The Final Proclamation

At the moment, John was incredibly pissed off, he had been dragged back from a well-deserved mini-vacation to babysit the First Man once again. The bastard was supposed to be spending his Christmas in California. Late yesterday afternoon John had received the call that Walter was on his way back to Washington, D.C. with plans to find somewhere to party late Christmas Eve. Instead of Walter’s normal bootie call, he went to the condominium of a lesser-known Washington socialite with his detail in tow. After a quick search of the condo, the detail set up a perimeter while Walter was “entertained.” It had happened before, but not very often. Usually he completely disappeared.

Unknown to John and the team, Walter was quietly furious that he could not get Mr. Sung on the phone. Mr. Sung was the Chinese lobbyist who gave him access to the spectacular Su Ling. Mr. Sung would not answer his phone so Walter reluctantly went through his little red address book and found the socialite’s number. He told her how nice it was of her to delay spending Christmas with her parents and siblings just to keep him company.

John was exhausted when he stumbled back to his apartment at 9:00 a.m. Christmas Day. Just as he began to put the key into the door lock, he heard a man behind him say, “Hey, Johnny boy! How they hanging?”
To his absolute dismay, John turned to see three men, including his old college roommate, Bobby Waite. As shocked as he was to see Bobby, he was even more shocked to recognize the second man as the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, W. Allen Kidd.

Bobby then said, “Hey, we’re really sorry to drop in on you like this, but it’s really important that we talk to you. Can you give us a few minutes?”

John’s fatigue seemed to have temporarily disappeared. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Come on in.” He opened his door to a world crazier than usual, even by Washington, D.C. standards.

When the visitors sat down at John’s kitchen table, one brought out a couple of large paper bags containing thermoses of steaming coffee and day-old donuts.

John was now fully alert and extremely curious. “Okay, what the hell brings the FBI Director and two other bureau types to my door on Christmas Day?”

Director Kidd motioned to Bobby and said, “Well, you know this guy and obviously know who I am. This other guy is Hugh McIntyre, one of my Unit Chiefs at FBIHQ, and a man with a tiger by the tail. It’s our hope that you can figure out what kind of tiger it is and just maybe how we’re supposed to let go of the tail.”

At the confused expression on John’s face, the Director continued, “John, the reason I’m here is that we’re dealing with something at the highest levels of national security. I’m here to impress upon you that what we’re going to go into today is legit. I also need to know if we can talk to you without your needing to share it with your supervisor or anyone else. I do mean anyone else. Quite frankly, if you don’t think you can, our talk is finished and other steps will have to be taken. I’m sorry you won’t have much time to think about it, but I need an answer now.”

One of the traits of a Secret Service agent on a protection detail is the ability to make instant decisions that often involve life or death. Those that can’t make those types of decisions find other work in the Secret Service. John had no problem making decisions, but he made those based upon data. He wanted more data, so he looked directly at Bobby. “Should I do this?”

Bobby didn’t hesitate. “I was just read in on this yesterday. Yes, John you really need to do this.”

After a deep breath, John said, “I’m in. What do you need?”

The Director waved to Hugh. “You’re up.”

Hugh, with his graying hair and open face, gave John a smile that conveyed John could trust him and that he would always have John’s best interest in mind. It was both disarming and reassuring. “John, you’ve been placed in a completely impossible situation, and I hope you know how much we appreciate the way you’ve handled it. I’ve already gotten the okay that should you decide you need to move on from the Secret Service after this, you will be granted a lateral transfer to the bureau.” The Director nodded at this statement.

At the statement from Hugh, John’s eyes widened and he instantly wondered how bad it could get.

Hugh continued, “Up to now, you’ve been screwed. I give you my word that ultimately you will not be left flapping in the breeze.”

Seeing the growing confusion written on John’s face, Hugh said, “Let me fill you in on what I know, or at least part of it. Your protectee, Walter Fontaine, has been regularly ditching his protection detail for several years. We know this and presume you have been threatened with professional suicide if you don’t go along with his forays outside of your protection. Am I correct?”

John immediately felt his defenses going up. Using a conscious effort, he forced himself to lower them again. “Yeah, but I can only speak to what I know since I was brought on the team a little over a year ago. I did kind of figure he had been doing the same thing, even dating back to when he was Vice President.”

“That would be correct,” Hugh said with regret. “We need to know everything you can tell us about these forays and everything you have observed.”

Had the question come from anyone but someone in the company of the FBI Director, John’s response would have been to clam up completely. With the Director listening intently across the table, John told them about what the protection detail thought of as Walter’s bootie calls, to include his look of complete sexual satisfaction every time he returned. He even told them about one of his detail getting a partial plate from a rented car that picked Walter up at a restaurant.

