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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
*** Since Yahoo has taken down their groups pretty much, I was thinking of creating a group for the story on Facebook. Would there be any interest in that? Let me know.... Thanks!
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Although worried, Brad did not freak out seeing Sean sprawled on the floor. He couldn't. This looked to be an emergency. There had to be some logical explanation he reasoned. Despite Wizard's cries, he ignored the cat and bent down toward Sean. He determined that Sean was breathing and had a pulse, although his pulse felt a bit rapid.
He immediately dialed 911 and calmly gave them the address and the situation.
He bent down again and tried to revive Sean by jostling his shoulders but got no response.
He smelled Sean's breath. There was no trace of alcohol evident. He looked At Sean's forearms and there were no signs of needle use, not that he was expecting any.
Brad had no idea what to do and as the seconds ticked away he thought he was beginning to feel a bit anxious. But he knew he dare not let his emotions get the best of him. This was without a doubt one of those situations that called for a cool head. He wondered if he should try to move Sean, and although physically fit there was no way Brad could move Sean's 200 pounds off the floor by himself. He might be able to drag him some ways, but what good would that do?
So, all he could do was wait. When he heard the siren cut out in the driveway, Brad ran to the door motioning the EMTs to come in.
There were two of them. Brad hurriedly showed them into the den where Sean lay on the floor.
"How long has he been like this?"
"I dunno. I just got home from work a few minutes ago and found him like this. That's when I called you guys..."
"Is he on any medication?"
"No..."
"What about drug use?"
"We smoke a little pot, and we're not teetotalers but this ain't got nuthin' t' do with that..."
"No, it wouldn't... Look, we've taken his vitals. His pulse seems rapid and his blood pressure is a little high. Does he have any history of diabetes?"
"No..."
"His skin is clammy, too. On the surface, this looks like it's textbook low blood sugar. We wouldn't know the cause, of course, at this point, but that's what the symptoms look like. This doesn't appear life-threatening from what we can ascertain right here and now so we're going to get him in the ambulance, give him a quick and dirty blood test and if it's indicated we'll administer some glucose and saline on the way to the hospital. Why don't you follow us down there..."
"Which hospital?"
"Mercy. We'll be taking him to the ER."
"I'll be there," Brad said. "You go ahead and get him ready and I'll get my things. I'll wait until you guys leave."
Brad was worried. What was going on? Did Sean have a stroke? Did he try to kill himself with pills? What?
Brad took a deep breath. "C'mon, now, Bradley," he thought to himself, "none of that makes any sense. Let's see what the doctor has to say."
Still, though, Brad was worried. Why would someone like Sean, not even really middle-aged yet and with no known health issues just keel over and pass out on the floor? How long had he been there? Did he have any injuries from the fall? Not another concussion, Brad hoped, in case he hit his head on the floor. Did he have any broken teeth? All that would have to wait.
Again, Brad told himself to stop being silly. The EMTs had looked Sean over before they put him on the gurney, and they did say nothing looked life threatening...
Gathering his things, Brad sped around making sure the house was locked up and alarmed. Once the garage door opened, he backed the big Buick Electra out into the street and floored it, summoning all 570 horsepower and leaving rubber on the street. "Jesus, there goes a set of tires!" he thought.
Fifteen minutes later Brad walked into the ER at Mercy Hospital.
"Um, hello..." Brad said. "I'm here for my husband, Sean Wyman. I'm Bradley Fletcher. He would have just been brought in."
"Yes, I see his name here in the system. He's scheduled to see a doctor in the next few minutes. All the notes say is that he's resting comfortably. If you'd like to have a seat I'm sure the doctor will be with you as soon as they can. I'm sorry I don't have more for you, but he really was just brought in. In fact, I'm surprised I have this much to tell you..."
"OK. Is there anything you need from me? Insurance information? Anything?"
"It does indicate here that we don't have his insurance information, so we'd need that, yes."
