of her staff. When silence ensued, she continued. "Okay, then. I'll turn it over to you, Tom," she said, referring to her Chief-of-Staff, Tom Washburn.

"I want to say up front though the senator supported Governor Moreland's candidacy from the outset, I don't see any negatives for our boss," Tom began. "If there are any ill feelings harbored by anyone, they'll soon get over them as I expect they'll all be very pragmatic. In a nutshell they need her help. I am sure each one of them realizes they'll need the senator's support heading into the convention. The fact that the boss backed the winner in the primaries will actually be to her benefit as that has given her a great deal of credibility within the party. The boss may not be a kingmaker, but each candidate will certainly seek her support."

"And she won't have to call on them," one of the staffers interjected. "They'll be scrambling to knock on the boss's door."

"Some of them already have," Catherine chuckled, and when laughter erupted throughout the room, she had to pause until it subsided. "Okay, let's list the candidates, so each of us has a good understanding of their situation."

Tom Washburn proceeded. "We've got Governor Serena of New York, Senator Handley of Missouri, Governor Crespi of Arizona, Representative Ventura of Texas, and finally Senator McAuliffe of Florida. So, we've got one from the North, one from the Midwest, two from the Southwest, and one from the South, if we classify Florida as being part of the South, though it is quite distinct from the Deep South. We're assuming they'll be the favorite sons in their respective states at the convention."

Another aide piped in, "Don't forget the weighting...the influence at the convention because of the size of their states."

"Right," Tom agreed. "Specifically, Senator Handley of Missouri and Governor Crespi of Arizona carry the least weight as far as electoral votes in their home states of eleven and ten electoral votes respectively. Representative Ventura of Texas with 34 possible electoral votes is the largest of those in the running followed by Governor Serena of New York with 31, Senator McAuliffe of Florida with 27, Senator Handley of Missouri with 11 electoral votes, and finally Governor Crespi of Arizona with 10."

"Yeah," said the other aide. "During the campaign whenever the candidates solicited funds from wealthy contributors those top three touted the number of electoral votes in their respective states. It was an argument that did not fall upon deaf ears."

"How does the latest delegate count look, Tom?" Catherine asked, having heard enough of the electoral vote weighting depending upon which of them won the nomination.

"At the time of his death Governor Moreland had accumulated 2,180 delegates. The national committee decided against dividing the Moreland delegates among the other candidates based on how they finished in the primaries on some percentage or pro-rata basis, because some of those early candidates had dropped out. The national committee released all 2,180 of the Moreland delegates, and they are absolutely free to vote for whomever they wish," Tom noted.

"Yeah, it's anybody's ball game now," said Catherine.

"And who those delegates are going to support is anybody's guess at this point," said Tom.

"Nevertheless," Catherine noted, "I think I should speak with the Chairman of the National Committee first if nothing else than just to see if there are any loose ends."

"It certainly wouldn't do any harm," Tom agreed.

Maggie nodded in acknowledgment and scribbled a note to set an appointment a.s.a.p. or at the bare minimum getting him on the phone.

"Let's discuss the delegates for a minute," Catherine suggested.

Tom Washburn nodded and continued. "2,162 of the 4,322 delegates are needed to win the nomination, and from what the candidates did solely in the primaries, the delegate count now stands as follows...

310 for Senator McAuliffe of Florida,

288 for Governor Serena of New York,

50 for Senator Handley of Missouri, and

141 captured by Governor Crespi of Arizona.

"Wow!" one of the staffers commented.

"Yeah," Tom acknowledged. "It's close. Any one of them has got a good shot at winning the nomination, and, of course, the primaries of Texas, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and California are still yet ahead."

Forgoing any need to check his notes, the astute Chief-of-Staff rattled off the delegate count up for grabs in the five upcoming primaries. "There are a substantial amount of delegates yet to win to say the least. There are 250 for Texas, 55 for Colorado, 40 for New Mexico, 60 for Arizona, and a whopping 330 for California. You add it all up, including the released Moreland delegates and that accounts for 3,904 delegates. The remaining 418 delegates were dispersed among the other candidates not named who dropped out after the early primaries or are among the few uncommitted delegates, and it all totals to 4,322 delegates at the national convention," said Tom, as a hush fell over those in the conference room, as the math alone that Tom calculated in his head staggered everyone.

"The field of candidates was very crowded in the early going absent the disadvantages of running against an incumbent President, but if you think it was crowded then, you haven't seen anything yet," Tom added.

"I'm not sure I follow you, Tom," said one of the staffers.

"My point is the field was crowded when the candidates had to raise tons of money to compete in the various primaries, but no one will need to raise a dime now."

"Why not?" asked the staffer, as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Because they won't be running any commercials on large screen televisions at the convention," Tom smirked. "All anyone has to do is announce their candidacy, and work the phones. And just like that, another five candidates will jump into the fray, and another five after that, and so on."

One of the staffers whistled...the sound echoing off the walls of the conference room.

"My guess is by the time the convention rolls around there'll be at least three times as many candidates as there are now, and they'll all be tripping over each other to make deals with party delegations to grab votes. Absent the necessity to raise campaign funds, you'll be lucky to turn around on the convention floor and bump into someone who isn't a candidate," Tom surmised.

Senator Wells contemplated the situation for several moments and asked, "Of those delegates that had committed to Governor Moreland, do we have any poll yet as to whom they favor now that they're released?"

"Well, therein lay one of the problems."

"What do you mean?" the senator asked.

"We don't have a handle on that, because the Moreland delegations haven't met yet to discuss their next choice, and all the delegates are dispersed throughout their respective states. They're not in a central location so it's very difficult to..."

"Get on it, Tom. Get everyone in our senate office working on it. Let me know if you need more staff, but I want a count by the middle of next week."

Tom Washburn emitted an audible gasp at the enormous task that lay ahead of him, because the delegates would not be gathered in one location until the convention convened.

"I'll get right on it, boss," said Tom, but his response was flat and lacked enthusiasm.

"I know the middle of next week isn't much time, Tom, but we can't really make any educated decisions unless we know who the delegates are leaning toward, and be assured all the candidates are making those calls now as well. We have to know which candidate is likely to create some space between his candidacy and the others. Naturally, it's going to be a fluid situation with the convention still months away in July, but, in a nutshell, I want to know which one of them is the front runner and I want that updated on a regular basis."

"I understand, Senator."

"Something like this is unique in presidential politics. It's absolutely unprecedented in our history," said Catherine. "Oh, we've had nominating conventions convened with no clear frontrunner and a dark horse emerging out of the nominating process after countless ballots, but we've never had a clear-cut winner of the primaries die before the convention convened. No one knows what's going to shake out, but I'm betting it's going to create its own momentum. If there is a candidate that begins to rise to the top, the momentum may very well carry a wave of delegates who won't want to be left behind, and it could happen very quickly. We need to see that coming. If one candidate rises to the top, our goal is he does so with our support and that we are a main catalyst in creating that wave. That having been said, I think we should turn the discussion now to that of compatibility, so I'll turn it over to you Bruce," said Catherine, deferring to another of her political aides.

As Bruce gathered his notes, Catherine thought back to February when the quest for delegates began with the Iowa caucuses followed closely thereafter by the New Hampshire primary. The results of those two stepping-stones toward the nomination saw one of the early candidates immediately drop out of the race, Catherine recalled, as her lips curled into a sardonic smile. Primary elections can humble the most egotistical and wildly unrealistic aspirations.

"There are three main candidates," Bruce began, "though it may not stay that way for long as Tom indicated. One, of course, is forty-seven year old Senator McAuliffe of Florida. He's a moderate in his politics, and campaigned on the platform he was the only candidate of our party that could win the south. He operated on the theory if he said that often enough, and loud enough, people would begin to accept it as fact. Indeed, his theory came to fruition, as political pundits voicing their views on television and radio talk shows have stated that as well."

"So much for expert political insight from the talking heads," Tom laughed robustly.

Bruce grunted in agreement and continued. "Another of the three, and the only other one besides McAuliffe that actively campaigned in the Illinois primary is the liberal leaning Governor of New York. Governor Serena campaigned on a balanced budget, and reduction of the enormous national debt. Those are conservative positions to be sure, but it's his stance on social issues that labels him as a liberal. He supports a woman's right to choose, the expansion of stem cell research, and the complete separation of church and state---including the elimination of the words 'under God' from the pledge of allegiance.

"No wonder he lost to Moreland," mumbled a staffer.

"Yeah, that pretty much did him in, but also, he just never lit a fire under anyone. He's got no charisma and the God issue in a national election is not a winner."

Senator Wells nodded in agreement, suddenly felt a shooting pain course through her brain and abruptly stopped.

Maggie noticed and leaned toward her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need to remember not to make sudden, quick movements."

"The third one," Bruce continued, "is Handley of Missouri. He's a moderate but he's a little tough to figure."

The mention of Senator Handley's name immediately brought Catherine back to her conversation with James Bradberry, and it piqued her curiosity to hear what her staff would say about him. "What do you mean?" Catherine asked.

"He's a bit of an enigma. He's not as conservative in his views on a number of matters that you would normally expect from your average, born-again Christian."

"I didn't know he was a born-again," Tom Washburn interjected with surprise.

"He doesn't wear it on his sleeve," commented Bruce, "and he may not be much of one in reality, but any of those three could be a good fit for the senator from a political compatibility point of view. The remaining two are wholly conservative, Governor Crespi of Arizona and Representative Ventura of Texas. Neither of them would be a good fit."

"On the other hand," said Tom, "the two southwest conservatives would probably most need the senator's help in securing the nomination."

"What about this latecomer, Representative Ventura? What do know specifically about him?" Catherine asked.

It was Bruce who replied. "He's a Texas billionaire, an eight term representative and another far right conservative. His fiscal policy is that of cutting spending, lowering taxes, balancing the budget, lowering the national debt, and he proposes wholesale cuts in social security, Medicare and Medicaid."

"When in doubt, screw the elderly," someone muttered.

"Same old demagoguery," said Tom Washburn, who looked directly at the senator and added. "He's much too conservative for you, Boss. You can't credibly run with him."

Catherine surprised her Chief-of-Staff by asking, "Has anyone heard any rumors at all about who Ventura might consider for vice-president?"

Everyone around the table eyed one another with incredulity that Senator Wells would even consider being the running mate of such an incompatible conservative. After an awkward silence, it was Tom who spoke up. "I, uh, don't think he would be a good fit for you, Senator."

"Politics makes for strange bedfellows, Tom, and that's been in the fabric of our political parties for over two hundred years."

"But strange bedfellows haven't been in your history, Senator," Tom countered, who immediately regretted his words as soon as they passed over his lips.

A long silence ensued. Catherine held her response, as she peered at her notes. With her eyes fixed upon the papers in front of her, and with each passing second of silence, the tenseness in the room built. Finally, the senator glanced upward, and replied.

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear or made my goal as apparent to each of you as I had thought I did," Catherine began calmly, though the agitation in her voice was evident. She turned toward her chief-of-staff and continued. "Perhaps I haven't even made it clear to you, Tom, so let me be very precise now. My goal is to become Vice-President. I had a very good shot at achieving that goal with Governor Moreland. Though fate intervened, I am not deterred, because I believe this is the year that a woman has the best chance of achieving that office. I aim to make the most of the opportunity before me, so I hope that we understand each other from this point forward."

Never had the senator's staff seen her so calculatingly cold and detached, as she abruptly adjourned the meeting, arose from her chair and exited the conference room leaving her staffers agape in disbelief.

Chapter 17

Later that morning, Catherine rode the subway that extended from beneath the senate office buildings to the U.S. Capitol. It is the common mode of senatorial transportation to the senate chamber utilized extensively by the senate's elderly statesmen and young senators alike for the long trek to the senate. There are actually two separate subway systems for the Senators' use connected by a maze of tunnels beneath the Capitol. One system is computer controlled and it shuttles lawmakers between the Hart Senate Office Building and Dirksen Senate Office Building to and from the Capitol. The subway Catherine rode is a manned system that runs from the Russell Senate Office Building back and forth to the Capitol.

As Catherine headed toward the chamber, she was surprised she was alone in the underground corridors. She turned to look behind her and there weren't any subways following. She was perplexed because the tunnel should be filled with senators riding their way toward the senate chamber. It was eerily quiet as the only sound Catherine heard was the high pitched whirr of the electrically powered subway as it hummed toward its destination.

Suddenly, Catherine said, "Driver, stop here for a moment."

As the driver eased the tram to a stop, Catherine turned in her seat and looked behind her. There was still no activity. She turned to the driver, and asked, "What's going on? Where is everyone?"

"I don't know, Senator. Perhaps they rode over a bit early today."

" _Not likely_ ," she thought.

"Shall I continue Senator Wells?" the driver asked.

"Ah, yes. Sure. Go ahead."

As Catherine glided through the long empty corridor, a deep sense of foreboding began to envelop her. Though the way was well lit, the vacant tunnel reminded her of the claustrophobic corridors of her nightmares. She worried she was dreaming again, and she hadn't really returned to Washington, D.C. after all. Catherine feared the driver was going to turn abruptly at any moment, travel down another dark narrow passage and she would suddenly find herself descending into the depths yet again.

When the tram came to the usual stop at the end of the route Catherine emitted a whispery sigh of relief.

The driver turned toward her, and said, "Have a good day, Senator."

"Thank you," she nodded uneasily, as she stepped off and entered the elevator. When she exited the elevator a few seconds later, she found that the Capitol corridor was empty as well. That's never the case on days when the senate is in session. The halls should be filled with the staff members of a hundred senators while senate pages and staffers would be hurrying in one direction or another. The corridors would be alive with activity and the sound of senators in the hallways engaged in dozens of conversations before they stepped into the august chamber. Catherine didn't understand what was happening but she knew something was very odd.

As she approached the side door where the senators entered the chamber, a security guard in the hallway opened the door for her. Catherine nodded in acknowledgment, but as she walked through the doorway, she was immediately taken aback---startled by the sudden sound of loud applause that burst forth from within the senate chamber. Her eyes widened in astonishment as she saw all of the senators were already present. They were standing at their respective desks, applauding, though it didn't register with her as to why.

Senator Beauregard of Tennessee who always carried himself with a distinct air of dignity leaned toward a fellow senator on his left, and said with delight, "She looks really good."

Catherine's eyes were drawn to the packed gallery above and, as she scanned the many faces she recognized many of senatorial aides and staff members of her senate colleagues. They too were standing and applauding. With the realization of what was occurring Catherine's eyes began to mist, as the thunderous applause continued and echoed throughout the senate chamber.

Senator McAuliffe of Florida turned toward a colleague at his right, and shouted above the din, "That is one lucky lady."

Senator Stanley Appleton of Wisconsin, the President Pro-Tem of the Senate, was smiling widely with his hand extended, as he approached her. He shook Catherine's hand and then proceeded to give her a warm hug. As he stepped back, he said, "On behalf of the entire body of the United States Senate, welcome back, Senator Wells."

Catherine was nearly overcome with the emotion, as each of the senators walked down the aisles to the well of the senate chamber.

A large cake was wheeled into the chamber and in the icing was etched...

Welcome Back, Senator Wells

The senators gathered around Catherine in a show of support that they were all grateful one of their colleagues had survived that horrendous explosion and had returned now to take her rightful place beside them in the chamber of the United States Senate.

Chapter 18

That evening, Senator Wells sat down with broadcaster, David Crane for the taping of an interview to be viewed two nights hence on public television.

"I am very pleased to welcome Senator Catherine Wells this evening, the twice elected U.S. Senator from Illinois," said David whose wide smile abruptly narrowed, replaced by a look of sad regret. "Just two months ago Senator Wells was severely injured and her husband of ten years was killed in an explosion in Chicago by an unknown assailant. Ms. Atwater, the senator's Appointments secretary, also survived but was severely injured losing her left leg."

David always introduced his guests by way of sharing some background information for his television audience, and he possessed a naturally affable nature. Through the years his once large mop of thick brown hair had thinned considerably and was gray now, but his ebullient energy belied his age of fifty-seven.

David Crane made a career of interviewing American politicians and world leaders over the past twenty-five years. Extremely well read on a subject before he sat down with a guest, he asked the tough questions but did so without being offensive. One of the tenants of Journalism that David understood, and one that so many television broadcasters had abandoned in their quest for fame and fortune, was that the interviewer was not the newsmaker. David Crane refused to ride the wave of egotistical journalism that had grown so popular.

Seated at his customary round table, David was dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit, a light blue tie, and a white shirt. The right collar of his shirt, slightly upturned, gave the impression David was hurried. David turned his line of sight toward his guest, and with a warm smile said, "Welcome."

"Thank you for having me, David."

"I understand this is the first interview you have granted and I am honored you have joined us on this program."

Catherine nodded. "I always enjoy speaking with you, David."

"You look well. How are you? Are you fully recovered?"

"I'm at about ninety percent I'd say. I still have headaches but my doctor said that was to be expected. Over time they will become less and less frequent."

"My deepest sympathy to you for the loss of your husband," said David.

Catherine nodded. "Thank you, David."

"And it hasn't been determined who was responsible?"

Catherine shook her head. "Correct. No group has ever come forward to claim responsibility so as far as is known to this point it was the act of a lone, deranged man."

"Having been away from your duties in the Senate are you fully up to speed with what has been happening in Congress?"

Catherine smiled playfully. "Well, in that regard I would say one of the nice things about the senate is that it moves with care and deliberation, so I really didn't miss much. Democracies at times do move slowly."

"Even though the nominating conventions of both parties are months away some are saying this is already the most contentious, most poisonous political campaign ever. Do you agree?"

Senator Wells smiled demurely, and responded, "Well, when you look back in history..."

"And you were a history professor, it should be pointed out," David interjected.

"Yes, American History. Two hundred years ago the opposition party linked Thomas Jefferson to the devil. In pompous bluster his opposition announced another revolution would break out if Jefferson were elected. Today he is one of the icons of democracy, but he was denigrated in the newspapers of his time, absolutely brutalized along with several others of his era. If you look at today's rancor and contentious elections they really pale in comparison to what occurred over our country's history. I happen to subscribe to the view of Ron Chernow when he wrote in his biographical work, _Alexander Hamilton_ , that 'the contentious culture of those early years was both the apex and the nadir of American political expression'. **1** Our Founding Fathers are held in great esteem, and rightly so, but in the grand sweep of history we sometimes forget what occurred."

David smiled warmly. "You really enjoy politics, don't you?"

"Most of the time," Catherine smiled. "I believe in my heart that public service is a very honorable profession."

David nodded. "If you had it to do over again, would you still enter politics as your life's work?"

"Oh, yes without a doubt."

"Let me ask that another way. Suppose you could go into any field of endeavor you wanted, but it couldn't be your present profession or previous as a college professor, what would you choose?"

Catherine's pondered that momentarily and commented. "I suppose if I were to do something different I think I would pick investigative journalism."

"Why?"