Pausing to let what he’d said sink in, John advised of the burner cell phone Walter thought was a secret and where he hid it in the First Lady’s bedroom in the White House residence, now renamed the Gold Room.

Softly, Hugh asked, “Do you think you might be able to get the phone at an opportune time and carry it out of the White House for two hours?”

“Look, guys,” John said with a slight tremble in his voice. “I’m already betraying the highest level of trust just by talking with you. I’m going to need more to justify doing something like committing espionage against the husband of the President.”

With a nod from the Director, Hugh said, “John, you’ve trusted us so now it’s time to trust you. You probably know in almost any other investigation we don’t share the details. Everything is on a strict need-to-know basis. With the Director’s approval, I’m breaking that policy and want to lay the cards on the table. Walter Fontaine has been meeting with a known Chinese intelligence officer, who sets him up with a well-trained Chinese girl for exotic sex. You do the math as to how many secrets he has given over to her and them.”

John felt like he had been hit by a brick. His mind immediately leapt to the level of secrets that would be known by Walter, knowing he would give up everything for a pretty girl. It was a few moments before he caught up with Hugh’s words.

“…we haven’t been able to determine is, what Walter is saying to her and what he has access to in the White House. We’re presuming he and the President don’t exactly engage in pillow talk.” An ironic chuckle was shared around the room at the notion that Walter would share anything intimate with Katherine.

“John,” Hugh continued, “we don’t even think Mr. Fontaine knows the Chinese businessman is a spy. He probably just thinks he’s a lobbyist trying to garner influence. It really doesn’t matter since they’re gaining critical intelligence. Please tell us what you know about Walter’s access to information, particularly whether he has either received briefings or has an active relationship with Cabinet Members or anyone with high levels of classified information.”

John thought for a moment before beginning to list Walter’s political cronies in descending order of their classified access.

After ten minutes of deep thought and over fifty names, Hugh asked, “Does this mean he has not met with or been briefed by the CIA Director, Homeland Security Director, or the like?”

John said, “No, I don’t think so. He could easily run into those guys and others in the hallways of the White House, but that’s one of the hundreds of odd things I see every day. They don’t treat him like the Vice President with a presumed need to know. In fact, they would pretty much blow him off if he were to try to go fishing. But you may want to look at the secretaries, interns, and other support people that are in the middle of the highest levels of decision making. Walter charms any female, and many of the guys, like a proverbial snake charmer. If he wanted to learn about what was going on, he’d just strike up a conversation with the President’s speechwriters or the acting Press Secretary, Towanda Jefferson. I heard Towanda wistfully say once, ‘For a white guy, he does have a way with us girls of color.’”

The Director then asked, “Is there anyone inside the White House inner circle that you think we could trust with this investigation?” The Director’s reputation for being direct was clearly demonstrated by the question. Unfortunately, that was what broke the camel’s back.

“Hey, hey, hey,” John said with hands up. “I will not spy on my Protectee or help you find a spy in the White House. I’m frankly surprised that you would even suggest such a thing!” John’s temper and emotions were rising at the thought of violating every oath he had taken with the Secret Service. The look in his eyes told Hugh and the Director that their interview was over.

The Director paused to see if John had anything else to get off his chest. John only stared with a growing distaste at each of the three men.

“Okay, John,” said the Director, “I’m sorry we even had to ask. But I am going to request you take a deep breath and just listen to what I have to say for a moment. Can you do that for me?” At John’s cautious nod, he continued.

“Here is the way I see things. We have the husband of the President that has been knowingly or unknowingly lured into a classic honey trap by a Chinese intelligence officer. Walter has free run of the White House and has developed a large number of contacts over many years in Washington, D.C. Since before the election, Walter has most likely been telling his Chinese girlfriend virtually everything the President is planning in terms of foreign policy towards China, military readiness capabilities, economic strategies and even what the President will or won’t do should China take further aggressive actions throughout the Pacific Rim.” The Director decided not to tell John that he had read detailed debriefings of Su Ling that demonstrated Walter had given up that and much more.

John merely sat in his chair and mouthed the words, “My God.” He then refocused and said, “We have to tell the President immediately!” John had even begun to rise off his seat.

“John,” the Director said, “please sit back down for at least another few minutes.” At the soft, but commanding request John slumped back into his chair.