Brad took a card out of his wallet. "Here you go. This is our insurance agent. He handles all that stuff. I'm sure if you give his office a call they'll have everything you need. Whatever it is, we're covered..."
The receptionist entered the information from the card, thinking Brad as she handed it back.
"OK, I'll just have a seat..." Brad said.
Brad took out his phone and pulled up the solitaire game. He thought about texting all the boys, but he decided not to do that. He had no information at that point and didn't see the need to upset anyone for at this point was God only knew what.
After about 20 minutes, Brad went outside to have a smoke. The front desk had his number and would text him if the doctor was looking for him.
Once back in, Brad took a seat again, fiddling uninterestedly at solitaire.
Presently, he heard his name being called. He stood and moved toward the person calling his name.
"Mr. Fletcher? I'm Doctor Jessica Wong," she said briskly. "I've been attending your husband. Why don't we go over there," she nodded toward an empty table at the far corner of the room.
At the table Brad asked the doctor what she had.
"Well, as the EMTs suspected it was low blood sugar. I see they noted some information that you gave them and it's all the same stuff I would have asked so we can skip over that for now. Let me just ask you a few other things, though. Did Sean have dinner last night and breakfast this morning?"
"Yeah. I mean, he loves to cook and he's a great cook. Last night we had grilled swordfish and vegetables. This morning he made bacon, eggs, and waffles. He ate normally..."
"OK, so we know it wasn't from lack of nutrition. I wouldn't have suspected that anyway given his height and weight and general physical condition. Is this the first time this has happened?"
"As far as I know... I mean, he would have said something I'm sure... "
"Do you know if there is any diabetes in his family?"
"Well, I don't know for sure, but I don't think his dad's a diabetic. His mom died when he was a boy. Many years ago. Cancer is what I was told, but I wouldn't know anything about her. I don't really know any other medical history, either. Except he had a couple brain concussions back in high school..."
"That's OK. I want to tell you where we are right now. We've been administering glucose to him. His blood sugar level is responding, and it shouldn't be but a matter of a little while before he comes around if he hasn't already. We've drawn blood and are having it sent to the lab for tests and some panels so we can get some kind of answer here. We took photographs of the interior of his abdomen. The one thing I want you to know is that people his age and in his physical condition don't have their blood sugar level suddenly fall this low for no reason. There's a reason behind it and we'll find out what it is. Right now, I can't tell you what it might be. It could be serious, and then again it might not be, but we'll probably have a pretty good idea in a few days. In the meantime, once we get him stabilized and discharged I'd like you to have some sugar syrup on hand in case he shows signs of this happening again."
"Well, like I said he's a good cook and he makes all of our bar syrups, so what about having him make up a batch of simple sugar syrup. Would that be good?"
"Perfect. You won't need much, maybe a pint to tide you over. Let me go back in and see if he's come around yet. In fact, why don't you just follow me back."
Brad followed Dr. Wong back through the maze of the ER ward and into one of the bays.
Sean was awake.
"Welcome back!" Doctor Wong said. "Your husband is here. Anyway, I'm Dr. Jessica Wong. You're here because your blood sugar dropped to a very low level and you passed out. We've got your blood sugar back close enough to a normal level. We drew some blood from you and sent it off for testing. Right now, we don't have a cause. I'm going to sign you out for release with some instructions for you. Once we have the tests back in a couple of days I'll call you in and we can see what's what. If you guys think this is about to happen again I want you right back down here. Understood?"
"Um, OK..." Sean said, confused.
"You're also going to be getting a small handheld device that I'll show you how to use right now. It's to check your blood sugar which I want you to do four times every day. If your blood sugar is low, then you will take some sugar syrup which Bradley here assures me that you can make yourself. Depending on how low your sugar level might be, that is how much you will take. It should never be more than two or three tablespoons if you follow instructions. Got it?"