"Because you ask questions, you probe for truth. There's a great deal of tenacity needed in that line of work as one gathers the full story and I would enjoy that aspect of the job. In my view, the television news networks abdicated their responsibility and have become entertainment shows evolving into so much fluff."

"That's quite an indictment," said David gravely.

"And it's especially so during those ratings weeks."

"Sweeps week," David interjected.

"Yes. The free press in this country is essentially the eyes and ears of the American electorate. The American people rely on the fourth estate to ask the difficult questions. I must say the print media has done an infinitely better job in asking the serious questions about war and peace."

"Which news broadcast do you watch?"

"I prefer the BBC. For one reason, their news covers the world so much better than our networks have ever done. I've traveled to Europe, Africa, Asia, and South America and I have found the citizens in most countries on those continents know infinitely more about world events than we do in America."

"You campaigned for Governor Moreland until his untimely death of a heart attack. Since his death, the nomination of your party is basically up for grabs..."

"Yes," Catherine interjected, "and there are five declared candidates as Representative Ventura of Texas threw his hat into the ring recently."

"Now that you've mentioned hats, I like yours," David smiled.

Catherine's hand rose to gently touch her navy blue tam. "My hair had to be cut because of my injury and I'll be wearing this for a while. I didn't want to go the wig route and I've actually got several of these in different colors."

"It looks good on you," said David. "Maybe you'll start a new trend and all the legislators in Washington will begin wearing them."

"Well, I always wanted to leave a legacy," Catherine laughed.

"Have you endorsed any of the five candidates for President privately if not publicly?"

"If I was supporting anyone privately, David, then I wouldn't be able to say that, would I?" she smiled impishly, "but I'm not supporting anyone privately or otherwise."

"You are a landslide re-elected senator as I pointed out in the opening of the show, and you were one of the early endorsers of the late Governor Moreland. You helped him win the Illinois primary, which put him over the top in delegates. You backed his candidacy from the beginning, so what I'm getting at is certainly you are a very influential senator in your party. Surely the candidates are seeking you out, asking for your support."

Catherine chuckled lightly. "My ego would like to respond in the affirmative, but actually the answer is no, however, let me add I think that's a matter of their kind consideration of my personal situation, as I only returned to the senate today."

"Of course," David nodded. "Are you surprised that no one has been able to discern who the leading candidate is at this point?"

Catherine shook her head, felt a twinge of pain but kept going. "Not really, because think about it, David. It's a very unique situation in American politics. Delegates previously won by Governor Moreland in the primaries have been released. Those delegates believed in Governor Moreland, supported his stance on the issues and will soon find themselves about to vote for someone else because circumstances have forced that situation upon them."

"Are you planning to attend the convention? It could be quite a free for all," David smiled widely, "and you live in Chicago where the convention is being held this year."

"Oh," Catherine chuckled, "it'll be exciting, no question about that. Television ratings should soar through the roof compared to past conventions. People like you, David, are going to have a field day interviewing delegates, party leaders, and candidates alike, but I've made plans to be out of town during the convention for further recuperation."

"I understand completed but let me ask you...would you be a candidate for Vice-President?"

Catherine chuckled. "No one is ever really a candidate for Vice-President, David. One is simply asked to be on the ticket by either the presidential nominee or the delegates at large."

"But if you were asked to be someone's running mate...?"

"I've been a Senator from Illinois for eight years and I thoroughly enjoy representing the people of Illinois in the United States Senate."

David Crane, as was his way in many interviews, leaned intimately toward his guest, and with a look of near incredulity, asked in a whisper, "Are you saying you would NOT accept an offer to be on your party's national ticket?"

"You're a good interviewer, David, and I know you want a definitive answer from me, but... "

"But you won't say anymore than you already have," he chuckled.

"Correct."

David checked his notes and a pleasant thought entered his mind as he continued to brief through the papers strewn across the top of the table. "How's your dad?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten. You met him once when he was visiting me in Washington and he accompanied me to the studio. Dad is great. He's in good health, and, though his knees bother him more than they used to, he's getting around quite well. As a matter of fact, the plans I made the week of the convention involve my dad. We're going to Bar Harbor, Maine."

"That's a lovely spot."

"Yes, I've heard that and from what I've seen of brochures I think we'll enjoy getting away."

"Do you like seafood?" David asked with a wide smile.

"Oh, very much," Catherine smiled widely.

"Then you'll love Maine," he stated emphatically.

"Well, there you have it, David. Why would I want to trade a week in Maine for a stuffy convention?" Catherine smiled.

"Well, I'd like to talk to you more about Maine but I'm afraid my producer would have a problem with that. So, I'll forego any attempt at making a feeble segueway, and simply ask, "What can be done about terrorism?"

"We have to stop the recruiting, David," she answered without hesitation.

"But how do you do that?" David asked shook his head in bewilderment.

"Therein lays the great challenge of our generation---to stop terrorism at its source. We've all heard the pundits and the doomsayers say if someone wants to take his life and kill others there is really very little that we can do to stop it. Such as, if a terrorist walks into a church full of worshipers, a mall full of shoppers, or a bus full of...," said Catherine, as her voice cracked with emotion. Instinctively, she reached for her water glass. Taking a sip would give her a moment to insure she remained composed.

"There is something to be said for the fact that in the course of human history there is an enormous pressure to return to normalcy in times of great crises, but we cannot wait on the pressures of history to take hold. If we delay, the cost in human bloodshed will be far too great. We must act. Before us is a difficult and very long struggle, and it is imperative we figure it out, and stop the horrific nightmare from passing to succeeding generations."

David nodded and changed to a lighter mood, "Would you like to try the word game?"

"Sure," Catherine grinned.

"In the off chance that we have some new viewers unfamiliar with the word game, I throw out a word or perhaps a phrase and you respond."

Catherine nodded. "Ready when you are, David."

"Okay. Let's ease into it by beginning on the lighter side---your favorite food."

"Italian," she answered without hesitation.

"If you had to pick a country, other than the United States, in which you had to live."

"Italy."

David laughed. "I guess that would go hand in hand with your favorite food, said David, as he turned the conversation toward politics, and asked, "Greatest President?"

"Lincoln."

"Of course, Illinois senator as you are," he smiled, and continued, "Accountability of Supreme Court Justices."

"I believe the Founding Fathers got it right so the Supreme Court can make its rulings unfettered by public opinion."

"Stem cell research."

"Progressive," Catherine responded immediately, "and when you scan history you see the progress of science cannot be muted and inevitably moves forward and enriches our lives."

"Term limits for members of Congress."

Catherine chuckled playfully. "Not needed...they're already built into the system; it's called voting against the incumbent."

"Best quality for a member of Congress to possess."

"Hmm, well, you're probably expecting me to answer leadership but I think my answer might surprise you. I would say honesty would be the most important quality and I mean honesty on the issues, honesty that what you say is what you truly believe, and that your word is your bond."

"Interesting," David nodded. "What's the worst quality for a member of Congress?"

Catherine bit lightly on her lower lip as she pondered that for a few moments.

"And no fair saying the opposite of honesty," David laughed.

"No, I wasn't going to say that," Catherine smiled. "I think cynicism would be the worst quality in a legislator. You enter public life because you believe you can make a difference and you want to contribute. I can't imagine a cynical person doing that, and I would say if someone is naturally cynical, they should never choose public service and elective office as a vocation."

"Hmm," said David with an impish grin, "I can't let that pass without asking---are there any cynics presently in Congress?"

Catherine chuckled. "Oh, no you don't. If you want the answer to that question, you'll have to do your own investigative journalism."

"Fair enough," he said. "Since you were first elected to the U.S. Senate, you have graced this program more than half a dozen times over the past eight years, and we always end our conversation with a quote from a figure in American history in which I try to supply a quote that you won't know."

"I'll try my best to identify it," the one-time Professor of American History grinned.

"Okay, here goes...

'Having lived long, I have experienced many instances of being obliged, by better information, or fuller consideration, to change opinions, even on important subjects, which I once thought right but found to be otherwise. It is therefore that the older I grow the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment and to pay more respect to the judgment of others.'" **2**

A wide grin flashed across Catherine's face. "Unbeknownst to you, David, in college I was enrolled in a class that studied the Constitutional Convention. That quote is from a speech delivered at the conclusion of the Constitutional Convention urging all of the delegates to sign and approve the document of their labors. It was delivered by that grand old sage, Benjamin Franklin."

David Crane shook his head in disbelief. "I really thought I had you with that one," he said, as he leaned toward the senator, smiled affectionately, and in a soft, caring voice said, "It's been a pleasure as always when you grace our program. Thank you for being here, Senator Wells."

"Thank you for having me, David."

After the microphones and camera were off, David noticed a concerned look upon the senator's face. She was gazing into the distance in a trance-like stare, as if something was on her mind.

"Is anything wrong, Senator Wells?"

"You know, maybe I'm still a bit shaky, but I don't think it was a good idea for me to be broadcasting where my dad and I will be vacationing. I don't want to take a chance dad might get hurt. Would you mind editing out that portion of the tape?"

David Crane nodded understandingly. "Don't worry I'll take care of it."

Chapter 19

Two days later, Senator Lee Handley of Missouri strolled down the corridor toward the office of Senator Wells. At five feet, nine inches tall, he was an unimposing figure and he understood the limitations of his physique. If he ever attempted to intimidate a colleague in a Lyndon Johnson-esq get-in-your-face manner, he would appear comical and wouldn't be taken seriously or worse---he'd simply be brushed aside. Therefore, Senator Handley formulated well thought out cogent arguments as he calmly discussed a matter and rarely lost his temper when involved in a discussion with someone from across the aisle. That contemplative manner gave him a senatorial air to be sure.

At sixty-four years of age he was now in his third term as a U.S. Senator from Missouri. His hair was sparser and his once youthful good looks had faded. Those of the opposition party considered him to be thoughtful, level headed, cautious, while some considered him wise. Whether the American electorate saw him as presidential material remained to be seen. Thus far, the people of his own party had not. He had, in effect, already lost the nomination when he dropped out of the race earlier in the year. At that time, Senator Handley recognized he would not get another shot at the prize because of his age, but fate had intervened and Governor Moreland's sudden death granted his failed campaign a reprieve, and he was prepared to do something dramatic, something that would shed the label of a loser. It was presidential ambition that brought him to Catherine's office.

Senator Wells was reviewing some papers on upcoming legislation with one of her aides in her outer office when Senator Handley entered.

"Lee, I thought you were out on the campaign trail."

"Are you kidding? If I missed the Medicare vote, there wouldn't be a campaign left for me anymore," he chuckled. Noting the young aide taking instructions from Senator Wells, he asked, "She working you hard, kid?"

The aide looked up at Senator Handley with the wide eyes of youthful exuberance as he nodded energetically.

"Careful, Lee," said Catherine, "he's a Harvard graduate and if you and I teamed up against him in a debate, it wouldn't be fair. He'd beat the both of us."

"Well, then, if you ever get tired of working for the Illinois Senator you might try working for one who is running for President. We could always use the help of a bright, energetic Harvard graduate," he said, while he kept his eyes on Catherine as if the aide were not in the room. You have a minute, Catherine?"

"Sure. You go on in Lee and I'll be right with you."

Senator Handley nodded as he walked into the senator's inner office. A minute later, Catherine entered, closed the door behind her and walked over to her desk and sat down.

"Thanks for that heads up you gave me on Bradberry," Senator Handley began disingenuously, as he knew beforehand what his aide would be discussing with Senator Wells.

"Oh, no problem, how did it all shake out?" Catherine asked.

"Just exactly as you said he planned to do it."

"He's pretty slick, isn't he?"

"Yeah, well, he does have a slithery, snake-like reputation, but there is one thing I'll say for him. He certainly knows his business," Senator Handley noted.

"He's good all right, no question about that," Catherine agreed. "They didn't start calling him the wonder boy for nothing. He certainly has a great track record."

"That he does, and he's actually helped us quite a bit in the past couple of months. And his latest idea, well, it's ingenious when you come right down to it. Beat the other candidates to the punch by announcing my choice as Vice-President in advance. That certainly would trump all of them and put them all on the defensive."

"Are you considering it, Lee?"

Senator Handley nodded. "Yes. Despite what I might think of James Bradberry's personality and his ethics, he came up with one helluva great idea about naming my choice of VP. I even began working on a short list."

"No kidding! Who are you going to ask?"

"I'm asking you, Catherine," he said, without mentioning she'd been fully vetted in the past weeks.

Catherine sat speechless in wide-eyed astonishment. She attempted to hide her awkwardness in humor. "So, everyone else turned you down, huh?"

Senator Handley feigned a smile. "I'm serious, Catherine. I think you would make an excellent Vice-President. You're articulate, intelligent, and you're a great campaigner. I'd take Missouri and with you on the ticket we'd get Illinois and have a great shot at winning Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, Indiana, and Iowa just to name a few."

Catherine responded, "That's certainly a good chunk of electoral votes, but sweeping the upper Midwest states will not win you the presidency, Lee. You'll need a lot more than those."

"Certainly, but it sure is a good block of states to have in the bank, and, with Governor Serena on our side we'd have a good shot at taking New York as well as other surrounding states on the Atlantic seaboard."

"You already have Serene?"

"Not yet but to be sure we get the governor's full participation and cooperation in the fall campaign I plan to offer him a top position in my cabinet and then I think we'd have a great shot at California and the Pacific Northwest."

"It sounds like you've thought this through very well in just a couple of days."

"I've done the math," Senator Handley smiled. "It's doable."

Catherine nodded as she went through the breakdown of the states in her own mind of which were the most likely the Senator would do well in if he garnered the nomination, and which ones he wouldn't.

"And one thing to remember...they love you in Pennsylvania because of your early support of Governor Moreland. You're like a hero there since his death. They remember what you did for him, what you meant to his campaign. So, you see, it's not just for carrying Illinois that I want you on the ticket. I think you'd be of invaluable help in Pennsylvania. I'm counting on you to win those Pennsylvanians for me. I really mean it, Catherine. I want you to be my Vice-President. I can trust you. That's certainly demonstrated by that Bradberry intrigue alone, not to mention our work together in the Senate these past eight years. And, hey, I'm pragmatic. I want to win. I think you can help me do that."

Catherine bit gently on her lower lip. She didn't recall working with Senator Handley much at all during her eight years in the senate. They had served on different committees and really had very little contact. Nevertheless, she seriously considered Senator Handley's offer. Though unexpected, the fulfillment of her political ambition was now at her doorstep, if he could secure the nomination and if he could win election. Those were two mighty big ifs.

"You should know that I taped an interview recently and among other things you might not be crazy about is that I voiced my views on the news media," as she went on to explain what she said, and continued, "but you hadn't asked me then to be your VP, and I wasn't running for anything at the time when I made those comments."

"Forgot the first rule of politics, did you, Catherine? Politicians are always running for something and they never stop running even after they're elected," he laughed. "Hey, don't worry about it. I don't think it will be a big deal. Press bashing is rather popular right now and with some good reasons, and I'm sure you weren't mean or vicious with your remarks."

Catherine shrugged and chuckled. "Most folks probably won't see the interview anyway. Public television isn't exactly number one in the ratings."

Senator Handley chuckled in kind, but quickly turned serious. "What I'm about to say might not be in my best interest, but if you want to hold off and see what shakes out at the convention, think about it for a while, I'll understand if you want to wait until the convention convenes. I'd be disappointed to be sure, but I would understand. I'm betting your name is going to be mentioned there. I don't think I'd be going out on a limb by saying I'm probably not the only one that has considered asking you to join the ticket. I certainly want to get the jump on the other candidates in naming you as my choice for VP but..."

"I appreciate what you're saying Lee. I...uh...just don't know but one thing's for sure."

"What's that?"

"You're certainly the first one to ask."

"Well, I mean it, Catherine. I have a lot of respect for you. I know others do as well."

Catherine appreciated Senator Handley's candor and the compliments, and returned to reflect on her working relationship with the senator over the years. Of course, this past year he hadn't been around much because of the campaign, and she did recall they didn't agree on several issues. No one ever agrees on everything though---even if they are of the same party but Catherine soon realized she barely knew the man seated across from her.

Senator Handley was a member of the Senate Finance, Budget, Appropriation, and Agriculture Committees, the latter also including Nutrition and Forestry. Catherine had different committee assignments, though early in her Senate career they both sat on the Committee for Veterans Affairs. For two years they met together, but committee meetings do not lend themselves to familiarization of its members.

"Believe me if I had the slightest doubt about you, if I thought you were a liability in any way, I wouldn't be sitting here right now. Like I said, I want to win, and there's only one catch."

"Oh?"

"I'd like your answer by this afternoon. I want to announce it tonight. You see," Senator Handley smiled coyly, "I really do like Bradberry's idea about beating the other candidates to the punch. If you don't want it, then I really need to move on to my next choice so I can name a VP before anyone else does. That's the whole point in putting all of the other candidates on the defensive."

Seeing the surprise on Catherine's face, Senator Handley added, "We did our vetting on possible VP candidates long ago."

"I see. Well, that certainly doesn't give me much time to consider it," said Catherine, as her eyes scanned blankly back and forth across her desk. As a thought entered her mind, she looked up at Senator Handley, and asked, "So, if I should decline, you already have another candidate in mind."

"Yes, but you're my first choice, and, of course, you understand I wouldn't be identifying who my second choice might be."

"Oh, of course, I understand, Lee but..."

Senator Handley's eyebrows turned upward when Catherine stopped speaking so abruptly.

Catherine couldn't believe she was actually making a case for the next person in line to be offered the vice-presidential nomination should she decline. The vice-presidency was what she wanted, what she had worked so hard to achieve...being the first woman in history.

Catherine looked straight at Senator Handley, and said, "You won't have to worry about making an offer to your second choice, because your first choice accepts your offer," said Catherine, as her lips curled into a wide smile.

Senator Handley sprang to his feet, outstretched his arm, and said, "Congratulations, Senator Wells. We're on our way. I'll announce it later this afternoon. Of course, I'd like you there with me."

"Certainly," Catherine beamed.

"We'll announce it in the senate caucus room. I'll have my office make the arrangements with the press. We'll do it early enough so that it'll make the evening news, and I'll get back to you on the exact time."

"Sounds good," said Catherine.

"Those other candidates are going to feel like they've had the rug pulled out from under them."

"Probably so," Catherine agreed with a wide grin.

"And not a word about this to anyone; it has to be an absolutely complete surprise."

"Not a word," Catherine beamed.

Chapter 20

Catherine had experienced a very long day having arisen early and she was now quite exhausted. During her recuperation she often likened the way she felt to flu-like symptoms, as the simple act of sitting upright for any appreciable time drained her energy. By late afternoon she longed to lie down, as she felt her strength sapped. But that was before Senator Handley's visit. Now she felt revitalized. The thrill she felt at this moment was akin to the exuberance she experienced in her first victorious political campaign. Her eyes alight with joy she was almost giddy as she sat behind her desk, swiveled in her chair and looked up at the picture of Lincoln.

"Well, Abe, maybe this time a woman will be on the winning ticket."