“Before I go to the President, and I will be going to the President with this one, I want to make sure the evidence I present is not just beyond a reasonable doubt, but is incontrovertible. We need to have at least two more meetings by Walter and the Chinese girl, and those meetings cannot take place without you being willing to sit on what you have heard today. I’m sure you know how much the President will want to bury this and maybe everyone involved in it.” The Director was displaying the kind of leadership presence that made him one of the few people in the current administration that could command nearly universal respect.

“I know your head is spinning on all of this, and we’ve given you a hell of a lot to take on faith. I would not be here having this conversation if I hadn’t seen the evidence. I refuse to be personally involved in anything political and everyone here and the few others at the bureau that know about this feel the same way. Now the question is: What do we do about it? When I do walk into the President’s office, I want to have everything that is possible in hand. All of us must think about what is best for the country, and Lord knows this country is in a world of hurt. Like in 1775, 1812, and 1941 ‘these are the times that try men’s souls.’ Thomas Payne said that during the Revolutionary War. John, I believe what we’re facing in our country right now is every bit as desperate as it was then, with the potential to be a whole lot worse.”

“John,” the Director said, “we’re going to leave you now. We didn’t want to put you in the position of lying to your own agency, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But it is what it is, and we all have to deal with it. Hugh has brought along a simple transmitter that is activated by pressing the button. I’d like to leave it with you and ask you to think about pressing the button the next time Walter takes off for his unofficial liaison meeting. You can do so or not as you think is best for you and this country. I also ask that you sit on this information until after the next two outings by Mr. Fontaine. Can you do that for me?”

John looked into the Director’s eyes for a full minute before saying, “I’ll keep quiet about this visit, but I won’t guarantee to help you going forward, you know, like pushing the button.”

The Director nodded. “Last comment, John. Unless you decide to say something, no one in my shop will ever reveal this meeting took place. Should you decide you have to tell someone, I will back up your story, so long as it is accurate.” With that last phrase, the Director even smiled. He laid the signaling device on the table along with a card bearing a phone number identified only with the word, “Hugh.”

The Director stood up and offered his hand to John. His handshake was both warm and firm without being a vice grip. John’s old college roommate and Hugh both got up, shook John’s hand and walked out of his apartment without another word.

John watched them go. His brain felt like a drag-racing engine going at full speed, only to run out of fuel. Walking into his bedroom, he lay down on his bed, but was unable to sleep.

***

Alexandria, Virginia
1700 Hours EST

Lisa McIntyre sat on her bed in her parent’s home in Alexandria, Virginia. Her father had, uncharacteristically, been out doing some type of FBI work all morning on Christmas Day. He finally returned late in the afternoon and Lisa’s mother gathered the family to sit down to an abbreviated Christmas dinner. She could tell that Hugh was mentally somewhere other than at their home. What was worse, Lisa seemed to be off on some other planet herself.

“All right, you two,” Lisa’s mom said with authority. “It’s high time you put aside whatever you have on your minds and spend a little family time sharing the love of the Christmas season.”

The family had opened presents on Christmas Eve, so Christmas Day was traditionally just a gathering around the dinner table to give thanks for the birth of Christ and to celebrate their love for each other. This was to be followed by watching the NBA basketball game.

“I’m sorry, honey. I have something very pressing going on at work. Nothing to do about it now, so let me first thank my lovely bride for giving me a tremendous daughter and, most recently, a wonderful dinner!” Both ladies at the table smiled with appreciation at Hugh’s comment.

Almost immediately, Lisa excused herself, got up from the table, and ran to her room. Her mother began to get up to follow her until Hugh stopped her. “I’ve got this one, honey.” He patted her hand as he got up to follow Lisa.

Knocking on Lisa’s door twice, Hugh entered without invitation. Lisa was lying on her bed crying in great sobs. He immediately went to her and gathered her up in his arms as he had done when she was a little girl. For several minutes he didn’t say anything. He just stroked her hair and held her close until her sobs stopped, to be replaced by a serious case of the sniffles.

“Dad?” Lisa asked in a little girl voice. “Is Su going to get out of this alive?” Already the tears had begun to stream down her face again.

“Sweetheart, I’ve never lied to either your mother or you, so I won’t say there is no danger. But she is an extremely resourceful young woman, so I expect she will be okay for now.” He paused before going on. “When are you going to see her again?”

“We’re supposed to have lunch at my apartment day after tomorrow. Why?”

“Tell her that her ordeal will be over soon, but I don’t know exactly when. When that time comes, I will come for her, and she will need to leave without taking anything with her.”

“But when, Daddy?” Lisa asked, somehow knowing her father wouldn’t tell her.

In his mind, Hugh screamed at himself for not telling Lisa that after two meetings with the President’s husband, he would be coming to end her torment. His only answer was a gentle kiss on her forehead.