"I'll explain it to you on the way home," Brad said. "Don't worry."
"Mr. Fletcher, I'm assuming you came by car?"
"Yes..."
"OK, we'll go ahead and discharge Sean and if you pull your car around to the main door we'll have him in a wheelchair and an attendant will meet you there shortly."
"How long's that gonna take?" Sean asked.
"No longer than it takes me to push this button on my tablet. There! You're discharged. The attendant's been called."
"I'll go get the car," Brad said.
Once Dr. Wong disappeared Brad leaned down and kissed Sean on the forehead. "We'll talk in the car. It's OK. I love you, Sean. More than anything in the world, I love you."
"I love you, too, Brad. I'm sorry... I don't even know what happened..."
"Right now, nobody does..."
Brad kissed Sean again and left to get the car.
"I think I mighta wrecked the back tires when I was on my way down here..." Brad said once Sean was in the car.
"You came that fast, huh?"
"I did. I was worried, Sean. I guess I still am. The Doc told me that for someone like you, your blood sugar doesn't fall that low for no reason. I don't suppose it would, do you? Have you been feeling OK lately? I mean, anything out of sorts you can put your finger on?"
"No. Not at all. I mean, the last thing I remember is going over some information on real estate in Manhattan I was thinking about and the next thing I knew you and that Doctor were in the room and I was in a hospital bed. It just happened... I guess... I don't even remember the ambulance... Nothing..."
"Well, the Doc said they'd have something back in a couple days and you'll get a call, so..."
"I guess so..."
"You also gotta make a pint of simple syrup like the doctor said in case I find you like this again. You better do that right away when we get home."
"OK, that's prolly a good idea..."
"And no fucking tonight!" Brad said. "Maybe if you want I'll jack you off later, but no fucking..."
"OK, well, we can jack each other off then... Maybe eating cum is good for this..."
"You!!! You feeling OK, though?"
"I guess so. I mean, I didn't feel weird or anything before I passed out. I was just working... I still feel kinda light-headed right now maybe a little, but I guess I'm OK. I don't feel like I'm gonna keel over or anything... And I can't. You know I can't. I gotta have a face-to-face tomorrow night with that asshole Tom Trager. He's trying to worm his way back into his sons' lives. Now, I mean, Eric and Tory might be able to deal with it themselves and that's fine, but I smell a rat and that means it falls to me to deal with it. And then I got that meeting at the Country Club with the Consortium shareholders. All of us... That's all in the next few days. So, I guess I better be a hundred percent..."
"Yes, you should be. And I'll make sure ya are, too..."
"I'll be fine."
"What if yer not..."
"I'll fake it..."
"Sean... Those are important meetings. And your health is important, too! You can't be so fucking flip about it!"
Sean grabbed Brad's hand. "I'm afraid, Brad. I'm afraid something's wrong with me like there was with Andy. I don't want to die! I just started living again! I can't do to you what happened to me!"
"Don't talk like that," Brad said. "Right now, we don't know anything. They did their tests. If you were really that sick they'd have admitted you. We'll find out in a few days..."
"I guess I better tell the boys when we get home..."
"Yeah, I'd say so..."
"Will um... Will you sit with me while I talk to them? I'm gonna call all four of them at once and put them on speaker..."
"Of course I will."
"Thank you," Sean said, a tear rolling down his cheek.
"I love you, you know," Brad said.
"I love you, too. I really do, you know..."
"I know. And we're gonna be fine. We will."
Once home, Sean situated himself in the library at the Alamo, and Brad brought him a pint of Guinness freshly drawn from the tap at the bar.
"Guinness is good for you!" Brad said. "And it will help keep your blood sugar up. I ordered pizza and a salad for dinner so no cooking tonight. They'll deliver in about 45 minutes. Go ahead and call the boys..."
"Sounds good. Welp, here we go, I guess..."
Sean reached all four of his sons by telephone and put them all on speaker.
