Lady Justice and the Candidate (10 page)

CHAPTER 10

    “The shot came from a grassy knoll on the other side of the football field,” one of the SS guys reported.

    The ‘grassy knoll’ got my attention right away. If I remembered correctly, it was from a grassy knoll that President Kennedy was supposed to have been assassinated.

    It had been a miracle that no one was hit. When Sully took me to the ground, the slug had whizzed between the heads of several well-wishers and slammed into the concrete wall behind us.

    By the time that the SS guys had made it to the knoll, the shooter was long gone.

    When we were all safely tucked away in our hotel rooms, Paul Ford called us all together.

    When the team had gathered in Ben’s suite, Paul addressed the group.

    “We now know that the death threats are no longer just speculation. Someone wants Ben Foster out of the picture.

    “It could be a bureaucrat from the FDA, a disgruntled welfare recipient, or, God forbid, someone from the opposing campaign’s camp. Ben has pissed off a lot of people.

    “We have a decision to make and it involves more than just Ben. If this campaign continues, it is not unreasonable to think that more attempts will be made on his life, and the decision to continue directly affects other people, specifically, Helen, who may very well lose her husband, certainly Walt who almost bought the farm today and of course the SS team that is responsible for everyone’s safety.

    “I’d like to hear from each of you.”

    Helen spoke first, “The last thing that I want is to lose this dear, sweet man, but I know that if I were to say, 'quit,' he would spend his remaining days wondering,
what if?

    “No, we knew going in that there were risks and we made the decision up front that the potential benefits of his candidacy were worth the price. I’m still in.”

    Sully spoke next, “I think that I can speak for my whole team when I say that we knew what we were getting into when we joined the Secret Service. This is our job. This is what we signed up for. We’re in.”

    Then, all eyes turned to me.

    I suppose that I could have walked away at that moment and left Ben on his own. No one would have blamed me given the close shave we experienced today, but there was just something exciting and intriguing about this whole situation. I heartily endorsed everything that I had heard Ben say and I was totally frustrated with the condition of our government and the ‘politics as usual’ stance of the other two candidates. To be able to play a part in something that might actually change the course of history is not something that comes along every day. I felt that this was something important and I wanted to be part of it.

    “Hey, I’m getting pretty hooked on these fancy hotels and room service. I don’t think I’m ready to give it all up just yet. Let’s do this thing.”

    Ben gave me a smile and a wink.

    Since everyone was in agreement, Paul didn’t waste any time, “I figured that would be the consensus, so we’d better turn in, we’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

    “So where are we off to now?” I asked.             

    “Dallas, Texas,” Ben replied. “Now that I’ve pissed off the giant pharmaceutical companies, I figured it was time to take on Big Oil, and where better to do it than right in the heart of oil country.

    “Anybody want to join me in a hot fudge sundae?”

   
Great
, I thought,
It’s probably time to put on my asbestos underwear because it looks like we’re going from the frying pan right into the fire
.

    As I was heading for my room, Paul Ford pulled me aside, “Walt, you’re not going to Dallas with us tomorrow. We have a little detour for you and you’ll join us later.”

   
Swell
, I thought,
probably another Miss Haversham
.

    “Do you like to fish?” Paul asked.

    “I’ve held a pole or two,” I replied.

    “Great, because you’re going fishing with Senator Grimley on Amelia Lake in Virginia.”

    “Why?”

    “Because he invited Ben. Senator Grimley is very influential on Capitol Hill and holds the chairmanship of several committees. I’m sure he wants to feel out the new candidate.”

    “Couldn’t Ben do a better job of that?”

    “He could, but he’s going to be holed up in a hotel in Dallas getting ready to crucify the big oil companies. We have confidence in you, Walt.”

    “I wish that I did!”

    Senator Ross Grimley and a couple of his aides met me at the airport in Richmond.

    We piled into a Hummer that was as big as a Sherman Tank and headed to the lake.