Suddenly Catherine paused to ponder what lay ahead. There would be a lot of work to do in the coming days, much to get organized as the convention lay ahead. Naturally, she realized being named a candidate's choice for Vice-President would mean nothing if Senator Handley's candidacy fizzled. She and Lee would need to strategize on exactly what each of them would do. Catherine would want her Chief-of-Staff, Tom Washburn to meet with Senator Handley's campaign manager. She would want to know if anyone in Handley's campaign had contacted any of the various state party chairs. They were the ones who wielded enormous power and influence over state delegations along with governors and big city mayors. Catherine would want to know how the Handley campaign had progressed in contacting the individual delegates to drum up support. There would be an enormous amount of legwork to be done to secure the nomination and not much time to do it.

This afternoon, when Senator Handley announced Catherine as his choice as Vice-President, Catherine would naturally be expected to make a brief statement, and she thought about what she would say to the reporters, and more importantly to the cameras and the American voters on the evening news. It was her chance to make a good impression with a national audience. Her comments would not have to be very long, as they would be edited into a sound bite anyway, but they did have to be good. She reached for her phone and hit the button for her speechwriter.

"Hi Paul, I need a few remarks prepared for this afternoon," said Catherine, who proceeded to fill her speechwriter in on the details.

"Wow! That's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"Keep it under wraps, Paul, not a word of this to anyone. I mean absolutely no one. I don't want this getting out before Senator Handley has had a chance to announce it."

"Oh, of course, of course, I understand completely, not a word, and I'll get right on it."

"Good. I'll check back with you in an hour or so," said Catherine, and as she hung up the phone, Maggie entered her office.

"You've got an appointment, Senator."

"Oh, no," said Catherine, as her shoulders drooped and she shook her head.

"Welcome back to working for living," said Maggie without sympathy.

Catherine was about to tell Maggie to cancel the appointment when she noticed her secretary was escorting the woman into her office. The woman's dark complexion contrasted against a blue dress and modest pearl necklace, as she hesitated momentarily in the doorway when Maggie introduced her.

"This is Adila Mohammed, Senator Wells."

Catherine arose, walked around her desk, and extended her hand. Adila met the senator's hand in hers.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Senator Wells."

"Please have a seat, and I'll be right with you," said Catherine, as she motioned toward a chair. The woman nodded politely, as Catherine walked toward the door, and left little doubt she wanted to speak with her Appointments secretary, "Maggie!"

Maggie followed the senator, and Catherine held the door as she waited impatiently for Maggie to step into the outer office. As Maggie walked through the doorway, Catherine closed the door partially, and snapped, "Cancel all my appointments the rest of the day."

Maggie was taken aback by the senator's abrupt manner, but it signaled something must be brewing. "What's up?"

"Nothing you need to know about for the moment. Just don't set up any additional appointments until you get my okay first, and cancel the ones already scheduled."

"Okay," Maggie replied, absent her sardonic sense of humor. Maggie then gestured with a nod of her head toward the senator's inner office. "Would you like me to inform Adila Mohammed that something urgent has arisen and that we need to reschedule?"

"No. As long as she's here I'll speak with her briefly. Just be sure all my other appointments are cancelled." As Catherine turned toward her inner office, she hesitated before she opened the door and turned back toward Maggie, "By the way, who is she?"

"She's the daughter of a former Turkish Ambassador."

"Oh," Catherine nodded, as she swung the door open, and entered her office.

She saw Adila was standing along the far wall perusing the pictures. The woman turned toward the door when she heard Senator Wells enter, and commented, "Heroes all."

Catherine was preoccupied with her conversation with Senator Handley and so focused on the vice-presidency she didn't hear what Adila Mohammed had said, as she walked past her with no acknowledgment of her comment.

Adila felt ignored upon receiving no reply and more than a bit insignificant from the senator's non-response. She watched the senator walk around her desk, sit down, and detected the senator's pensiveness.

"We'll have to make this quick," said Senator Wells. "I've got a lot going on today."

"Yes, of course," said Adila, as she walked hurriedly toward the senator's desk and sat down.

"What can I do for you?" Catherine asked, while shuffling through a stack of papers.

Adila was surprised the senator was not aware of the reason for her visit.

"Your Appointments secretary did not brief you on the subject of my visit?"

With furrowed eyebrows, Catherine replied curtly. "No, so you'll be able to tell me all about it personally," said Catherine through a fake smile.

"I see," Adila nodded uneasily. "Well, I have actually been attempting to see you for months," said Adila, as she watched the senator scribble something on a sheet of paper. She thought Catherine was beginning to notate their conversation, but soon realized Senator Wells was attending to some other matter while she pretended to listen.

"I'm a representative of an organization I founded more than three years ago. It's called I.M.A.T."

Catherine abruptly looked up from her scribbling, her pen falling from her hand onto the desk. Her face turned ashen, her jaw stiffened as she gritted her teeth, and her eyes conveyed an intense animosity as she glared at the woman seated across from her.

Adila shifted uneasily in her chair, uncomfortable under the piercing, hostile stare of the senator.

A scowl formed on Catherine's face, and she snarled, "I'm afraid we have nothing to discuss. My Appointments secretary made a mistake in scheduling you," she said, as she arose from her chair. "If you'll be kind enough to leave, I have a lot of work to do," as she bit down on her lower lip to refrain from saying anything further.

Adila did not rise from her chair. Though sympathetic toward the senator with the loss she had experienced, she remained resolute in purpose. It had taken many, many months of perseverance to be seated at this moment in the senator's office, and she knew before she arrived it wouldn't be an easy task to speak to Senator Wells.

"I understand why you are so upset."

"Understand?" Catherine stared like daggers, loathing the woman seated in her office. "You understand?" she repeated in near contempt. "How could you possibly understand?"

Adila swallowed hard. She had expected this to be difficult, but she had not anticipated this level of vehemence so quickly before she had a chance to mention the reason for her visit. Senator Wells was already walking around her desk to escort Adila out of her office, and Adila realized there was no time for delicacy. She had no choice but to blurt it out.

"I too lost my husband in a terrorist bombing."

Catherine suddenly stopped. Her knees wobbled and she reached out placing her hand on her desk to steady herself. The repugnant look in Catherine's eyes vanished instantly replaced by a blank, lifeless stare---a widow's stare---it is seen often in churches, in funeral homes and cemeteries when a wife buries her husband.

Slowly, Catherine walked back around her desk, sat down, and forlornly lowered her gaze.

Adila took a deep breath. She wanted to reach out to comfort Senator Wells, but she hesitated. She felt inhibited at consoling a United States Senator, especially since she'd been so angry just moments before. She thought placing a would-be hand of comfort upon the senator's shoulder might set her off again.

Adila had seen that look of forlorn sadness mixed with unabated anger flowing in the senator's eyes before. Adila saw that look shortly after her own husband had been killed---when she caught her own reflection in a mirror.

Adila waited patiently. She gave the senator some time to compose herself and the seconds passed slowly. Catherine had not lifted her gaze as she stared down at her desk, and Adila felt increasingly ill at ease.

Finally, Adila broke the heavy silence. "I'm so very sorry we share a bond of grief that hangs so heavily upon our hearts."

Catherine didn't move. She heard what Adila said, but made no reply, as she continued in her downward stare. Physically, Catherine was nearly one hundred percent recovered from her injury, but she now realized she still had a long, long way to go emotionally. It was as if she had no control over her reaction to this woman and what she had said to her. That surprised her, because Catherine had always taken great pride in being a strong woman. Vulnerability was not something Catherine Wells had to deal with in her life---at least not to this point---and it was a very foreign emotion to her. She had been confident she was ready to resume her duties as one of the nation's legislators in the elite club known as the U.S. Senate. That confidence was now shattered.

"I know you don't want me in your office, but I've come a long way, and I would appreciate it very much if you would hear me out."

While Catherine was in the hospital, she had spoken to a priest several times about the anger she carried inside her. Catherine wanted to strike out at someone to release the animosity welled up in a knotted fist of vengeful anger in the pit of her stomach. The priest suggested a couple of doctors she could speak to upon leaving the hospital who would help her face the loss of her husband, but Catherine refrained from talking to anyone, however, as she repressed her feelings. Now, like a volcano, her emotions rose to the top and finally poured out.

When Catherine raised her head and looked up with inquiring, misty eyes she did not speak.

Adila arose from her chair in an abrupt change of heart. "I am sorry. Though I have tried for many months for this opportunity to speak with you, under the circumstances, I think perhaps it would be better if I were to leave. I apologize if I was blunt. I just want you to know I didn't come here to stir up painful memories or to hurt you in any way. Again, I am truly sorry."

As Adila turned to leave, Senator Wells fought within herself for the strength she once possessed, and asked, "Why did you come here?"

Adila stopped, spun around and eyed the senator.

Catherine saw the question conveyed in Adila's eyes, and nodded. "Yes, I want you to stay. Sit back down."

Adila hesitated.

"Sit down before I change my mind," Catherine snapped.

A slight smile crossed Adila's face as she nodded awkwardly and sat down.

"Tell me why you came here," Catherine commanded through her melancholy.

"I need your help. I came here to request your assistance. Though I used to work with the Turkish government in a civil service position, I left my job to devote my full time and all of my energies to something very important. I was able to leave my job because my family has money, but I want you to fully understand I am not here representing Turkey, as I am no longer connected with the government. I am here simply as a concerned mother."

Catherine nodded slowly, "Very well. Go on."

"The borders between Turkey and Syria are closed."

"Yes, I'm aware they have been closed for some time due to a water dispute," said Catherine.

"Yes. Water is a very precious commodity in the Mid East to say the least, and, since the Euphrates River originates in Turkey, my government feels it is our national resource."

"Free to damn it as you see fit and reduce the flow of the river moving into Syria, which provides them with drinking water," Catherine stated.

"Yes and both countries do not see control of the Euphrates in the same way."

"Obviously, they wouldn't," said Catherine, and with some puzzlement, asked, "And you want me to do something to help you in a water dispute with Syria?" as incredulity dripped from the senator's voice.

"No, this is not about water."

"What then?"

Adila explained, "The border closed to Syrians and Turks would be open to a United States Senator, a senator traveling to Turkey who continues her journey on into Syria. You have the ability to travel to any country at any time because of your status as a U.S. Senator, do you not?"

"As a member of the Foreign Relations Committee I can travel almost anywhere at any time, but what exactly do you have in mind? I mean what is this all about if not water?"

Adila turned in her chair, looked at the senator's wall of photos, and eyed the men who were pictured there. When she turned back around, her eyes reflected a great deal of pride.

"This is about doing what is honorable and courageous in the face of danger. This is not about water as that would simply be the ruse so those within the governments of Turkey and Syria would not know the real reason for your visit. The reason I came to see you, Senator Wells, is regarding the organization to which I belong, the organization I founded---I.M.A.T. It stands for..."

"Yes, yes, I know what it means," Catherine curtly interrupted her.

Adila nodded and continued unfazed. "I founded the organization shortly after my husband was killed, and we've organized more than you could ever imagine. We've done it by word of mouth, from one woman to another, throughout many cities in many of the countries of the Mid East starting with Turkey and Syria because they border each other. Additionally, we've organized a march under the auspices of a festival."

In her college days Catherine participated in several marches. She'd forgotten her youthful idealism and naivety. One of those marches regarded pollution of the Great Lakes, specifically Lake Michigan, twenty years ago when she was a freshman. The march seemed so important to her at the time. Time trivializes the matters of one's youth.

A crooked smile flashed across Catherine's face, as she almost felt sorry for the woman seated across from her, and said cynically, "A march is for college kids who have nothing better to do and use it as an excuse to cut classes."

Adila was taken aback by the senator's cynicism and wondered if she really admired the men whose pictures graced her wall. Nevertheless, she would not be deterred in her efforts.

"Perhaps that's true in your country, senator, but that is not the case for the women in Turkey. One needs only to understand that women in both our culture and religion must be very submissive. That presents an ideal situation upon the world stage for demagogues of death to rise. It is up to us to cast off the shackles of submissiveness for the future well being of our sons and daughters...and husbands. Make no mistake, Senator Wells. For women to participate in a march organized by women composed solely of women in our society is a very big deal indeed."

Catherine's countenance moderated, reflecting a softening in her attitude toward Adila.

"I believe we have a moral obligation to stand up against this hideous onslaught of death. It is our responsibility to change things."

Catherine considered the woman seated across from her. She admired Adila because she had a sense of herself as well as a sense of purpose. She was sincere in what she was saying and extremely determined.

"How many people has your organization enlisted for this march?"

"There's no way of knowing at this point, because women are relaying our plans from one woman to the next. We have gone from house to house, street to street, village to village, town to town throughout Turkey and Syria as well as many other countries throughout the Mid East."

"Are you saying you've organized this solely by word of mouth, and you've made no formal announcement?"

"That's correct, because in a theocracy, one is never quite sure what will displease the State. Our fear is if word got out the government would stop it."

"I see," Catherine nodded in understanding of the dilemma Adila faced.

"Our march will begin in Turkey and proceed to the Syrian border. Naturally, since Turkey has three times the population of Syria, sixty million over twenty million, we do expect there will be many more Turkish women. Those who are many miles away have already started heading toward the appointed destination, but we won't know the total of those attending until they arrive."

"When?"

"It begins in three days."

A thought struck Catherine, and she asked, "Even if you've done well at keeping it a secret, won't the government see all these women enroute and disperse them?"

"We informed the government we are planning a festival, and we received permission to construct a platform on the Turkish side of the border near Syria. It is a platform high enough to be seen from the Syrian side. Women will assemble in mass on both sides of the border to listen to what we have to say. We will have food and water for those in attendance. We have portable washrooms in place. We have arranged for communication equipment. We shall have a loud speaker set up so we can be heard on the Syrian side of the border, and we have enlisted the assistance of al-Jazeera. We have a contact within al-Jazeera; she arranged coverage of the event and they will broadcast our event throughout the countries of the Mid East without disclosing the real purpose of our gathering in advance. They too think they will be broadcasting a festival. We are organized, we have attended to every detail, and we have left nothing to chance."

"Except one thing," said Catherine, "the chance that someone will talk," she mused, as the senator silently considered the situation.

Adila did not break the silence. She wanted the senator to take some time to consider all aspects of the project, to contemplate any doubts she might have, and then Adila would forthrightly answer any questions or concerns the senator could foresee.

Finally, Senator Wells broke the silence, "Do you really believe you could pull off a demonstration of the magnitude you've described without the government knowing the real reason behind it?" Senator Wells asked rhetorically, and continued. "Surely, some of the women of your country will tell their men about it and eventually it will get back to the Turkish government, or maybe some of the women who are sympathetic toward the terrorists will tell the authorities directly. There is simply no way you could keep something like you're planning a secret. I know governments, Adila. I know how they operate, regardless of country, and I am quite sure your government is very well aware of I.M.A.T., of what it is, and that it's only a matter of time before your real plans are discovered, and when they are, the government will shut you down because they won't want any trouble from extremists who would oppose you. And you, personally, will undoubtedly be arrested...maybe worse."

"Perhaps, you are correct on all counts, Senator Wells, but we will not be deterred, and that is the very reason we need you."

Catherine expelled a deep sigh. "So you came here to enlist the support of someone who shares with you the commonality of a dead husband."

"That's not fair," Adila quickly retorted. "You can confirm with your secretary I contacted your office long before..." Her voice trailed off into silence.

Catherine's lips pursed crookedly, and replied, "Yes, I'm aware you've been trying to contact my office for quite some time, but I still don't see where I fit into your plans. Why do you want me? What could I possibly do for you?"

"We want you to cross the Turkish border and carry something to the Syrian women on the other side."

"What would that be?"

"Three books representing three different cultures in the Mid East that will symbolize our unity of purpose...a unity we must achieve in the name of humanity. Once you have carried the three books across the border you will hand them off and they will be carried across Syria, and so on throughout every country in the Mid East."

"Well, I can guess which books they are, but if I were to carry one of them, wouldn't that be considered a sacrilege by some?"

"Perhaps it would be considered a sacrilege by the very ones who are trying to subvert religion---the fanatics, the extremists---but I believe the act of murder is a far greater sacrilege. There is a very fine line between being a devout religious person and a fanatic. It's a line as thin as a human hair, and it's the borderline between piousness and irrational thought and madness, and if you seek a fanatic," Adila said, as she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "you can find one in religion. The devout approach the line, the fanatics cross it," she said, as she shook her head with grave somberness and regret, "and once a person traverses that line and crosses to fanaticism, there's no going back."

"But how can you..."

"Fanatics are not born Senator Wells. They are taught. They learn to hate, but it is not the fanatics we are reaching out to in this endeavor. It is too late for those who have already crossed over. It's the young who are the focus of our undertaking. Already in my community we have women signed up to attend religious training at the local madras. All of them are mothers and each woman sits in the classroom for the entire day, listening. They listen for any words of hatred being taught. Thus far, we have so many mothers signed up that each woman needs only to observe and audit the teachings from the madras one day every six months, which is a very small price to pay for the well being of our children. And we are growing. Soon we shall have enough women so that they will have to devote but one day a year."

"I see," Catherine nodded with admiration for what Adila was attempting, "but you haven't really experienced a problem with terrorists in Turkey."

"Yes, I love my country. Turkey is a good and decent country but we are doing this to show the world what can be done. Terrorism knows no borders. It is a worldwide problem and global movements must start somewhere to combat it," said Adila, as she arose from her chair. "I shall be returning to Turkey shortly. I do hope I hear from you before my scheduled departure."

"By asking me to participate, you ask a lot," Senator Wells commented, as she also arose and walked Adila toward the door, but Adila paused at the wall of pictures upon hearing the senator's comment.

Catherine followed Adila's eyes, but couldn't determine if she was glancing at all of the pictures in general, or narrowing her gaze solely upon one of them.

Adila turned toward the senator, looked Catherine directly in the eyes, and replied, "Undoubtedly you admire President Kennedy or his picture would not grace your wall, and, if I may quote your President, "To whom much is given, much is required."

Catherine thought it manipulative of Adila to use the words of a man Catherine admired in an effort to persuade her. She felt she was being tested, scrutinized by this woman to see if this senator really believed in the icons of democracy, liberty, and courage represented on her wall. Catherine eyed Adila warily but the Turkish woman didn't flinch, while Catherine detected a solid determination absent of any selfish motives.

"Why me, of all the American politicians you could choose, why did you ask me?"

"A fair question," Adila acknowledged with a demure smile. "One is never positive about such things, but I heard you speak once. You echoed the words of heroes from the past to encourage those in the present not to be afraid to address the problems they face. When I arrived at your office today and saw the wall of pictures of those you admire, I knew you were sincere. It was only then that I was certain I had made the right choice, and despite your reluctance I still believe I made the right choice."

Catherine frowned and replied with some regret. "Perhaps your confidence in me is misplaced."

"I don't think so. Someone I admire once said that when a person stands up for a cause and is elected to public office, they are public servants. But when those public servants become more mindful of re-election to that office, they become politicians. Those words weren't spoken by anyone on this wall or quoted from any of your history books. They were your words, Senator Wells."