"Everyone say hello, guys..." Sean said.
They did, and then T.J. broke the silence.
"OK, what's up dad?"
"You never miss a trick, do ya, Teej..." Sean laughed. "The truth of the matter is that there is something of concern. Brad and I wanted to call you guys all at once and spell it out as best we can."
"Is it serious?" Scott wanted to know.
"We don't know," Brad said, "but let's let your dad fill you in."
Sean mouthed `thanks' to Brad.
"Guys," Sean said, "I just got home from the hospital. Brad found me passed out when he got home from work. They gave me some tests and it was because my blood sugar fell real low. We don't know what caused it. The doctor said that we should know something in a few days. She did say that for someone in otherwise good health that your blood sugar doesn't drop that low that fast for no reason."
"Um, how do you feel now?" Scott asked.
"I'm fine, Scotty. I mean, I feel maybe a little bit off, but not too bad. Brad has me drinking a pint of Guinness for my blood sugar, and when we hang up I'm gonna make some sugar syrup to keep on hand in case I need it. They sent me home with a little blood sugar machine so I can tell if I need any..."
"Dad?" Joey and Lennie asked in unison.
"Yeah?"
"Well... Do you want us to tell Tommy?"
"I guess you should. He's old enough to know. Just make sure you tell him there's nothing to worry about right now. And make sure you tell him he is to continue coming over here after school until you guys are home from work, or when you have to go out of town. Brad and I love having him. This is his home, too, you know..."
"It's everyone's home," the twins said.
"It always will be," T.J. echoed.
"What they said," Scott said, a bit choked up. "We love you, dad."
"I love you guys, too. And I'm sorry I checked out for so many years. That's on me. That was bad of me in terms of a lot of things but mainly in terms of being a father to you guys. I did try, but I was selfish..."
"Just get better, dad..." The twins said.
The next morning after Brad left for work, Sean checked his blood sugar and finding it within the range he was given hopped into his cruddy old Chevy Malibu and headed out. The first place he was going to stop was the Chevy dealer. The old Malibu had been a good car, but it was clapped out. And there were so many memories of Andy in it for Sean every time he drove it. It had been Andy's last car.
At the last minute, Sean changed his mind. He pulled the old Malibu back into the garage, went back into the Alamo and called his auto museum. He told the shop foreman that he would leave the Malibu in the driveway with the keys on top of the driver's side front wheel and they should pick it up and take it back to the shop for a full restoration. It was a bargain Sean made with himself. As if he weren't really keeping Andy's old car, but he could still keep it. He knew Brad would understand. After all, it had been Andy's last car.
He ended up taking the Suburban to the dealership. Once there, he looked around the lot and was left unmolested as, unusually for Sean, he was dressed down in semi-sloppy jeans and a sweatshirt with his long blonde hair flowing out from underneath a well-weathered Milwaukee Brewers cap. The salesmen probably figured he was some guy off the street with a hundred bucks in his pocket and a 500 credit score.
Since the Suburban was a burly body-on-frame truck with real four-wheel drive, Sean didn't want anything like that. Neither did his taste run to a Corvette or Camaro as neither one was practical. After a time, he came across a row of cars he hadn't seen before. He'd heard about them but hadn't seen one. It was the Chevrolet Nomad. A two-door station wagon of the style that snootier people called a "shooting brake." It was built on the compact Nova chassis, and therefore efficient, and it had clean unadorned lines quite reminiscent of the original 1955 Nomad.*
Sean found one he liked. It had a two-tone paint job, orange-gold with a white top, and a two- tone tan and white interior. He didn't care about the paint colors, though, what he cared about was what he saw when he read the window sticker and noted that it was a special-order SS model numbered 57 of 500.