    The Senator’s boat was already in the water and the motor was idling.

    It was a 2012 model Nitro Z-9 with a 250 HP Mercury OptiMax motor that the Senator told me would whisk us across the water at 70 miles per hour.

    The boat had every possible option and the whole outfit probably cost as much as a small nuclear submarine.

    This being Virginia, I wondered how many pieces of tobacco legislation the Senator had championed over the years to earn the rig.

    We zipped across the lake at breakneck speed and anchored in one of his favorite coves.

    When everything was ready, he handed me a rod with one of those open-faced reels. I had seen them, but never used one.

    “This is a Shimano Calais,” he said proudly. “Just bought it yesterday. Cost me $650. You’ll love it.”

    I watched him cast his plug with perfect accuracy and it looked pretty easy, so I decided to give it a try.

    I flung the plug out into the void and it plopped unceremoniously into the water about three feet from the boat.

    I looked at the reel and it looked like a crow had made a nest in the Senator’s Shimano.

    I tugged at the big wad of line and it only made matters worse.

    The Senator was watching me with an amused grin.

    “That’s called a backlash, Mr. Foster, and it really makes a damn mess, doesn’t it?”

    Suddenly, I began to suspect that he knew all along that I was going to screw up.

    “Backlash --- not a pretty sight,” he continued, “and that’s just what’s going to happen if you continue your present course. In the highly unlikely event that you should be elected
president, the thing that you must remember is that you will still have a Republican or Democratic congress and people on both sides of the aisle are not very happy with what they’re hearing from you. Abandon these hare-brained ideas and you might see some support. Persist and your political career will look a lot like what you’re holding in your hand. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

    By this time, I was getting really pissed off. This had been a set-up from the get-go. Senator Grimley had been chosen to deliver a message of warning to Ben Foster from the entrenched interests on Capitol Hill.

    I wanted to tell the Senator where he could stick his Shimano and his advice, but I had to remember that I was Ben Foster and not Walt Williams.

    “I guess we’ll just have to let the chips fall where they may,” I said. “If I am elected, it will be because the American people want a change and want dinosaurs like you, who cater to the whims of big business out of office. It may not be tomorrow or even next year, but with elections in 2014 and again in 2016, you may just find your asses out on the street. Here’s what I think of your backlash,” I said, and I tossed the rod and reel into the water.

    Senator Grimley watched as his $650 reel sank out of sight. “Mark my words, Foster. You’ll regret this.”

    The Senator didn’t waste any time getting us back to shore and he didn’t even say 'good bye.' He took off in a huff and left one of his minions to take me to the airport.

    On my way to Dallas, I reflected on the encounter and realized that I had just seen American politics at its worst.

    I looked forward to hearing Ben’s address so that I could be reminded how politicians were supposed to behave.

    The news of the assassination attempt traveled fast and when I arrived in Dallas, security was even tighter than usual. No city wanted the dubious distinction of being the place where a candidate had been whacked.

    We had no idea if people hearing of the attack on Ben, would stay away fearing for their safety.
             

    We needn’t have worried.

    Our culture is used to getting their thrills vicariously through football players bashing into one another and race car drivers speeding around hairpin turns at 180 miles an hour.

    The prospect of actually getting to see a guy blown to bits by a sniper was just too juicy to pass up and the crowd that had gathered to hear Ben speak was so large that hundreds were turned away.

    Our venue was Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, the home of the Dallas Cowboys.

    The huge stadium had a retractable roof that Mark Davenport had asked to be closed thereby eliminating any more possible sniper threats from perches outside of the stadium.

    Before we left our hotel for the big event, Sully pulled me aside.

    “I’ve got a little present for you,” he said, handing me a Kevlar vest. “It won’t make you invincible, but every little bit helps.”

    I’d worn the body armor several times during raids by our squad. The darn things are hot and cumbersome but I’d seen several guys walking around that wouldn’t have been without the protection.

    After my most recent brush with death, I wasn’t about to argue.