Catherine turned away as she considered what Adila said and a strange look crossed her face, a distant, faraway look. She had listened patiently to this woman, but her patience had evaporated, replaced by a fearful look, as if hypnotized, and she stared blankly at nothing in particular. Catherine was contemplating something that had never previously crossed her mind and she had never considered as ever being possible. Her lips parted slightly as if she were about to speak but no words came forth. Catherine eyed Adila intensely, and wondered if she had ever considered the possibility that had just entered Catherine's mind.

Finally, when Catherine spoke her voice quivered with emotion.

"Though it might be infinitely remote, have you considered the possibility that I might very well find myself standing side by side---or just across the border---with a woman, a mother, whose son killed my husband?"

Chapter 21

Late that afternoon, the press gathered in the Senate caucus room for an announcement by Senator Lee Handley. Television cameras focused while the lighting was checked, on and ready, as the newsmen and women awaited the arrival of the senator. Each of the television networks was represented as well as various cable news companies and internet blogs.

Though he had conceded defeat the night of the Illinois primary, he had not technically dropped out of presidential contention, so when Governor Moreland died suddenly that evening, Senator Handley was still technically in the race.

But that had been two months ago and rumors now circulated that Senator Handley was going to announce officially that he was dropping out of the race.

Catherine Wells had not yet entered the Senate caucus room and as she placed a call, and greeted the one who answered, "Dad?"

"Hey, Sweetie, how are you feeling?"

Catherine glanced around her to be sure that no one was within earshot. "I'm fine, thanks, dad, but the reason I called is for you to turn on CNN. There's going to be a big announcement very shortly that I think you'll want to see."

"What's it all about?"

"Can't say yet but you'll see soon enough."

"Okay."

"And keep the phone handy. I'll call you back in a few minutes."

"Okay. Talk to you in a bit then," said Adam Cantara, as he hung up.

Inside the caucus room, one of the newsmen leaned toward a colleague. "A sawbuck says he's going to drop out."

His colleague shrugged. "I'll take that bet, because nobody knows what's going on, who's leading, or who's trailing, so I don't think there's any reason for him to drop out."

Senator Handley arrived outside the caucus room with two fellow senators and approached, Catherine. "Ready?"

"I'm ready, Senator," as she nodded hello to her colleagues from the senate.

"I thought I'd bring along a couple of my supporters," Lee noted. "That way the media won't guess what's going on with the three of you joining me. If it were just you, they'd at least figure the announcement involved you, and I don't want them to get ahead of me."

"Good thinking," she agreed. "No reason to let them take the moment away from you."

"Yeah, I don't want those news reporters to rob me of my thunder. Well, shall we?" said Senator Handley, as he gestured toward the doorway.

"You lead the way, Senator Handley," said one of his male colleagues.

"Yes. This is your show," said the other.

Senator Handley nodded in agreement as he proceeded into the room. While Senator Handley walked to the microphone, the two male senators stood to the side, Senator Wells between them.

Senator Handley scanned the crowd of reporters to see if they were ready for his announcement. When he was satisfied they were all prepared and that the cameras were rolling, he began.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, as he scanned the many faces and then turned his gaze directly toward the television camera, "my fellow Americans. With the untimely death of Governor Moreland, we realize more than ever our own mortality. So too, we realize that anyone of us can be struck down, at any time, in any place. It is therefore imperative that those of us who are running for the nomination of our party for the Presidency of the United States make very clear our choice for the Vice-Presidency."

Senator Handley heard a distinct gasp arise from the crowd of reporters as they straightened upright in their chairs. Though Senator Handley didn't show it, on the inside he was smiling that his announcement had not leaked.

"Therefore," he continued, "as I seek the presidential nomination of my party I wish to announce at this hour my choice as the nominee for vice-president."

Each reporter scanned the three senators that accompanied Senator Handley. The wheels turned in their reporter minds as to which one of those senators with him he would name as his choice. They also recognized immediately that this was a stunning moment in the campaign as Senator Handley had just trumped the other four presidential candidates.

"In these difficult times," Senator Handley continued, "it is imperative that the Vice-Presidential nominee have the experience, the judgment, the leadership, and the perseverance if ever called upon to assume the awesome responsibility of the presidency. I am confident my choice for the vice-presidency possesses all of those qualities and more."

The reporter who lost his bet leaned toward his colleague, and said, "Double or nothing it's Smith of New Hampshire."

Surmising that his wagering opponent had only a one out of three chance to win, the reporter responded, "You're on."

"Therefore, I present to you my choice for Vice-President, who I shall put forth at the nominating convention---Senator Catherine Wells of Illinois."

As Senator Handley stepped away from the podium, he extended his hand in a gesture for Senator Wells to approach the microphone.

Catherine stepped forward and scanned the crowd of reporters. She was dressed in a navy blue skirt, white blouse, and a navy blue blazer donning her navy blue tam to match her outfit. Her exquisite good looks were complimented with a pearl necklace and matching pearl earrings. Senator Wells was absolutely striking on television. She possessed sparkling green eyes, a trim picturesque figure, and shapely legs, which she showed unashamedly in dresses designed specifically to accentuate her attributes. She had a movie star's hauntingly good looks while she also possessed the sharp mind of a seasoned politician.

Those back in Illinois who underestimated her because of her appearance found they had made a serious mistake, and were soon looking for another career, as she ate up her opposition with well thought out arguments in articulating her position on the issues.

"First of all, I wish to thank Senator Handley," she said, as she turned and nodded in his direction, "for his confidence in my abilities to select me as his choice for Vice-President."

Catherine paused and glanced around the room of reporters to be sure she had their full attention, and continued.

"As Senator Handley stated, we live in very dangerous times, and I can say with assurance, having worked beside Senator Handley in the Senate, that he is up to the task. With his experience, with his knowledge and understanding of world events, he is uniquely qualified to lead our country in the right direction during these challenging times."

Catherine paused again. She was not reading from any notes and she continued to maintain eye contact with her American audience through the television camera.

"Of course there is much work to be done before our party selects a candidate for the fall election. But I am confident, when the delegates to our national convention closely examine all of the candidates, they will arrive at the same conclusion I have. Senator Handley can win in November. I look forward to our task at hand, and I also look forward to running by Senator Handley's side in the fall campaign. Thank you very much."

Immediately upon concluding her remarks, many of the reporters instantly pulled out their cell phones to contact their editors to advise them they had a major story to file for the evening news.

The reporter who had lost the bet pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slapped it into the outstretched hand of his colleague. The winner of the wager smiled, and said, "And now we're all gonna scramble to contact the other four candidates and ask them their choice for Vice-President."

"Yep," the loser of the bet agreed, "no one's going to be asking the other candidates about the issues now."

His colleague nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and the field of possible VP's just got reduced by one. They'll all be scrambling to name their choice before the VP pool is reduced any farther."

"And there's one thing more I'll be scrambling to learn."

"What's that?"

"Trying to come up with one thing this VP candidate did while in the Senate."

Chapter 22

The next day the city was abuzz as political experts weighed in with their take on the choice of Senator Wells. The television cable news shows hosted Washington's most vociferous talking heads giving their opinion, while talk radio chattered with the incessant ramblings of dozens of self-proclaimed political experts either exhorting or decrying the pros and cons of Catherine Wells. While the media vied for the opinions of Washington's most experienced and learned political minds, Senators Handley and Wells grabbed a taxi and headed for an early dinner.

"The Copper Kettle," Senator Handley instructed the driver. As he turned to Catherine, he asked, "Have you ever been there?"

"No, I don't believe so."

"It's a nice place. It's located on the site of a former mansion on N Street off DuPont Circle," he informed her.

For the many tourists that visit the District of Colombia, the misnomer about DuPont Circle is that it's merely a traffic circle. It is in fact a rectangular area of Washington, D.C. bordered from Florida Avenue on the north to M Street on the south and it extends east and west to 17th and 22nd streets respectively.

The senators opted to dine under the grape arbor in the courtyard, and as they were led to a table, Senator Handley asked, "You like Mediterranean?"

"Oh, yes," said Catherine.

When Senator Handley nodded approvingly with a crooked smile, Catherine thought she caught a glimpse of the future. It was very subtle---an under riding current beneath that smile. Senator Handley's approval would be required on everything now.

A waiter brought a wine list which Senator Handley immediately began to peruse. "Do you prefer reds or whites?"

"Reds," said Catherine.

Lee nodded as he scanned the wine list, and offered, "How about a bottle of Pinot Noir? That's not too dry."

"Yes, that would be fine."

"Good. We can have a glass before dinner and enjoy the remainder of it with our meal."

Lee signaled the waiter, ordered the wine, and proceeded to get down to business without delay. "Let me bring you up to date where we're positioned in the campaign."

"Sure," Catherine urged him.

"Governor Moreland won over two thousand delegates at the time of his death. As you're well aware, all of those delegates are up for grabs. The situation was complicated after Moreland died because it was too late to get his name off the ballot, so, even from beyond the grave he reached out and garnered even more delegates and added to his winning total. It looks like this...

Governor Serena of New York has 538 delegates,

Senator McAuliffe of Florida has 510,

I have accumulated 425, and

Governor Crespi of Arizona has 241 delegates."

"That's amazingly close," Catherine noted the obvious.

"Damn close," Senator Handley emphasized, "and luckily Representative Ventura of Texas got zilch as far as delegates, because he came out too late to be on the ballot anywhere."

The waiter momentarily interrupted their discussion as he brought the wine and showed the bottle to Senator Handley who nodded his approval. After the waiter opened the bottle, the senator went through the ritual of glancing at the cork, nodding to the waiter its acceptability and observing as the waiter poured a small amount in his glass. The senator swirled the contents of his glass, took a sniff, a sip, and nodded to the waiter the wine met with his approval.

_God I hope I don't look that pompous when I order wine_ , Catherine thought.

"By the way," Senator Handley continued, "My staff and I agree that Ventura has no chance and that he's a non-entity with not a single delegate to offer," Senator Handley stated with a confident air.

Catherine smiled. "You never," Catherine smiled coyly. "After all, I didn't bring any delegates to the table for you."

"Are you kidding? It's the Moreland delegates I'm after and you're going to bring me a bunch of those. Besides, have you been watching the news? It's been one day, and McAuliffe and Serena are being inundated with one question---who are they going to name as their VP? Nobody cares about anything they're saying now. We took them all completely by surprise. Hell, just the look on their faces in trying to answer questions from the media will win us delegates," Senator Handley laughed. "Bradberry was certainly right about that. In fact, I'm going to keep him on the team. Of course, I have a chief campaign strategist but I'm keeping Bradberry on as a special advisor."

"Speaking of campaign strategists, whatever happened with Phillip Conrad? He used to work for you, didn't he?" Catherine asked without mentioning the strange conversation she had with the aging political advisor.

"Oh, that nut? Why do you ask?"

"Just curious because I heard he left your campaign rather abruptly."

"We had a disagreement---irreconcilable differences as they say in divorce court."

"I hope you don't mind me asking."

"Nah, I don't mind. I don't like giving the press the facts, but I can tell you. It was purely economics. The guy's an absolute nut case. He might have been great in his time, but he's not what he was. He advised that we needed to begin reducing the national debt but his methodology of paying down the debt was absolutely irrational," said Senator Handley, as he shook his head in bewilderment. "He made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Anyway, he went over the line. We were having a breakfast meeting in a conference room one morning and he brings the subject up again after we had already rejected his ideas the previous evening. The next thing you know he becomes a raving maniac. He starts throwing stuff across the conference room, anything he can get his hands on. I'll tell you, a delectable chocolate donut whistled past my nose, and well, after an outburst like that, I just couldn't keep the old man on any longer," he explained, as he felt a vibration on his hip. "Excuse me, just a second," he said, as he reached for his cell phone.

Catherine watched as he listened to the caller and a wide grin began to form on his face.

"No shit! That's tremendous! Thanks," he said into the phone and quickly flipped it closed.

Senator Handley grinned at Catherine. "Governor Crespi of Arizona just named Representative Ventura as his choice for VP."

"That's surprising. I thought Ventura would hold out until the convention."

"And that leaves McAuliffe and Serena, our real competition, and they have their balls dangling in the wind without a VP. They've got no chance and very few delegates. Crespi is just positioning himself for a deal at the convention. You ready to order dinner?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes, I'm famished."

Senator Handley motioned for the waiter. Catherine ordered the vegetable tagine with couscous while Lee opted for the lamb shish kebab cooked medium rare.

"You're not a meat eater?"

"Oh, I'm not a meat-hater...I just don't have it all the time."

Lee nodded approvingly but noticed she'd barely touched her wine. "What's the matter? You don't like it?"

"Oh, it's fine," said Catherine, who quickly steered the conversation back to the political arena. "So, have you considered what you might offer Governor Serena or Senator McAuliffe at the convention?"

"My staff is considering that issue as we speak."

"Well..." Catherine began, but did not proceed with her thought.

"No, please. I want your advice," said Senator Handley, as he leaned back in his chair. Catherine again thought she detected an attitude on his part from his body language despite his words to the contrary and she didn't believe he was receptive.

"I would suggest you don't offer either of them any deal," said Catherine.

"Why is that?"

"Because it wouldn't work," Catherine stated confidently.

Senator Handley's eyebrows arose in surprise, as he leaned forward in his chair, and gestured with a slight wave of his hand for Catherine to proceed.

"I doubt seriously either one of them would make a deal since they both have more delegates than you do going into the convention. They too are going after the Moreland delegates. They're certainly not going to step aside because you offer them some sort of deal, and since I'm your designated VP, there's nothing you could offer them now. If you offer them anything, it should be after the convention, after you have secured the nomination, when you'll need their help to get elected in the national election."

"Hmm," Lee emitted a breathy sigh, as he contemplated Catherine's thoughts. "I knew I was making a good political move in getting you on my side...I just didn't realize you were this astute."

"Well, we are a team," said Catherine, as she lifted her glass.

Senator Handley reached for his glass of wine as well, clinked glasses, and each took a sip of their wine though Catherine barely letting any of the liquid pass her lips.

When Lee set his glass on the table, he said, "That Washburn fellow, your Chief-of-Staff is pretty good, isn't he?"

"Yes, I have a very high regard for him. He's been with me for quite a while. He's a good man."

"He's visiting with my staff now. They're talking strategy this evening."

"Yes, I know," said Catherine. "They're going over our speeches, positions, and voting records so they can prepare a compatibility report for us."

"Yeah, we need to make sure we're on the same wave length. We can't very well have one of us saying one thing while the other has taken a different position on an issue. They'll see if there are any disconnects and what we need to do going forward. It's not urgent at the moment while we're still within our own party, but it'll certainly be important coming out of the convention. You'll want to be sure to run everything by my staff before you speak publicly on any of the issues."

"Of course," Catherine nodded in confirmation. She'd been waiting for that bit of instruction. She'd anticipated it as a necessary prerequisite in accepting the second slot and yet it sounded so very foreign to the politician who thought of herself as an independent.

When the waiter arrived to serve their dinner, they paused in their political discourse while he tended to them. When he finished and departed, Senator Handley continued. "I want you to contact what's left of the tattered Moreland campaign. Drum up support for our ticket, and cajole them. I want you to be a delegate hunter. Contact as many delegates as you can before we get to the convention to enlist their support," he said, as he began his dinner. "Mmm, this is good. You want to try some of this shish kebab?"

"No thanks. I'm fine."

Catherine's mind began to wander, and Lee noticed that she appeared distracted. "What is it? You suddenly look like you're a thousand miles away."

If the look on Catherine's face didn't tell her potential running mate she was considering a matter that caused her quite a bit of consternation, her words certainly did, as she stated, "There are a couple of things I need to tell you."

Senator Handley abruptly stopped eating and tossed his fork onto his plate, the metal clanging against the dish. A look of disgust crossed his face as he stared into Catherine's green eyes, which had momentarily lost their luster, but they conveyed to him Catherine should have informed him about something prior to accepting his offer.

"Oh, fuck! Is this going to be one of those conversations I should have had with you before I announced you as my choice?"

"I don't think you have to be overly concerned. Just a couple of things you need to know."

Senator Handley sighed deeply. "Well, I guess I'll be the judge of what I need to be concerned about. What is it?"

"The first thing I want to say is I don't want what I'm going to tell you going beyond our conversation here."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Catherine, nothin' we say will go beyond the two of us. What the hell do you think? That I'd stab you in the back? You think that would enhance my chances of winning?"

"I just mean it's confidential."

Senator Handley nodded in acknowledgment of the private nature, but said curtly, "Get on with it. Let's have it."

There was no way to ease into it, so Catherine simply came out with it. "I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant?" his mouth fell open in disbelief. For the past couple of months Lee Handley had thought of Catherine Wells as a widow that had gained the sympathy of a nation with the sudden, tragic loss of her husband. The passage of time had so connected Catherine to the circumstance of a grief-stricken widow that Lee Handley had subconsciously considered Bob Wells so long since deceased that he was dumbfounded by her surprising announcement. His astonishment was reflected in the question he asked.

"Son of a bitch, not a fuckin' sex scandal!" he shouted. "Who's the father?"

Catherine glared at him with an icy stare.

Lee momentarily glared back at her until the realization struck him. "You mean your late husband?" he asked incredulously. Lee shook his head in an effort to sort things out in the far reaches of his memory, while Catherine continued unabated in her cold, frigid stare.

"Well, uh, when, uh...?"

"I'm due in December," she replied flatly.

"Well I...uh...I just thought," Lee attempted to recover. "It just seemed like so long ago. Forgive me if I offended you," he said in a distant and unfeeling manner.

As Catherine's irritation with Lee's reaction began to ebb, she attempted to look at the situation through his perspective. "I know it's a bit of a shock."

"Yeah, to say the least," he agreed, as he reached for the bottle of Pinot Noir and replenished his glass. He took a large gulp, as he considered what Catherine had told him and worked out the time line between now and the coming election in November. As the shock of the news waned, Senator Handley analyzed the situation, but rather than finding himself calming down, the more he calculated the fallout, the angrier he became.

"What the hell did you mean you didn't want what you were going to say to me to go beyond our conversation this evening? Don't you think people are going to...," he abruptly stopped, as he caught himself speaking too loudly, and lowered his voice. "People are going to figure it out when you start to show, don't you think? It's not exactly the kind of thing you can keep a secret," he snarled.

"I planned on announcing..."

"Oh, well that's nice," he abruptly cut her off. "Too bad that thought didn't strike you before---you know--- like when I asked you to be my running mate."

"I am sorry, Lee, but I really think that..."

"Don't you realize what a field day the press is going to have with this? I know you, Catherine. I work with you. I respect you, and if I jumped to the assumption that Bob wasn't the father, what the hell do you think the press and the American electorate is going to do? Son of a bitch! I wouldn't put it past my opposition to start rumors that I'm the father. The fuckin' bloggers will destroy you, and I'll go down with you. Fuck!"