What made it a special-order was that it was one of very few cars permitted by the federal government allowing GM to build it with an old-school small block V8 gasoline-powered engine. With the Land Rover kept at Glen Muick Lodge, Sean had gotten around that regulation by buying it and licensing it as a farm vehicle which were exempt from those regulations. In addition, this Nomad had a six-speed manual transmission. Sean knew this vehicle was a score with the potential to one day be collectible. He jotted down the stock number and headed toward the showroom.
Still, no one stirred to take notice of Sean eyeing the special-build car. He didn't care. He walked into the showroom and looked around until he found an office marked Sales Manager. He knocked and entered.
"Can I help you?" the Sales Manager said.
"Um, yeah. I saw a car out on the lot. Here's the stock number. I'd like to buy it. Right now, please."
"Yes. Let me get one of our salesmen to help you."
"That won't be necessary. I was out on the lot and in the showroom for enough time for one of them to help me and nobody did. Therefore, I don't care to deal with any of them. I'll deal with you. Anyway, you have the stock number. Please write it up. It'll be a cash sale."
The Sales Manager looked at Sean with a raised eyebrow.
Sean handed him his business card.
Although Sean was the Chairman of the Board of the Private Bank in town, which he took over from Ginny on her death and his business card could have said so, the card merely read, "Sean B. Wyman, Riverside Auto Museum, Janesville, Wisconsin," and below in smaller print it listed his position as "Proprietor" and gave the telephone number.
"I'd like the car titled to me personally, not to the museum," Sean said. "There will be an extra $1,000 for your dealership to have it delivered to my home which is here in town over near the Court House."
The Sales Manager's eyes were the size of saucers. The owner of one of the premier General Motors car collections in the entire country and no one had served him when he came in.
"Don't worry," Sean said. "I'm not going to say anything bad to GM about your dealership. I'm not an asshole. All I wanna do is buy the damn car. Besides, I'm gonna be coaching the offense on the Craig football team next year and it wouldn't be a good look for me around town if I came in here acting like a jerk and being a fucking jag off, you know? Word gets around. Just let the guys know you can't judge a book by its cover, that's all. Some poor asshole missed a sale and when ya snooze ya lose, right? Anyway, let's write it up. I'll pay full price because I see value in the car. I noticed it doesn't have the factory performance exhaust which I'd like installed before delivery as well as the Brembo brakes. You can take the wheels off and keep `em. Put some cheap steelies and shit tires on it just so she'll roll. I'm gonna have the guys down the museum fabricate some wheels for it that look like the bone-stock 1955 body color wheels and use some authentic 1955 Chevy dog-dish hubcaps. We'll take care of the real tires then. I'm thinking whitewalls. Truth is I feel lucky to have found that car just by walking your lot."
"Is there anything else you'd like before we deliver the car, Mr. Wyman?"
"Nope, that'll do it. But have your guys take photos of it. Interior and exterior. I plan to have it repainted. Maybe I'll keep the top white, I dunno, but the main body color will come from the 1955 Chevy color chart. I'll have the interior redone, too. As close as I can get it to original in terms of color and fabrics. I'd like to have my guys get going on some computer mockups. It's not a restoration, or course, so maybe we can regard it as some sort of a tribute car. If you'd like I'd be willing to arrange to have it displayed in your showroom, roped off of course, at times when I'm out of town. I could get you some time frames in advance for, say, the next year or so..."
"You'd let us display it?"
"Sure, if it's locked up and roped off and if you insure it while it's here. My sons here in town do insurance. Lloyd's of London. It won't cost you a lot. Why not display it when you can? Who knows, people will probably come in just to see it and if that means you move some extra iron over the course of a year so much the better for you! It's win-win."
"Wow! I'm just gonna thank you for being such a nice guy!"
"'Salright... Actually, there is something else. That white Malibu out on the lot? The base one with nuthin' on it? I'll take it. It can be delivered to my house, too. No rush. Just wrap both sales together. Funny thing, that's the kind of car I really came here to buy in some way..."