"You're not considering the upside, Lee."

"Upside, what upside?"

"It could very well work out to our benefit. For starters I could campaign..."

"Campaigning is not the not the problem. It's credibility dammit! Scandal! Laughing stock! That's what I'm concerned about here."

"Take a breath," Catherine said sternly, as she'd had her fill of his reproach and was not about to allow him to continue his ranting unabated. She gestured toward his glass. "Have another gulp of wine."

"Well, now I understand why you weren't drinking!"

"Now hear me out," said Catherine with authority though in a calm steady voice. "Yes, I would have to cut back on some of the travel, but I could campaign right up to Election Day. That's the first week of November, and I'd still have a month to go before the baby is due. I could make speeches and when I was finished I could waddle into the crowd," she smiled to lighten the mood, "and mix with the electorate."

"But with all the travel, speaking engagements, and lack of sleep, isn't something as grueling as campaigning a problem for a woman carrying a child?"

"Not in the sense that I wouldn't be able to campaign, though around the beginning of October I would have to cut back on my schedule, maybe even as early as September. I'd still be able to campaign, just not as much of it, as long as there are no complications."

"You have complications?"

"No, I'm only saying there is always a chance something could arise. Though I'm in great shape, I was injured early on in the pregnancy. I'm just saying it's a possibility of which you need to be aware."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're considering my need to be aware of your situation at this point."

"Do us both a favor and bottle the sarcasm," she commented at his facetious remark.

"Now, instead of concentrating on the down side, think about the upside. Consider how unique this would be. When's the last time a U.S. Senator gave birth?"

Lee shrugged his shoulders.

"That's my point. Women are generally past the child bearing years by the time they've been elected to the senate. That will change over time as more and more women get elected to national office, but for now..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean," interjected Senator Handley. He turned his gaze skyward, as if his thoughts were etched in the billowy white clouds that passed languidly overhead, and he spoke while he continued to stare upward.

"You know, you just might be right. This could work out really well---a vice-presidential candidate, a widow, because her husband was killed in a terrorist bombing, and pregnant by her deceased husband. God! That will get us a ton of votes!" he said wide-eyed and grinning, but as he lowered his gaze and looked at Catherine, he saw the mixture of repulsion and scorn on her face staring back at him.

"Oh, Catherine, you misunderstand me. I would never be so crass as to use this in our campaign. I wouldn't play politics with your personal situation. I was merely thinking out loud about how the voters would react to this. Besides, I wouldn't have to say a word, because it would be there for all to see. In fact, it would be better if our campaign didn't mention it at all, and not draw any attention to your pregnancy. It would be much better to let voters perceive it for themselves. So, honestly, I wouldn't say anything. You do believe me, don't you?"

When Catherine hesitated, Senator Handley reached out and took her hand in his. "I hope you don't think of me as heartless."

Catherine hesitated, but as Lee continued to hold Catherine's hand in his, she said, "If you don't want people or the press to jump to conclusions about us, perhaps it would be best that you not hold my hand."

Senator Handley awkwardly pulled away. "Oh, I didn't even realize I was."

"Hmm," Catherine mused.

"I am curious about something though."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Why haven't you told anyone? I mean, why haven't you announced your pregnancy? I thought women are proud of such things, overflowing with pride, but you, you act like you've got something to hide. Why are you keeping it a secret?"

Catherine shook her head mildly wondering if it were men in general who weren't aware of such things or just Senator Handley specifically but let his naivety go without comment.

"Well, actually, I did tell my Appointments secretary. She's a good friend, but I asked her not to say anything and my dad knows. Keeping it quiet for a while, well, it's a woman thing, Lee. As I mentioned, what with my injury, I'm very nervous at this point and I want to be sure my baby goes full term."

"Oh," the senator nodded tentatively. "I'm almost afraid to say this, but you mentioned there were a couple of things you wanted to tell me...what's the second thing?"

Catherine chuckled. "Don't look so serious. The next one won't be nearly as traumatic for you," she said, as Catherine proceeded to relate her meeting with Adila Mohammed and what was about to occur at the Turkish/Syrian border and hopefully catch on in other countries throughout the Mid East. She filled him in on all the details as she knew them, and informed him she'd been invited to attend.

Lee Handley listened attentively and did not interrupt, and he was very careful not to let his demeanor change, though inside his blood was beginning to boil, but so as not to divulge his irritation, when Catherine was finished, he asked, "Which way are you leaning?"

"I must say I'm considering it, but I haven't made up my mind as yet. As far as our campaign goes, well, that hasn't actually started yet, and I'd only miss a couple of days anyway. I'd just fly into Turkey, show my support for their cause, and fly back. It very well might give our campaign an international air. As I'm sure you'll agree, being experienced and involved in foreign affairs never hurt any campaign."

"Presidents make foreign policy, not senators," he said curtly.

"Well, of course, and I wouldn't presume to...I would merely be showing my support for a cause."

"For someone who hasn't decided, it certainly sounds like you want to do it," he commented through a cold stare.

"You look like you have a problem with it," Catherine noted.

"I need you here, to contact delegates, to make those calls," he said, as he fought back the anger that was surging within him.

"That's not a problem. I could call the delegates from the plane, both going and coming back, since they are now allowing cell phones on international flights. It's not imperative that I remain in Washington to make those calls. I really think that it wouldn't be a problem. It would also make us look real good in the eyes of the delegates---as I said---foreign policy wise."

"It wouldn't make us look good in the delegate's eyes," he glowered at her. "It would make you look good!"

Catherine was so taken aback by Senator Handley's comment her entire body abruptly straightened rigidly in her chair.

"Lee, that's not it at all," Catherine protested.

"Isn't it?"

"Absolutely not and I vehemently take offense at you saying anything to the contrary. I would never try to out flank you or try to employ one-upsmanship against you on anything. Look, if we're going to be a team, we have to trust one another, and I'm distinctly getting a message this evening you don't trust me at all, and quite frankly I resent it."

Lee Handley debated within himself, if he should reveal his foreign policy plans to Senator Wells without having yet won the nomination and the general election beyond that. In Catherine's indignant response he did think that she'd been right about one thing. He didn't fully trust her. Lee had always thought of Catherine Wells in a sense as the golden girl of the United States Senate---lovely, intelligent, and a winner---but he resented her because everything seemed to come so naturally, so easily to the stunning Catherine Wells.

Lee had always been jealous of Catherine from the moment she ascended the steps of the Capitol and took her place on the hill as one of the senators from Illinois. Almost immediately, whenever an issue confronted the U.S. Senate, the news media, especially television, sought her out for her opinion, much more so than other legislators. Lee felt it was unwarranted and believed that it was simply because of her looks, because she always appeared so attractive and photogenic on television. He resented she was singled out for her views so often above so many other senators, him especially. For all her rhetoric, Lee Handley didn't think that Catherine's reading of the issues was particularly insightful, and that her stance on those issues somewhat less than courageous. Though he had never revealed his true feelings about her to fellow members of the senate, he knew instinctively there were a number of other senators who resented her as well because egos run deep in the well of the U.S. Senate. During Catherine's eight years in the chamber Lee Handley had held his true opinion of her in check. Though anyone from the opposition party is fair game, a good politician never lets people of his own party know if he really detests them, because one day he might need them. Since he and Catherine had never opposed each other in the electoral primary process, there was no reason to divulge what he really thought of the attractive Illinois senator.

Now, as Senator Handley considered the situation before him, he decided he would not reveal his true feelings toward Catherine as no good would come of it. He had already asked her to be his running mate, she had accepted, and it had been announced. Like it or not, they were joined at the hip from this point forward. He didn't wish to alienate her, but he was the one at the top of a possible Handley/Wells ticket. He felt he had no choice but to make it very clear to Senator Wells who called the shots, because he didn't want her traveling in the Mid East.

He finally ended the long, uneasy silence. "The answer is an unequivocal no," he stated emphatically. "I do not want you going to the Mid East, not to Turkey, not to Syria, not to Israel, not anywhere," he said, as he put his forefinger and his thumb very close together. "We are this close to ending our reliance on Mid East oil. It will occur during the first administration of the next President and we can then, once and for all, end one-sided alliances. I don't want you going now. I don't want you going ever. I don't want you stirring things up because once I secure the nomination and I'm elected president I am going to change things, but it'll come from me, not you," he said with cold eyes.

Catherine grimaced, and shook her head. "I need to think about this, Lee."

"There's nothing to think about. I said no. Make no mistake about it. If I don't want you to go somewhere, then you don't go, and that's the end of it."

"Excuse me?" Catherine replied perplexed and affronted. Catherine was beside herself. She was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner and though livid on the inside, she opted not to show how angry she was.

"Look, Lee, if you think that you can say whatever you want to me then I don't know if I can really be the VP that you evidently need to have."

Lee Handley reached for his glass of wine, took a sip, and returned his glass to the table. He smirked at his senate colleague with the confidence that can only be cultivated through an arrogant life.

"Evidently, you've forgotten, Senator that you've already accepted the number two spot on the Handley ticket, and it's been announced. You've already made your decision. You have nothing else to consider. I call the shots. As number two on the ticket, you follow my lead. When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Get used to it," he said, as he arose from his chair, looked down upon the still-seated Senator Wells, and added, "You're not going on that trip to the Mid East, and nothing that you could say will change that."

He tossed his napkin onto his plate and motioned with his hand in the universal gesture of signing a check and pointed toward the front of the restaurant for the waiter to bring the dinner bill to him there.

As Senator Handley departed, Catherine shook her head, and muttered how it could have gone so sour so quickly. Lee Handley was like a rattlesnake that had been surprised without warning and he struck just as quickly as one of the poisonous desert dwellers. During their eight years in the senate, they never had anything close to such a spiteful exchange. She tried to give Senator Handley the benefit of the doubt. This was Catherine's first experience on a national ticket, even if that remained a remote possibility before the nominating convention. Maybe there were stresses, pressures, of which she was unaware. Maybe the head of the ticket has to show who the boss is because only one of them could be president. Maybe Senator Handley felt a need to set the tone from the outset, so that going forward there would be no misunderstanding as to who was in charge and what Catherine's role would be. If that were the case, however, she thought Senator Handley certainly could have handled it in a much differently. Perhaps it was his way of showing her that he was the one with the pair of testicles between his legs.

Catherine did come to the realization Lee Handley had been right about one thing. Catherine had indeed accepted the number two spot and it had been announced to the entire country that she was Lee's choice for Vice-President. Like it or not, Catherine had already said yes, and above all else she was a pragmatist. She realized she had no choice but to contact Adila Mohammed and respectfully decline.

Catherine checked her watch and sighed deeply. It was only 6:30 p.m. Since it was still early, and she had quite a lot of reading to catch up on, she decided not to retire to her Washington apartment but to take a taxi back to her senate office.

Chapter 23

When Catherine arrived back at her senate office, she felt so tired she decided to take a short nap, so she went to the clock on her desk and set the alarm for thirty minutes.

Maggie had stayed late this evening as well because of all her work, but she was downstairs in the cafeteria presently breaking for dinner. She was absorbed in her book seated alone at a table against the wall where she could read undisturbed, away from the cafeteria traffic.

Catherine lay down on her couch, closed her eyes and was more exhausted than she knew. She soon drifted out of consciousness unaware the mysterious William Grayson had stealthily entered her office. He stood at the doorway and scanned the senator's office on his first visit here. As most guests do, he too observed the array of volumes in the bookshelves. He saw the senator's desk and the iconic picture Lincoln looming behind it and he observed Senator Wells asleep on her couch below the wall of pictures.

He grabbed a chair, brought it to the couch, and sat down. He knew Senator Wells needed her rest, not only physically, but emotionally, as she had spent many sleepless nights during her recuperation in Chicago. The emotional loss of her husband had taken a great toll on her to say nothing of her own physical injury. Now, she was even weaker because she was carrying a child. As he gazed down upon her he was pleased to see she found the restful peace so essential to her well being.

William glanced upward at the pictures on the wall and something struck him as curious. He wondered why the senator didn't have a single picture of a woman she admired. He thought maybe it was because she was in a man's world. Though there were plenty of women in politics nowadays, they were still very much in the minority. The senate itself was presently composed of fourteen women while seventy-seven women were counted amongst the 435 legislators in The House of Representatives. Anyone can do the math and figure how low those percentages are in relation to the general populace. William wondered if perhaps the pictures were not so much for her, but for others who visited her office. Whatever the case, they were all heroes, some of whom were generations ahead of their time. William was also struck that none of them had died a natural death. He made a mental note to ask Catherine about this wall of pictures one day, but not now. This evening was for another matter.

William reached into this pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, inhaled deeply and exhaled. As the smoke rose toward the ceiling, it quickly dissipated, and he looked down upon the resting senator compassionately. As he watched her steady, soft breathing, he smiled tenderly for these infrequent moments of peacefulness for her. Invariably, upon awakening, her heartache would return, as two months is hardly sufficient to overcome the pain of losing a loving husband. William wished he could melt away her pain with a mere wave of his hand but lamented that was not within his power. William wanted to let her continue to enjoy these fleeting moments of serenity and he regretted his assignment required he disturb her tranquility.

William grimaced slightly, as he leaned over her, and whispered softly.

"At some time or another Senator, every politician approaches a crossroads where ambition and conviction intersect. Sadly, many politicians don't recall the point at which they ceased representing the people and began representing the interest of others. For some it happens quite early...sometimes even during their first campaign. For others, it occurs later, but inevitably every politician arrives at that point," he explained.

"You're at that crossroad Catherine Wells and the direction in which you proceed is entirely your choice."

When Catherine emerged from her slumber, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sensed the presence of someone watching her.

She gasped...shocked to see herself face to face with the mysterious Mr. Grayson.

"How did you get in here?"

He smiled tenderly, and replied, "Does it really matter how?"

"Who are you?"

"I've told you who I am."

"You know very well what I mean! You lied to me! You're not a member of the Virginia delegation."

"Actually, what I said was...I wish to speak to you on behalf of the Virginia delegation. You assumed I was with the Virginia delegation, though I must say I'm very partial to Virginia. That's where I'm from, you see, and in my time loyalty to one's state was a very big thing."

"I could have you thrown out of here in three seconds!" Catherine yelled.

"I seriously doubt that," he replied matter-of-factly.

"What do you want?" Catherine repeated in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything less than a command.

"I thought it was high time we met again but the ball is in your court, Senator."

She looked at him with steely-eyed contempt, glanced at the rising smoke from the cigarette, and yelled. "Put that out!"

William raised his hand, the cigarette between two fingers, and said, "This isn't going to harm you. After all, it's not exactly real," he said, as he took a long drag and exhaled a large volume of smoke directly at the smoke alarm. When the alarm failed to respond, he merely said, "See."

Catherine eyed him with a cold, icy stare. His very presence in her office angered and offended her, and his self-assured attitude only served to infuriate her all the more.

"Whether you believe it or not," he said calmly, "whether you accept what I have to say, I am here to help you."

"I don't know what you're talking about but I certainly don't need your help!"

"Ah, but you do, Senator. You need my assistance at this moment in your life more than you could possibly imagine for in your ambition to become Vice-President of the United States you have blocked out everything you once held dear."

Catherine had enough bantering. She arose, walked to her desk, picked up her phone, and hit the button sending an alarm that automatically alerted capitol security with the location of the call. As she set the phone back in its cradle, William Grayson smiled gently, strolled over to a chair in front of the senator's desk, and casually sat down. Perhaps to infuriate the senator further, he continued to enjoy his cigarette without concern that security was on its way.

Catherine wondered what this man's game was, but whatever he had in mind she knew it would be over in a matter of seconds. William Grayson looked back at her with his gentle eyes unperturbed as he waited patiently for the security personnel to arrive. Catherine thought he was completely out of his mind as he sat there seemingly resigned to the fact he would be taken away any moment.

William dragged a last puff from his cigarette, and asked, "You wouldn't happen to have an ashtray, would you?"

Catherine eyed him coldly without reply.

"I thought not," he said, as he flicked the butt into the air and Catherine's eyes widened in amazement at what she saw---the cigarette inexplicably vanished into thin air.

"Nice trick," she said sarcastically. "Been waiting long to show off that slight of hand?" she asked, just as three armed security guards hurried into her office.

William Grayson arose from his chair, walked slowly toward the armed guards and mockingly crisscrossed his wrists in a gesture for them to put him in handcuffs. But, as the security guards approached, Catherine was stunned when they walked right through Mr. Grayson as if he wasn't even there in form and substance.

Catherine gulped in disbelief.

One of the guards scanned the senator's office with his eyes, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and asked, "Senator?"

Catherine had just witnessed something she never would have imagined possible and was momentarily unable to respond. Her lips parted, her mouth opened, but no words came forth. She could still see Mr. Grayson. He was leaning against the doorway now, a crooked smile upon his face, as if he were telling her, _I told you so_.

"Are you okay, Senator?" asked the lead security guard.

"Uh...yeah...I'm okay," she stammered.

He responded with an upturned eyebrow as he continued to scan the senator's office.

"I'm sorry. I must have hit the wrong button."

The leader of the security detail, with a nod of his head, motioned for his subordinates to take a look around, while he continued to stare at the senator. Disbelieving what she said, he raised a finger to his lips in a gesture for her to remain silent. He pulled a small notebook from a pocket and gestured for her to write. Catherine picked up a pen, scribbled upon the paper, and handed it back to the young man.

He took the notebook from the senator and read...

_Honestly, I must have hit the wrong button_. _I'm okay_.

The security guard placed the notebook back into his pocket, and said, "False alarm fellas."

"I'm sorry," Catherine repeated feebly.

"Don't give it a second thought, Senator."

Catherine nodded as the security guards departed, while William Grayson chuckled as they walked past him and out of the office.

Though still incredulous as to what she had witnessed, Catherine snapped, "What are you laughing about?"

He continued in his laughter as the answer was obvious.

When Catherine scowled at him, he said, "I know what you saw can be a bit traumatic and hard to believe, but try to relax. Let's go back to the couch and sit down," he said, as he led the way. He sat down in the same chair while Catherine followed him and took a seat on the couch. He smiled at her as she sat down. "That's better. Now we can talk."

Catherine eyed him cautiously while she was still trying to fathom what had occurred.

"You know, I'm curious about something I've very much wanted to ask you," William began. "When you were in the depths, when you placed your hand on that lever, and you hesitated before M interceded, if M hadn't come along when he did, would you have pulled it?"

Catherine stared at him in astonishment. "That was a dream, a nightmare! You couldn't possibly know anything about that."

"Oh? Then how come I do?"

Catherine swallowed hard.

She was convinced the man before her could not possibly have known anything about what had happened in her dream. He couldn't know! She thought back and scanned her memory.

_To whom did she confide that dream_?

She thought maybe she was experiencing another nightmare. What she saw happen when the security guards arrived couldn't have been real. It had to be a nightmare! Catherine closed her eyes and shook her head, but when she opened her eyes, William Grayson was still seated in the same chair, the same gentle smile across his face.

Catherine shifted uneasily on the couch. "Who the hell are you, really?"

"That's a fair question, but you're considerably off on the location," he responded nonchalantly, impervious to the senator's demanding tone. "Though you saw me in the depths, I have nothing to do with perdition I can assure you," he said, as he looked up toward the wall adorned with pictures of the people she admired.

"These men here, they gave up a lot. Theirs was the ultimate sacrifice," he said, as he focused first on the picture of the three young men together. As he viewed it, his eyes began to mist. He swallowed hard, and said, "I agree with Adila Mohammed."

Catherine was shocked when he mentioned the woman who had visited her.

"She's right, you know. Adila is trying to change things. How the saddest of phrases---it is what it is\---ever made its way into the American lexicon I'll never know," he stated as he continued staring at the picture.

"These young men," he said shaking his head in sadness. "They wouldn't accept the way things were. They stood up against America's brand of terrorism. Just like today's terrorists the perpetrators wore hoods to cover their identity. They took husbands, fathers, and sons out of their homes, threw a rope around a tree branch, and lynched them---in front of their family. Then in their hypocrisy they attended Sunday services the next morning where instead of having their actions condemned by men of the cloth they had their hatred fueled by the bigoted spewing of racist pulpits. You were right to have these young men among the heroes upon your wall," he nodded in agreement. "You see terrorism is nothing new," he said, as he moved his gaze to the left, focused on another photo, and continued.

"Few people today truly understand how courageous this man was," said Mr. Grayson, as he stared at the picture of Anwar Sadat. "He was the leader of the largest Arab country in the Mid East, and he went to Israel in 1977. That was absolutely unprecedented for an Arab leader. That one gesture of traveling to Jerusalem conveyed an acceptance of Israel, of its people and its right to exist as a nation that no Arab leader had ever acknowledged. When Sadat signed a peace treaty with Israel, he signed his death warrant. You know the history. Oh, there are those who would say there were other reasons that contributed to his murder, but the fact is, the people of Israel are hated, and President Sadat was hated for making peace with them," said William with noticeable sadness in his voice. "And extremists continue to be consumed with undying hatred of the Jews. Make no mistake, if they got their hands on a single nuclear weapon America is not the place where it would be detonated. You see it really makes no difference where terrorists strike, whether it be a train in Madrid, a subway in London, the twin Towers in New York, or a busy intersection in Chicago, because their ultimate destination remains the same. The path of terrorists will always lead to Israel."

Though not realizing it, Catherine was listening attentively to Mr. Grayson.

"Oh, I've heard the argument put forth by some that America must win over the hearts and minds of extremists. To me that is nothing more than rhetorical crap," he said, without raising his voice. Though he was speaking calmly, Catherine could see his words came from deeply held beliefs.

"It's not the responsibility of America to win them over. It's not China's; it's not Japan's; it's not Germany's; it's not Britain's, not the responsibility of France or any other nation on earth. The accountability of the actions of terrorists rests...elsewhere.

William paused. He offered no further explanation as he paused and looked a little farther to his left and studied the face of Robert Kennedy. William saw Senator Kennedy's steely blue eyes and the soft features of a compassionate man. "I read the story your father wrote about him. I liked it," he nodded with a tender smile. "I thought your dad captured the essence of Robert Kennedy and what he stood for. America was terribly cheated when he was taken. He too was gunned down by a terrorist, a Palestinian killed him because of Kennedy's unwavering support of Israel," he said, as turned to face the Catherine.

"Terrorism as a tactic has really been with us for quite a long time you see. We simply didn't recognize it as such. Are you starting to see a pattern here, Senator Wells?"

William Grayson then gazed upon President Kennedy's picture. "You have the Kennedy brothers on your wall, Mrs. Wells? You don't have Jack's leadership skills," he said, "and you certainly don't have Bobby's compassion and heart."

Catherine was feeling melancholy as Mr. Grayson made his comments, and she replied softly, "Are you here simply to tell me my shortcomings?"

"My point is this. Have you ever wondered why terrorism struck against America? A history professor such as you should grasp the big picture."

"Why don't you paint it for me," she snapped.

William shrugged his shoulders. "If I must, but let us continue the tour of the wall of heroes first," he said, as he stared at the picture of Dr. King. "You're a United States Senator and you could introduce legislation, or make a speech on the senate floor to address what needs to be done on the African continent. You could, but you haven't. With your indifference towards what is happening in Africa you mirror the majority of the American people. You really shouldn't have Dr. King's picture on your wall. It's not only disrespectful to him, but it's also quite hypocritical of you."

Catherine swallowed hard, as she remembered her conversation with Phillip Conrad who said something similar.

William Grayson looked at another picture, the one of former Israeli Prime Minister, Itzhak Rabin. "Since you're about to decline Adila Mohammed's request of supporting I.M.A.T., whose sole purpose is to stop the violence, you shouldn't have Rabin's picture up here either," he declared. "He too was killed by one his own people for seeking peace and this courageous man doesn't belong on your wall."

As William commented on each picture, Catherine felt like she was on trial and a judge was reading an indictment against her.

"You won't need a picture of Mahatma Ghandi on your wall, since you have no intention of joining Adila and emulating the peaceful protest that Ghandi represents. What was that you said to her? Oh yeah, 'A march is for college kids who have nothing better to do.' I believe that's an accurate quote. I wonder if Ghandi turned over in his grave at that utterance."

Ghandi's was the last of the pictures on the wall, as William turned and gazed across the room to the one that hung prominently behind the senator's desk. "Ah, Lincoln, he was involved in the worst kind of war when citizens fight against their fellow countrymen. After years of bloodshed, Lincoln could very easily have chucked it all and said screw it, no more killing, no more killing ourselves. Did you know that as many Americans who died in the Vietnam War were killed on single weekend at Gettysburg?" he asked rhetorically, as he shook his head in bewilderment. "Yeah, the pressure on Lincoln to stop the bloodshed must have been enormous. He could have told the South go ahead, breakaway, secede so we can stop the killing. Well, I'm fairly certain you can remove his picture as well, because you certainly don't have his perseverance."

William Grayson suddenly paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled in a regretful sigh. He had never raised his voice the entire time he'd been speaking but he was shaken nevertheless. It was as if the face of Lincoln and all of those pictured had brought back terrible memories, as if William Grayson had been there himself with them when they were killed.

It gave William no joy to speak to Senator Wells the way he did. He took yet another deep breath, and as he looked back upon the wall of pictures, he stared again at one in particular. This time he stood up and reached for it. He took care to handle it gently as he took it down being careful not to let it fall from his grasp. Few who ever visited the senator's office had recognized the three young men pictured in it.

Catherine took a gulp of air into her lungs, her chest heaving, as she looked upon the very young faces of Michael Schwerner, aged 24, Andrew Goodman, 20, and James Chaney, 22.

"It must have been dreadful for them," William stated with great sadness. "They were so young, so idealistic, and though together, so alone. I can't imagine how frightening it must have been for them traveling in an unfamiliar part of the South, on a dark country road, late at night. It must have been ghastly when they were stopped---all the worst nightmares they had ever experienced in their youth rolled up into one horrific, evil night."

Catherine hung her head and her eyes moistened as she remembered they were simply trying to change things, dedicated to non-violent action against racial discrimination. After missing for six weeks, the murdered bodies of the three civil rights workers were found buried in an earthen dam near Philadelphia, Mississippi.

"You know, senator, a lot of people consider you a heroine for surviving that terrorist attack in Chicago," he said, as he clutched the picture of the three young men to his chest. "As for me, I don't think you should get a whole lot of credit heaped upon you just for walking down the street at the wrong time. What do you think, Senator? Are you a heroine?"

Catherine neither replied nor lifted her gaze.

"Well, I hope you find out who you are one day. In the meantime, would you mind if I take this picture with me? I just don't have the heart to leave their picture with you," he said, as he abruptly turned, walked out the door, and exited the senator's office.

Catherine covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Before Bob had been killed, the last time Catherine had cried in earnest was when her mother died. She had always been a strong-willed woman, but now, with Bob gone, tears welled up in her eyes often these days. She cried mostly in the dead of night when she was alone. And now, this nightmarish conversation with a man whose purpose she couldn't understand. She pulled a Kleenex from a pocket and wiped the moisture from her eyes and cheeks. Exhausted, she lay back down and soon drifted once again into a deep sleep.

"Catherine, are you okay?" she heard, as a hand touched her arm. "Are you okay?"

Catherine opened her eyes. It was Maggie.

"I...uh...I must have dozed off."

"I'll get you some water," said Maggie, as she raced toward a small refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of water, and hurried back. She quickly unscrewed the top and handed the bottle to the senator. "Here, it'll make you feel better."

Catherine nodded, "Thanks." She brought the bottle to her lips and took a plentiful drink.

Suddenly, the alarm clock on the senator's desk sounded. Catherine immediately looked at her watch. The thirty minutes had elapsed, and, she contemplated what had occurred.

"Oh God," she muttered.

"What?" Maggie asked.

Catherine shook her head. "Nothing, I just had another nightmare."

Maggie looked at Catherine with compassionate eyes. "It's no wonder with all you've been through," said Maggie, as she glanced upward, did a double take and asked, "What happened?"

Catherine turned around and was shocked to see all of the pictures had been turned around to face the wall and there was a blank space were once one had hung.

"One of them is missing," Maggie blurted out.

Catherine swallowed hard, but did not offer any comment. Instead, she composed herself as best she could, and asked, "What are you still doing here, Maggie?"

"Just like you, I have a lot of work to catch up on."

"Oh," Catherine nodded.

"Are you feeling a little better?"

"Yes, thanks."

"You're starting to look better. You're getting some color back. It must have been one helluva nightmare because you were as white as a sheet," said Maggie.

"Hmm," Catherine muttered, and added, "I didn't see you when I came in," said Catherine.

"Oh, I was in the cafeteria getting some dinner and reading my history book and you wouldn't believe the coincidence I've been reading about in that book."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you all about it, but first I'm going to fix us both some tea."

"Mmm, that sounds good...need any help?" Catherine offered.

"No, you relax. I'll just be a couple of minutes."

Chapter 24

As Catherine sipped the tea, the warm liquid felt soothing. "How late are you planning to stay?" she asked.

"Oh, not much longer," Maggie replied. "It's a funny thing about taking a break for dinner. Once I do, it's difficult for me to get back into the grind. I can't tell you how many times I've gone to the cafeteria to get some dinner with the intent of coming back and then just heading home after I've eaten."

Catherine nodded with a smile. "We all have to push ourselves," she said, as she began to chuckle. "After all, why do you think I was napping?"

Maggie joined the senator in some momentary joviality and then asked, "Is everything okay with your pregnancy?"

"Oh, yes, thanks, though I'm sure that's why I'm so tired."

"Never been through it myself," said Maggie.

"So, what about that book, are you actually getting interested in a history book?"

"I'll say!" Maggie confirmed, as she took a sip of her tea, and began. "There's this guy who was commissioned as a lieutenant colonel in the Revolutionary War, and he was aide-de-camp to George Washington and later was promoted to full colonel. After the war, he's appointed to be one of the delegates to the state convention that is to decide on the ratification of the Constitution. I didn't know that by the way."

"What?"

"I thought once they wrote the constitution in Philadelphia that it was in effect."

"Oh, no, the constitutional convention in Philadelphia decided it would take affect only after nine of the thirteen states ratified it, so the states, in turn, selected delegates to a state convention to decide the matter."

Maggie nodded. "Okay. Well, that's what this guy was---one of those state delegates. Now, originally, he's in favor of a constitution when he wrote to James Madison that the Articles of Confederation were too weak," said Maggie.

Catherine glowed with pride. "You know, as a history professor I feel all warm inside you're enjoying that book."

"That's the hot tea taking affect, senator," Maggie deadpanned, as she continued, "Anyway...do you remember the Northwest Ordinance?"

"Is this a test?" Catherine laughed.

"Yes!" Maggie retorted.

"Well, okay then. The Northwest Ordinance addressed the disposition of land in the Northwest Territory, as it was known at that time, and resolved that five states were to be carved out of that territory."

"Yes," Maggie confirmed, "as soon as a population reached 60,000 in each state and which five states that were eventually formed?"

Catherine smiled warmly and appreciatively, "You do know how to make me relax, Maggie. "Let's see, the Northwest Territory," Catherine mused, "that would be Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, and, uh... "

"Ohio."

"Hey! I would have gotten it," Catherine protested.

This exercise in trivial pursuit was fun for Catherine and laughter was very much missing in her life. Catherine reached out and touched Maggie's hand. "I can't tell you how much I've needed this. Thanks, Maggie."

"Don't thank me yet, Boss," said Maggie behind a wide grin.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'll see...next question. What was the big issue concerning the Northwest Ordinance?"

"Oh, that's an easy one," Catherine beamed. "It was slavery. The question was whether to allow slavery or to prohibit it in what would eventually become those five states."

"Right, and?"

"And slavery was to be prohibited in all five of the future states."

"Right...," Maggie flipped the book over temporarily to note the name of the author on the binding, "and according to John Fiske, the vote to prohibit slavery was unanimous. And no one was more active in bringing about this result than the same man who a few years later gets his eyes on the constitution and comes out against it, because he thinks the convention in Philadelphia went too far and granted the federal government too much power."

"A lot of people thought that," Catherine laughed, "and a good number of folks still think so now. I'll tell you, it was a close vote to ratify the constitution."

"Well, even though this guy was a southerner, from Virginia, he was the same guy who was against slavery in the Northwest Territory. Hold onto your teacup, Senator, his name was William Grayson."

Catherine's eyes widened in disbelief, "You've got to be kidding."

"No!" Maggie retorted leaving no doubt she was serious. "After the Constitution was ratified, none other than George Washington himself convinced William Grayson to be a legislator in the new Congress of the United States, even though Grayson had opposed the Constitution as an anti-federalist. Since Washington was a federalist and a proponent of the Constitution, it demonstrates how much Washington respected his former aide-de-camp. Washington wanted him in the Congress because he knew him to be a good man. So, William Grayson became a member of the senate."

"Hmm," Catherine mumbled.

"And since he was a member of the senate I figured his picture would be on the senate website."

Catherine's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you saying exactly?"

"When I came upstairs after dinner, I downloaded it. It should be on my printer right now."

They both arose and moved quickly to Maggie's desk where she pulled the picture from the printer and handed it to her boss.

When Catherine eyed it, her mouth dropped open. Her mind flashed back to Orno's restaurant where she first saw him, to Michigan Avenue where she thought he was across the street, to the Atwood Café where she thought she saw him strolling along the sidewalk, to seeing him in her nightmares, and the visit in her senate office just moments ago.

With a sense of awe sprinkled generously with a helping of skepticism, she examined the photograph closer. There was no mistake. This was the man she had seen and spoken to.

Catherine handed the picture back to Maggie. She didn't pretend to understand it, as she began to think out loud. "It's got to be genetic. I mean the man who spoke with me is simply some great, great, great grandson of the man pictured here. It's got to be that, because he's the spitting image of the former Mr. Grayson. He's got to be some kind of relative, the same DNA. There can't be any other explanation. I mean, what else could it be?"

Maggie shrugged and shook her head. "Beats me, but I'm damn sure of one thing."

"What's that?"

"This isn't some colossal coincidence, and it's no phantom either. Somebody rearranged those pictures in your office and took one of them as well."

Senator Wells nodded her concurrence while her mind continued to race to examine other possible conclusions.

Chapter 25

For a welcome change Catherine slept well and much to her delight awoke well rested and refreshed. Catherine immediately put William Grayson on the backburner as she prepared a small breakfast of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast while she considered her options as Senator Handley's running mate if they were nominated. He had most assuredly been correct that Catherine had given him her word to run as his vice-presidential choice, and it had been announced.

After she ate, Catherine hailed a taxi and got on her cell phone without delay. She had made her choice. She contacted the various Party State Chairs whose phone numbers she'd had loaded into her cell phone long ago, and had her staff maintained updates---new names and numbers---as needed. In addition, she had the phone numbers of her party's governors and lieutenant governors as well as the mayors of major cities.

Catherine began with Party Chairwoman Allison Chambers in Maine who was in the same time zone. Catherine planned to work her way down the East coast, then contact those in the Midwest, and make her way to the West coast as the day progressed as the coast is three time zones behind her.

By ten o'clock in the morning, Catherine had conversations with no less than fifteen of the state party chairs, and she was now on the phone with Frank Ebersol, the state party chairman of Ohio.

"Yeah, I saw an excerpt of the announcement on the news. Whew! You two certainly took everyone by surprise. I've gotta hand it to you and Senator Handley. That was some kind of end run."

"Actually, it was solely Senator Handley's idea," said Catherine not bothering to mention the original premise originated with James Bradberry.

"Well, it was a stunning political move."

"What I wanted to say to you Frank..."

"Oh, I know why you've called. You want my support, Senator, but I'm afraid to say I'm simply not in a position at the moment to swing my influence your way. It's not that I don't like Senator Handley's candidacy, it's more a matter of pragmatism as to who would be best for Ohio."

"I understand, Frank."

"Don't get me wrong. I haven't endorsed anyone and quite honestly I don't foresee doing so before the convention. Here in Ohio we've got a lot of those Moreland delegates who are just in an awful fix as to who to support. I'm afraid they haven't made up their minds as yet."

Of course, Catherine knew Frank Ebersol was holding out for the best deal. He would obtain commitments from the candidates for whatever he could get for Ohio, weigh them, and endorse the candidate with the best package for his state. Additionally, the deals would not be limited to the state of Ohio. Individuals, whose careers Frank could enhance, would be included. Frank would receive his reward later, as those individuals he assisted would be ever grateful to Frank Ebersol.

Senator Wells didn't begrudge him that. She knew how the game was played. If she were sitting in the chair as the party chairwoman instead of the U.S. Senator from Illinois, she would undoubtedly do the same thing. Without the deal making, the convention would be a free for all, and could jeopardize the party's chances in November. Making deals with those who could deliver delegates was a necessity of political life, but Catherine knew she was in no position to offer anything at the present time. That would be Senator Handley's purview. The point of Catherine's telephone calls today was of ego and etiquette. She and Senator Handley wanted to acknowledge the really important people, which served the dual purpose of polite etiquette in conceding their importance and in stroking the ego of those with whom she conversed.

"Frank, I just want to ask you one favor...don't say yes to anyone until you contact Senator Handley to inform him what's on the table."

Frank Ebersol grinned widely into his phone. Frank always swam in the pool of self-importance, but now he waded into the pond of prominence. He was not about to commit to a deal with one politician before hearing if another candidate could match the offer. Catherine, of course, knew that too.

"Well, I think that would be very fair, Senator."

"Excellent. I appreciate that Frank, and I know Senator Handley appreciates it as well. You have a good day, Frank."

"You too, Senator, and thanks for calling."

Catherine flipped her cell phone shut, as the woman seated on her right turned to her, and asked, "You think you'll win?"

"We're certainly going to give it our best shot, but I'm merely making the preliminary calls," Catherine replied. "At this point no one will make any decisions. For now, it's enough for them to know we acknowledge the power they can wield leading up to the first vote at the convention. The calls that really matter are the ones to be made by Senator Handley. We're behind in the delegate count but not by much. I'd say our chances are as good as anyone's, Adila," Catherine smiled at her flying companion.

"More coffee, Ma'am?" asked a flight attendant moving down the aisle.

Catherine nodded in the affirmative, as Adila asked, "I'm curious. What was it that ultimately persuaded you to make this trip?"

Catherine smiled softly, thought for a moment of the proper way to phrase her reply, and responded, "I suppose more than anything else it was that little voice within all of us...the voice each of us hears from time to time. It simply wouldn't stop pestering me until I relented and agreed to go."

Chapter 26

Tom Washburn arose from his chair, stretched, and rubbed his face. He stepped away from his computer, strolled down the hallway to the senator's office, and peaked inside.

"Boss in yet?" he asked.

Maggie seated behind her desk looked up. "Not yet. How are you doing, Tom?"

"Me? The question is...how are you doing, Maggie?"

"Oh, not a hundred percent yet, but I can't complain."

"I gotta hand it to you Maggie. Nothing gets you down."

"Why the hell let it? It's not going to change things if I lounge around depressed all the time."

Tom nodded in appreciation of Maggie's attitude.

"Say, speaking of being depressed, I've always wanted to ask you something, Tom."

"What's that?"

"You were there in the ballroom the night of the Illinois primary."

"Yeah, not up on stage with the boss, but I was on the floor with the crowd of Moreland supporters."

"What was it like, emotionally I mean?"

Tom hesitated...taking a few moments to return to the context of that evening. He was not a campaign supporter of Governor Moreland, and he could therefore relate the events of that evening in detached objectivity. As he recalled the memories, he could still hear the echoes of that night...

The entire Moreland campaign was at the height of celebration that night, the jubilant cheers of ecstatic campaign workers accompanied by the heady, raucous enthusiasm of a shared purpose. They were all coming together in a mind-swimming boisterous conclusion of elated victory.

"As I think back on that night, I suppose the word that most comes to mind is surprise in the manner in which the shock wave moved through the ballroom. It wasn't like a monstrous tidal wave overwhelming those in its path as one might expect. On the contrary, the news moved as a weak ripple, trickling from one person to the next, as it washed over the throng of unsuspecting supporters. Those near the front with a clear view of what happened informed the people behind them. They in turn told others standing behind them, and so on. The news meandered its way like an old river throughout the crowded ballroom touching, informing some while completely bypassing others. You could trace the dissemination of the news by following the intermittent gasps of disbelief until it reached those in the back of the room. This despite the fact that television viewers saw firsthand what occurred and understood well before most of those at the scene had any inkling of the evening's tragic occurrence. When the tragedy occurred, each person was just as shocked and dumbfounded as..."

Tom was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone as he grabbed it and answered quickly. "Hello. This is..."

"I know who the hell you are!" came a voice screaming into his ear. "I'm the one who made the call. What I want to know is where your boss is," yelled Senator Handley."

"Oh, senator..."

"I've been calling her cell phone and I get no answer. I contacted her appointments secretary, Maggie Atwater, and she doesn't seem to know crap about where the Senator is. What's going on?"

"I uh...," Tom stuttered, as he glanced at Maggie.

"I really don't have the patience to play games, Washburn. Did she go on that Mid East trip?"

If Senator Handley could have seen Tom Washburn's face, he would have seen his instant surprise.

"Honestly, Senator, I don't know anything about..."

"Are you going to insult me by trying to tell me she didn't inform her Chief-of-Staff she was considering an overseas excursion?"

Tom Washburn hesitated, as he again glanced at Maggie. He didn't know what to say. Tom didn't know where Catherine might be, but wherever she was, he certainly didn't wish to add to Senator Handley's agitation.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Senator. Give me a few minutes to track her down and I'll get right back to you."

"I don't want you to get back to me, Washburn," he said in a dismissive tone. "I want the senator to call me," he said angrily, as he abruptly disconnected.

Tom stared at his cell phone while he shook his head in exasperation, sighed deeply, and angrily flipped his phone closed. "This does not have the beginnings of a very good day," he muttered, as he turned toward Maggie, and demanded, "Where's the boss?"

Maggie shrugged.

"You're her Appointments secretary and you don't know where she is?"

"Honest, I really don't know."

Tom was generally very polite, down to earth, and did not become submerged in the egotistical acrobatics of Washington politics. Capable of refraining from being caught up in the game of measuring one's manhood against another in the power structure of Washington, D.C. was by no means an easy task. Large egos in Washington are not limited to elected politicians. A very large portion of staff members also carry massive egos, which can be measured in direct proportion to their particular legislator's influence. It feeds on itself when a call is made, the caller identifies himself and for whom he works, and a door is opened without the necessity of flashing the intimidation factor. Conversely, doors are often closed for the reverse reason. Thus, whether they are conscious of it or not, a top aide to the Speaker of the House or the Majority Leader of the Senate walks the corridors of power in Washington showing everyone what large balls they have.

Tom frowned, took a deep breath, and exhaled an exasperated sigh.

"Relax, Washburn. Catherine called last night and instructed me to clear her calendar for the next couple of days. Said she was going out of town..."

"Where did she go?"

"She didn't specify."

"And you didn't...?"

Maggie immediately raised her hand. "The answer is no. I didn't ask, and the reason I didn't is because I've known the senator much longer than you have, Tom. If she wanted me to know, she would have told me where she was going, and then both of us would know because, as you are well aware Tom, I never keep any information from you," said Catherine over the top of her reading glasses.

"Hmm," Tom replied, beneath his upturned brow, muttered something inaudible under his breath, and exhaled another sigh. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, Maggie, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept. I just got reamed out by Senator Handley, and he seems to think that she's gone to the Mid East."

"Where did she go...which country?"

Tom shrugged. "It beats the hell out of me. Check the usual protocol for traveling senators and see if she took one of the military flights. If she didn't hop on one of those, check with the airlines. See what flights took off today to a Mid Eastern country and find out if our secretive boss was on one of them. After all, I'm just her Chief-of-Staff. Why the hell should she answer my call when she didn't take one from Senator Handley?"

As Tom pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial with the senator's cell phone number.

When Catherine felt the vibration of her cell phone, she looked at her caller I.D. She turned to Adila, and quipped, "I think the jig is up, though I'm surprised it took this long before my Chief-of-Staff tried to contact me."

Catherine hit the talk button, "Hey, Tom."

"Senator, where are you?" Tom asked urgently, foregoing the usual greeting of hello.

Upon hearing that Tom made contact Maggie returned her phone to its cradle.

Catherine hesitated before answering Tom's concerns. She glanced out the window of the airplane and saw it was a very clear day. With only a spattering of wispy cirrus clouds, she eyed the vast expanse of the blue Atlantic Ocean more than 30,000 feet below her. As she gazed at the great vastness of the open sea, she spotted the feint outline of an ocean liner that appeared as but a tiny spec, alone and vulnerable upon the open sea. From her perspective high above, Catherine could see the thin wake of the ship and thus could see it was heading in the opposite direction. She pondered the fact she was heading for a country she had never visited accompanied by a woman she had met only once in her office. Catherine began to experience some anxiety regarding the mission upon which she was embarked, and an uncertainty gripped her as to what lay ahead. But her doubts were momentary. An eastward heading had put her life on the correct course, though she wasn't as certain about her political career.

"Are you heading overseas, Boss?"

Catherine chuckled into the phone. "Could you narrow that down a bit, Tom?"

"You could make it a lot easier and save a lot of time by simply telling me..."

"I'm perfectly fine, Tom. There's nothing to worry about. Why are you calling?"

"Why? I'll tell you why. Because Senator Handley is mad as hell, and I couldn't tell him where you are. He said you're not returning his calls. Now I know that a good reaming out of your Chief-of-Staff by your future running mate isn't all that important in the grand scheme of things, but Senator Handley seems to think you're on your way overseas. Is that true?"

"Oh," Catherine smiled widely, "tell Senator Handley not to worry. You know, I've probably got him on my voice mail because I've been on the phone the entire morning talking to the various State Party Chairs. I've reached fifteen of them thus far, so do the math and you can see I've got a lot of calls to make yet, Tom."

"Your staff is concerned. We're worried about you, Boss."

"I'm all right, Tom, and I shall remain so."

"Then why won't you tell me or anyone else where you're going?"

"Sorry, but I have to get back to the campaign calls. You keep the faith and don't you worry."

"Senator, you can't keep this a secret..."

The connection was gone.

"Damn!" yelled Tom Washburn, as he slammed his cell phone shut.

Maggie looked up at him, and asked, "So where is she heading?"

"Beats the hell out of me," he shook his head bewildered as to what was happening. In his years with Senator Wells, she had never kept him in the dark about anything. They were a team. He thought she respected his views, and he believed he'd benefited her political career and earned her trust. Why now she opted to cut him out of the loop he didn't know, and it baffled him.

"Damn! Why does she have to keep it a secret? I don't get it! Make those calls to the airlines, Maggie. Find out what flight she's on and where she's heading, but whatever you learn, don't tell anyone! Not a soul!" he yelled, as he stormed out of the office and headed back down the hall.

As Maggie reached for her phone, the concern for her boss and her friend was visible on her face.

Chapter 27

By four o'clock in the afternoon, Washington time, Catherine had finished the last of her phone calls. She'd placed fifty calls and had contacted all but four of the State Party Chairs. Of the forty-six she spoke to, however, she received only two firm commitments and one of those was from Handley's home state of Missouri.

Catherine wasn't surprised by the fence straddling, as she hadn't really expected any of them to come out and announce their support. She'd made the initial contact and that was the main point at this juncture.

As a flight attendant was moving up the aisle, Catherine gestured.

"Yes ma'am?"

"May I have another glass of water?"

"Certainly, I'll be right back with that."

Chapter 28

As Catherine leaned back in her chair to relax she felt taking this trip was something she felt compelled to do.

_Yeah, that William Grayson did a real number on me and my conscience_. _I wouldn't be surprised if he was on this flight_ , she thought, as Catherine self-mockingly scanned the cabin momentarily, and was mildly surprised not to see him.

She turned toward Adila, and said, "I am sorry we haven't had any chance to visit."

Adila checked her watch, and chuckled, as she replied, "That's okay. We have plenty of time because we're only just a bit over half way there."

"So, what's the plan?" Catherine asked.

"Well, we're due to land in Frankfurt at eleven o'clock at night and we'll have two hours before our flight leaves for Istanbul, so we should be arriving in Turkey at five o'clock in the morning. From Istanbul we'll take an hour and a half flight on Turkish Airlines to Antakya, Turkey. It's a resort town on the Mediterranean coast. You probably know it by its biblical name---Antioch."

"Oh, yes, Antioch. In Roman times it was visited by St. Paul, wasn't it?"

"Yes, and visited by your St. Peter as well," Adila confirmed.

"Is that where you're planning the festival?"

"No, but it's very near there. We couldn't conduct our festival in Antakya because it's full of tourists and vacationing Turks this time of year, and it could not possibly handle the additional numbers we hope will attend our gathering. If we were to assemble and camp in and around Antakya, the government would most certainly intervene. They would shut us down as they definitely wouldn't let anything interfere with tourist dollars.

Anyway, Antakya is about twelve miles northwest of the Syrian border near the Orontes River where we will ultimately be encamping. From Antakya I have a driver waiting for us but within a couple of miles of our destination we'll walk the remaining distance along with the others who will be on foot."

"The logistics of such an undertaking must be an enormous challenge," Catherine commented.

"As I mentioned to you in your office, we have been planning this for over two years. The first year was the question of where to begin and with which country to start our endeavor. We share borders with a number of countries." Adila pointed out. "There's Greece and Bulgaria in the northwest, Armenia and Georgia on the northeast, Iran and Iraq to the southeast and Syria on the south. We first needed to determine if there were others in surrounding countries that shared our concern and our repulsion. To address the issue of terrorism, we knew we had to make a deep impression upon the world. For that reason we decided that it would be of no impact to enlist the support of women in Greece for example. We had to go right to the heart of the matter. Otherwise, what would be the point?"

"So, you chose Syria."

"Yes. When we spoke with mothers in Turkey we found there was overwhelming support for what we were attempting to do. They just needed encouragement to stand up against those who were abducting their religion...and their children."

"What kind of response to your march have you encountered in Syria?"

Adila shook her head. "I don't know what kind of a turnout we are going to see from the Syrian side of the border. During the second year of our planning we devoted ourselves to getting the word out in Syria and Turkey and getting organized---the food, the water, the shelter, and so on. I do know many are hitching what rides they can from villages and towns all over Turkey. Turkish women are hardy. Many left their homes weeks ago so they could arrive on the day we designated. Some will make it on time. Many others will not, but we are doing what we can to provide transportation."

"But Turkey is a huge country! How could they possibly..."

"Yes, nearly 800,000 square miles, but we are committed, Senator Wells. Islamic sons and daughters are killing themselves and others. This is a matter of life and death---our children's lives---and if we don't stop it now it will continue with our grandchildren."

Catherine nodded her agreement, as she took a deep breath and exhaled in a sigh. She looked deeply into Adila's eyes, and saw the steadfast devotion to her cause, her resolve, and the courage to face what unknown dangers may lie ahead. Catherine's admiration for the woman seated beside her grew with each passing moment.

"Tell me, Adila."

"Yes?"

"What's does your heart tell you? Do you think you'll be successful?"

Adila did not hesitate for a moment in answering. "I don't allow myself to entertain the possibility of not being successful. I am focused solely on succeeding. The stakes are too high to consider anything else. Also, there is no doubt in my mind that the women of Turkey are committed to it."

Catherine nodded in acknowledgment of Adila's commitment as well.

"I am however a realist and I realize this only the beginning involving Turkey and Syria. It may not be very dramatic in the eyes of the world that a few women march together to denounce the insidious hatred of terrorism. But in broad terms we are the mothers and we do aim to stop it," she said, as the muscles in her jaw tensed, and she continued. "For a woman of our culture to stand up against extremists, for them to shed the bonds of submissiveness, is a matter of enormous personal courage. It is contrary to what women have been taught and what has been ingrained in them all their lives. This is merely the genesis of what we hope to accomplish and I am both hopeful and optimistic that our cause will not end at the Syrian border."

Catherine nodded with understanding and with a gleam of admiration in her eyes.

"You'd better get some rest now, Catherine," said Adila. "After all, we do have a long way to go."

"That we do, Adila, that we do," said Catherine, as she echoed her sentiments metaphorically.

Catherine reached for a pillow, positioned it behind the back of her head, reclined the seat and closed her eyes.

After seven hours of flying, sleep came quickly to Catherine, but it was an uneasy slumber. Catherine's head moved back and forth restlessly against the back of the chair. The outline of her eyes rolled in a frenzied, frantic manner beneath her eyelids and into her subconscious sprang the words of Senator Handley...

"That nut?"..."Entering a battle with dementia"..."Disagreement"..."Economics."

In a deep sleep, words and phrases swirled around in Catherine's subconscious mind. Her brief respite soon became more restless as the remembrance of her discussion in a dilapidated bar with Phillip Conrad entered her dreams.

"The problem is the larger picture, Senator."..."Billions in foreign aid annually." ..."Pragmatic."..."My views don't matter anymore."..."Disagreement."..."Tried to steer in the correct direction."..."Disagreement,"..."Vehement,"..."Irreconcilable."..."I retired."

Catherine's head turned faster and faster against the pillow as the words and phrases from

Senator Handley continued.

"I don't want you going to the Mid East."..."Not to Turkey."..."Not to Syria."..."Not to Israel."..."Not anywhere."..."Once elected going to change things."..."ending our reliance on Mid East oil"..."Change things."..."end one-sided alliances..."Change things."

Catherine gasped and abruptly bolted upright in her chair.

Startled by the suddenness of Catherine's movements, Adila asked, "Are you okay?"

Catherine inhaled deeply, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad dream," Catherine explained, as she remembered a conversation with her dear friend, Barry Duberstein. Catherine had met Barry years ago when she was at DePaul. He was a fellow professor, and fully thirty years her senior. Catherine recalled when they first met that it was like they had been the best of friends all the years of their lives. The fact that Catherine was Catholic and Barry was Jewish was no impediment whatsoever to their friendship.

Catherine remembered an evening when they were out to dinner. They were discussing the religious right...born again Christians and evangelists...when Catherine made an off the cuff remark. "Well, at least they support Israel."

Barry became indignant, and huffed, "Born again Christians are no friends of Israel. They believe the end of days is at hand, because in 1948 the Jewish people took back Israel. The re-establishment of the Jews in Israel could pass as one of the tenants of their faith. They believe before their Christ will come again that the Jews must be in Israel. The born agains don't support Israel because it is the right thing to do. They support Israel because they think there's something in it for them," he stated vehemently.

Catherine recalled quite clearly how very agitated he was that night.

"Every generation has thought theirs is the one in which Christ will come again. That belief has been especially strong since establishment of the State of Israel. Born again Christians think they will magically ascend into heaven in the end of days, but non-Christians will not. They are the most profound hypocrites on the face of the earth," he nearly shouted.

Catherine reflected on Barry's comments now and realized they were almost identical to those of Phillip Conrad. Catherine recalled she was nearly dumbfounded by Barry's remarks that night so many years ago. But now she had finally put it all together, and muttered, "Oh, my God! That son of a bitch! Why did I say yes to that man?"

Chapter 29

Adila Mohammed walked up the steps of the wooden platform, while Catherine followed behind her, and as they reached the top, Catherine gazed out over the crowd. She looked out across the Syrian border and the Orontes River, which appeared to Catherine to be little more than an irrigation canal. The size of the crowd on either side of the border was not very large.

Catherine was disheartened that support for Adila's noble cause was so sparse, but, as Catherine looked toward Adila, she did not see any evidence of disappointment on her face. In fact, Adila's countenance reflected bright optimism.

Adila approached a microphone, and began to speak in Arabic to those who had gathered, while Catherine took a seat behind and to the right. As Catherine sat silently, she was careful not to let any expression of disappointment show on her face.

When Adila finished speaking, she turned to Catherine, and gestured with a wave of her hand for the senator to come forward. Catherine arose, nodded, and politely waved to the crowd and she was careful not to overdo it as this was not a political rally in America. The women who did attend had not come here to see Catherine Wells. It was a solemn cause that linked them together as women of the world, a bond between mothers.

As Catherine approached Adila, she the crowd had become quite hushed. Since there had been no translation to English, Catherine didn't know what Adila had said to them, but whatever she said appeared to have affected them deeply.

"I told them about you," Adila smiled gently, "about what a good and decent person you are, and that in act of unified symbolism you would carry the books across the border on our behalf."

Catherine acknowledged with an awkward smile and a nod toward the crowd.

"I hope you don't mind, but in case some of them were unaware, I told them how you lost your husband."

Catherine bowed her head. She didn't know what to say.

Adila outstretched her hand toward the microphone. "I'd like you to say a few words."

Catherine looked up at Adila in wide-eyed surprise.

"It will be translated. You needn't worry about that."

"You didn't mention anything about me speaking. I thought I was here merely for moral support. I haven't prepared anything."

"That's precisely why I didn't tell you in advance. I didn't want you to say something canned, prepared by some distant speechwriter."

"I don't think I can. I mean, I wouldn't know what to say to them. I told you I'd carry the books across, but I don't think I could say anything. You know the deep reservations I had about coming here."

"But come here you did, Senator Wells. Go ahead. Speak to them from your heart. Tell them how you feel."

Suddenly, the anger Catherine had kept bottled deep within her began rising to the surface. As her thoughts returned to Bob, she struggled to withhold her surging anger as she gritted her teeth. Finally, she relaxed her jaw.

"You're taking quite a chance, Adila. How do you know I won't indict them for the murder of my husband?"

"Whatever words you speak, I ask only that you mean what you say. Speak to them not as a politician, but as a widow, and as a citizen of the world," said Adila, as she stepped away and left Catherine standing alone at the microphone.

Another woman approached and stood beside the microphone. "I'll translate for you," she smiled tenderly.

Catherine turned and stared at the crowd on either side of the border. For those near the front, she could see the expression on their faces, the apprehension of not knowing what to expect. The crowd was hushed, as they waited to hear what this senator from the United States would say to them, the one who they had just been informed had lost her husband in a terrorist attack.

Catherine moved her gaze from one face to another as she slowly scanned the crowd. Those near the front could see the painful glint in the senator's eyes...a sadness some of them shared and fully understood.

Catherine felt her knees wobble and her hands shake. She glanced back at Adila who gave her a nod of encouragement to proceed. Catherine wasn't fully conscious of an outline of her thoughts, of how she would begin, and where her words would lead her. Instinctively, she wanted to lash out. She wanted to scold those mothers who sent their children to religious instruction clerics turned into dens of hatred. She wanted to lash out at those who would allow their children to be duped into murdering innocent men, women, and children because some demented cleric was clamoring for a jihad, and telling the youth of his country they would be martyrs in God's eyes.

Catherine then thought of someone else. She thought of the life she carried within her and how she wanted her baby to grow up in a safe and secure world.

All of this was flashing through Catherine's mind as she took a couple of steps forward and positioned herself a bit closer to the microphone, and began...

"I need not point out to any of you

that we live in very dangerous times,

when the insidious hatred of a few,

seeks to pervert a religion of the many."

Several in the crowd began to brace themselves for the verbal onslaught they feared was about to be unleashed upon them.

"But I must say how proud I am of you

of I.M.A.T. ---Islamic Mothers Against Terrorism.

And today, the world is watching

as you embark upon a very hazardous path."

When Catherine stated how proud she was of the women who had gathered, they looked upon the speaker on the platform with guarded optimism.

"Today, as you begin your journey,

what dangers lay ahead, no one can say,

for there will be those who will wish

that you do not succeed in your endeavor.

But the courage,

and the conviction

you are demonstrating today

will echo around the globe

and will be an inspiration

to mothers in every corner of the world."

The crowd gasped---for the first time breaking their hushed silence---their gasp not in fearful expectation of a litany of wrongs committed, but of hopeful anticipation.

"Today, you are united

as you stand against violence.

Today, you are united

as you shed the veil of silence.

Today---you reach out to the children of Allah

to voice your abhorrence

at the unspeakable acts of terrorism."

Catherine paused to scan the crowd. Her eyes misting slightly as she was about to share something with them very few people knew and her voice cracked slightly with emotion.

"Soon, I shall join you in the bond of motherhood."

Adila, from her seated position, looked up in surprise, and the crowd murmured at the senator's revelation.

"Whether I am blessed with a son or with a daughter

my child will grow up without a father.

Sadly, many children in this part of the world

share that same fate."

The audience bowed their heads as if in prayer.

"There is an ancient Chinese proverb

attributed to Confucius---

'people are the same everywhere,

only their habits are different.'

I believe the words of that wise man

for you and I share much more than motherhood.

You and I are connected in the bonds of human history,

and we embrace how very much alike we are."

Adila looked out over the crowd and saw an overwhelming number of bobbing heads displaying their agreement with the Senator from America.

"In the final analysis,

whether we believe in Judaism,

in Islam,

or in Christianity,

our common bonds

are what bind us together.

For whichever of those great religions

we carry in our heart,

we are united,

because each of us here today

are descendants of Adam and Eve,

we each claim Abraham as the father of our religion,

we each embrace the law of Moses,

and we are all children of the same God."

Catherine paused as she scanned the many faces in the crowd, and closed her remarks with well wishes.

"As you embark upon your journey today,

may Allah hold you close to his heart,

may He encourage your efforts,

and may M...uh...Mohammed,

stand by your side to keep you safe."

Slowly, Catherine stepped back from the microphone and gently whisked the back of her hand across her eyes to wipe away the moisture.

Adila reached for a package, and, as she stood up unwrapped the brown paper surrounding it, and approached the senator.

"That was wonderful, Senator Wells," she smiled affectionately, as she shook her hand.

Catherine nodded modestly.

"No matter how much you protested to me about speaking here today, afraid of what you might say in anger, I had faith in you. Like I said, I heard you speak once and I knew you would speak words of encouragement for what we are trying to do."

Catherine eyed Adila blankly.

"And don't worry about the size of the crowd," Adila added.

Catherine was taken aback at the mention of the low turnout.

"No matter how worthy a cause, it always begins slowly, just like a baby taking his or her first step, but before you know it, that first step becomes another, and another," she said hopefully, "and then they're off and running."

There was no applause for Catherine when she concluded her remarks and she felt she failed in reaching out to those who risked so much in being here. Nevertheless, as Catherine took the three books from Adila and descended the steps of the platform, a chant from the crowd began to arise from both sides of the border. It was very feint and Catherine couldn't make out what they were saying.

A government official at the border-crossing examined Catherine's credentials and allowed her to pass and Catherine walked down the road parallel to the Orontes River and crossed into Syria.

Slowly, the intensity of the chant grew louder as Catherine turned onto a narrow walking bridge that spanned the Orontes River. As Catherine crossed the bridge and approached a Syrian woman on the other side, the chant that began as a murmur grew louder and louder, and it intensified into a deafening crescendo of broken English...

Ca trin!

Ca trin!

Ca trin!

Ca trin!

Ca trin!

Chapter 30

On her return flight to America, Catherine made a side trip to stop over in Rome.

As she entered the Hotel Torino, she recalled the Torino's comfortable, air-conditioned rooms spread over seven floors, and she remembered with bittersweet fondness enjoying breakfast with Bob on the rooftop garden.

The refurbished four star Hotel Torino is situated in Rome's historic district just blocks northwest of the Termini railway station.

Catherine chose to stay at the Torino again, not because of its close proximity to the ancient ruins of the eternal city, but because it was within walking distance of another site she wanted to revisit.

After checking in and freshening up, Catherin dropped her key off at the front desk and exited the hotel. As she strolled out onto the sidewalk and breathed in the warm dry air, a soft Mediterranean breeze caressed her face. Catherine smiled within herself as she thought it wasn't simply the food, or the wine, or the Italian people that beckoned one back to Italy. It was something else, something more. Perhaps it's the way the molecules in the air interact with one another in this marvelous land on the Mediterranean...perhaps the way the air interacts with the wine and the food, but whatever it is, it tugs at your heart and pulls at your memories beckoning you to return.

Catherine stopped at a sidewalk ristorante for a leisurely dinner. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and a reddish-orange glow bathed the city of Roma in a colorfully tender embrace. Catherine ordered a glass of the house red wine, and would again limit herself to a couple of sips. She ordered Fettuccini with shrimp and broccoli, and as the plate of warm Fettuccini was placed in front of her, she savored the wonderful aroma. She detected the scent of garlic but it wasn't overbearing. On the side she had sliced tomatoes with mozzarella cheese sprinkled with fresh basil and olive oil, and some crusty Italian bread.

As Catherine enjoyed her dinner, she observed the people of Rome and the tourists as they strolled down the sidewalk and passed her table.

When she was finished with dinner, darkness had fully settled over the city and a million stars glittered above punctuating the darkened sky. After she paid the bill, Catherine walked north at a leisurely pace retracing her steps from that previous visit to Rome. In less than twenty minutes, Catherine reached her destination, and sighed as she approached the enchanting and captivating Trevi fountain.

In the darkened night sky the fountain was bathed in a soft, golden light that illuminated the fountain and stirred tender echoes of the past when she was here with Bob. A steady stream of water cascaded down the tiered fountain into the collecting pool below and flooded Catherine's mind with memories of a time gone by. She took a seat and proceeded to pull a coin from her purse, but as she raised her arm to toss it over her head, she hesitated when she realized that the old saying of a return to Rome hadn't worked for the one she loved. Slowly, Catherine curled her fingers around the coin and lowered her arm.

Was it just last summer I was seated in this very spot with Bob?

Their time together seemed so distant to Catherine. She glanced heavenward and observed the starry night. She knew that in Rome, by law, no building could exceed the height of St. Peters, and so there were no skyscrapers in the city. Consequently, there is less light pollution and the stars are much more visible here than they are in other big cities.

As Catherine scanned the evening sky of the twinkling stars, she recalled an ancient legend. It is said when a person lays down their life to save another, a star appears in the evening---one that had never been seen before. While Catherine's gaze focused upon a faint, distant star, she clung tightly to the coin in her hand.

Observing the scene several meters away was William Grayson. He turned toward the man beside him, and commented, "She's still in mourning, but she's going to be okay, Bob."

William could see the pain on Bob's face, the longing for the woman he loved. As Bob's eyes softly caressed his wife, an emotional lump arose in his throat, and he asked, "She can't see us, can she?"

"No. As it may have been explained to you, when you come back to visit, no one can either see you or hear you. At one time she used to be able to see me---in her mind's eye---but my assignment is completed now."

"So, you were that little voice within her?"

"Not always, just recently," William answered. "Your Maker thinks it's a good idea for a person to be challenged from time to time with a differing point of view. He didn't want souls to be limited to their own voice in the recesses of their mind. He thought that might not challenge them enough. Most of the time it is your own voice you hear but every now and then when He thinks a soul can use some assistance, He'll send someone. At this time in Catherine's life, he sent me."

"So, you're a time traveler, come to visit Catherine from the 1700's?"

"Oh, not a time traveler, I've been around, in spirit, since I was born. You see once you're born you'll be in the universe in spirit ever after."

"I see," Bob nodded.

William turned to him, and lamented, "I wish I could have done something for you in Chicago."

"Yeah, I know you couldn't...just like I couldn't do any such thing now."

"It's the scourge of spirits really," William noted.

"Hmm," Bob muttered, and asked, "So, why were you picked to be Catherine's inner voice?"

"Oh, I don't really know. Perhaps it was because Catherine and I have something in common. I was a senator once as well."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, from that grand State of Virginia," William specified. "As a matter of fact, after the Constitution was ratified, I was one of the first two senators from Virginia to serve in the very first Congress of the United States along with my cousin, James Monroe."

"James Monroe...The President?" he asked.

William grinned widely. "Yeah, folks nowadays are not aware we were cousins," he commented, and began to laugh. "Of course, there aren't many folks around that have even heard of me at all, but that's okay. I was never much into fame," William frowned and shook his head. "God, I detest that portrait of me on the senate website. There I was over six feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds and that damn portrait makes me look like some dainty, delicate. In fact, the portraits of most of us, Adams, Jefferson, Hamilton, and my cousin, I don't think were very flattering to any of us," he said, as he waved his hand in a dismissive nature of himself. "Anyway, my being a senator in the experimental republic was but for a very short time before I was taken. I wanted so much to contribute to the fledgling nation as one of its senators, but it wasn't to be. I served only one year before my death. Perhaps He allowed me to be that little voice in Catherine's mind as much for me as for her, because I only had that one year."

William Grayson's patented wry smile flashed across his face, as he added with pride, "Got a county in Virginia named after me though. I was really proud of that. Of course, many folks who live there don't know that. I can't blame 'em really. After all, I've been gone for over two hundred years."

Bob nodded, as he looked back toward his wife. He watched her as she gazed into the heavens---her green eyes aglow and shimmering as the starlight illuminated her features and bounced off her youthful face. William knew intuitively what Bob was thinking. He knew that Bob wanted to reach out to her, to hold her hand, to touch her, to take her in his arms.

"She's such a young woman, William. She deserves to fall in love again, to spend her life with someone who loves her."

William looked at Bob with sadness, but didn't comment.

"Can I ask you something, William?"

"Sure, anything, my friend," he said.

"If she does meet someone, if she does fall in love again, what happens when both of them move on to the afterlife? I mean, will I ever..." Bob's voice trailed away.

William put his hand on Bob's shoulder, and said, "Come on. Let's get out of here. I'll tell you all about it, and I think you'll be very pleasantly surprised by what I have to say regarding eternity."

"Speaking of eternity, is all that stuff about hell true?"

William chuckled, "Why? Did you think hell was simply sequestering souls and forcing them to view tediously long Kevin Costner movies? As torturous as that experience might be, it really wouldn't serve the cause of justice. Actually hell is different for everyone."

Bob nodded as another thought crossed his mind. "You know, there is something else I don't quite understand involving Maggie."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well, I knew Maggie Atwater for a lot of years and I know for a fact Maggie was never interested in American History. It was simply too dry for, so how was it she ever got a thought in her head to pick up a history book?"

When Bob noticed William attempting to hide a crooked smile, he chuckled, "Why you son of a gun. I guess that little voice in Catherine's head was working overtime in someone else's mind," he said, as the two men departed the Trevi fountain and exited the plaza.

A glowing crescent moon moved imperceptibly across the starry night sky, as Catherine sat with her back to the fountain, and listened to the life-giving water flowing behind her. Without turning her gaze from the glimmer of a distant star, Catherine nestled her hand against her tummy and spoke to the life growing within her.

"From the moment you are born, I'm going to tell you about your daddy, all about what a wonderful man he was, and you'll grow up so proud that Robert Wells was your dad."

Catherine smiled tenderly as she watched the twinkling of the tiny star in the vast distance of space.

"Come to think of it, little one," Catherine smiled, "there's a great part of your daddy in you, so maybe that saying about Rome is true after all," said Catherine, as she raised her hand over her head, loosened her grip and tossed the coin into the fountain, as she whispered, "God bless you, Bobby."

Then Catherine arose from the base of the Trevi fountain and began her walk back to the Hotel Torino. She never looked back.

The End

Epilogue

When Catherine arrived back at the Hotel Torino she approached the desk to retrieve her key. "Room fifty-one please."

The desk clerk turned, reached for her key, and said, "You have a note and a package Senora," as he handed her both along with her key.

Catherine was perplexed at who could have sent her something, because even her staff didn't know she had stopped in Rome on her way back. She opened the note immediately while she stood at the desk, and read...

I just wanted to say that I caught your speech.

Congratulations, Senator, upon the retention of your soul.

Sincerely,

A Friend

P.S. I thought you'd like to have this back.

Catherine thumbed the thin rectangular package and beneath the simple brown paper felt the outline of a picture frame. Catherine smiled with a touch of pride. She knew what it was.

When Catherine got to her room, she immediately opened the double doors to the terrace and allowed the now cool night air to fill the room with freshness. She then sat down on the edge of her bed to watch the BBC news. A half hour passed but she didn't hear a word about what occurred on the border between Turkey and Syria. There was no mention of I.M.A.T. She felt bad for Adila because whoever her contact had been at Al Jazeera it didn't seem to have worked. Adila's efforts had gone for naught. As Catherine's gaze was transfixed upon the television, she realized and appreciated this was a beginning, a first step as Adila would say.

Catherine reflected upon her minor role and she was proud to have been a participant. She felt honored in carrying those three holy books across the border and handing them off to a Syrian woman, who in turn would pass them along to another woman, and those books would eventually cross another border.

"Baby steps...don't give up, Adila," muttered Catherine.

Catherine would be on a plane in the morning to return to the U.S. and she knew what she needed to do---to somehow stop the nomination of Senator Handley without destroying her own political career in the process. Since she was his announced vice-presidential choice, it would be a rather tricky and difficult task. It would take a lot of finesse. As she pondered the situation, she reached for her phone and placed a call to a member of her staff.

"Hello?" a voice answered.

"Hey, Tom," Catherine greeted him.

"Senator, where are you?" Tom asked, the frustration within him reflected in his voice.

"I stopped off over night in Rome."

"Rome!"

"I'll be heading home in the morning, Italy time. We're seven hours ahead of you."

"What the hell is going on?"

Catherine smiled at his question, and said, "You might say I took a little detour on my way to the vice-presidential nomination."

"Huh?"

"I want you to get working on something Tom, but I want you to hold it in the strictest of confidence. I want you to come up with a plan, Tom, and you'll only have a day to do it."

Tom Washburn pulled out a pen and a small 3 by 5 inch notebook. He always carried one with him for times precisely like this. "What is it, Senator?"

"First, it's possible that Senator Handley might dump me as his choice for the VP."

Tom groaned and could only barely verbalize his question, "Why?"

"That's not important for now. I'll explain it in detail when I get back. The point is, if he doesn't dump me, I want you to come up with a strategy to get me out as his vice-presidential choice and I need you to do it without destroying my political career."

Tom Washburn's mouth was agape but he managed to mutter a muffled, "Holy Shit," followed by, "Are you sure you want to do this, Senator?"

"I'm 100% sure, Tom."

"All right then. I...uh...I'll get right on it, Senator."

"Wait. There's a bit more."

Tom braced himself.

"After you've formulated a good plan, I want you to come up with a strategy to stop Senator Handley from grabbing the nomination for President."

"Oh my God senator that's just crazy!" Tom Washburn was beside himself. "Do you have any idea...? Do you realize..."

"If you're going to come up with some good ideas, Tom," the senator cut him off, "I'd better let you get right to it. Good luck, Tom," Catherine smiled into the phone, as she disconnected.

Catherine immediately dialed another number overseas. As the phone rang and she waited for an answer, she felt at peace with her decision and a firm certainty within herself that she was doing the right thing for her, but there was also another emotion cascading through her. She was feeling a great sense of pride not only for what Adila Mohammed was trying to do, but also toward someone else that was very dear to her, and she was thinking of him now, as a voice answered the phone across the ocean.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Dad?" Catherine smiled widely into the phone. "Remember what you said about a bridge?"

Footnotes

_1. Alexander Hamilton_ by Ron Chernow, page 275.

_2. The Annals of America_ , Volume 3, page 118

For more information on Senator William Grayson see the Biographical Directory of United States Congress.

Acknowledgments

I wish to extend a very heartfelt thanks to Candi Eggert and Mary Ellen Conway whose encouragement for my work never waned and to whom I shall always be grateful.