Transaction finished, Sean hopped into the Suburban and made his way downtown to the old Hayes Block building where he knew Tim would be in his office. He made the familiar trip through the lobby and rode up on the old Otis elevator. Entering the outer office of the A.W. Dickson law firm, Sean waved at the receptionist and asked if Tim was in.
"Oh, sure, Sean. I'll just let him know you're on your way in. Nice to see ya!"
"You, too, and thanks!" Sean replied. He then strode down the long corridor to Tim's office in the rear of the building overlooking the river.
Sean gave his usual shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits door knock and on the other side of the door, sitting at his desk, Tim knew exactly who it was.
"C'mon in, Wymo!" Tim called out in a cheerful voice.
Sean entered Tim's office, scarcely changed from the days when it was George's. That hardly surprised Sean as Tim has always been an "if it ain't broke don't fix it" guy.
"What brings ya down this way, bro?" Tim asked, standing to fist bump Sean.
"Well, I know we've got that meeting at the Club in the Founders Room with everyone and there's something I wanna talk to you about before we get there..."
"Well, Brett called the meeting," Tim said. "I'm not at liberty to say what it's about if that's what you're getting at... Trust me, though it IS that important..."
"That's fine, Dix, but it's something else I wanna talk to ya about. What I wanna talk to ya about is that when Andy died his share was extinguished on his death. I'd like that share reinstated to Brad."
"Everyone will have to vote on that and it's gonna hafta be unanimous, to issue a new share which in effect it will be, and you know that. But seeing that it's Brad I wouldn't expect any issue. Jesus Christ, he's handled all of our bookkeeping for almost 25 years... And he IS your husband... He's one of us, really..."
"I always wondered why neither one of your brothers wanted in..." Sean said.
"It kinda went like this... When we were kids, I think dad knew he had to pick someone, and we all knew that one of us would have to pick ourselves to make it easier for dad. And you know mom was never gonna put any pressure on us that way. Anyway, Kevin, well, after a while nobody really knew what he'd be, and he never really gave any indication of having any ambition. You know, he stuttered, and he was shy and really tall and geeky and all that shit. When he was younger some of his teachers thought he was retarded and wanted to put him in the Special Ed class. Mom flipped her wig. Anyway, Kev never expressed any interest even though dad talked to him about it I'm sure, so I gotta figure dad thought that was a `no' for Kevin. Then there's David. He was only ever interested in the military. From when we were little. That was it. He enlisted in the Marines about a month before he even graduated from High School. It's all he's ever known. And now he's a Lieutenant General. That's three stars. It's hard to make it to four stars. He might, and he might not, who knows, but like I said it's all he's ever known. Plus, now he's military intelligence, the DIA. So that left me. I guess at some point I just knew that somehow it was gonna end up being my deal, so I did whatever I hadda to be ready for it. I didn't mind and honestly, it hasn't been that hard..."
"Well, it was never gonna be that hard, I mean not for you," Sean said.
"Maybe not, but sometimes I feel like I never really pushed myself. I mean, well, I guess it's all water under the bridge at this point, hey?"
"That brings me to another thing. I mean about the share for Brad..." Sean said.
"Spill it."
"I want this share for Brad because I need to know that if anything happens to me he'll be taken care of. I mean it's not that he wouldn't be... You know I could see to that, but just in case something happened to me... Besides, he's bright enough, and you know well enough after all these years that Brad's nothing if not loyal. I just need to know that he'd be taken care of."
"Yeah, I know all that, but now I got a question for you."
"What..."
"Whadya mean `if something happened to you?' That sounds a little odd coming from you and you said it three times."
"OK, fine... Yesterday when Brad got home I ended up being carted off to the hospital in an ambulance. I'd passed out and fallen on the floor because of low blood sugar. They think there's prolly some underlying cause for that. They took some blood for tests and ran me through the machines, or whatever they did. That's really all I know right now. Brad put a brave face on it, but he was shaken, or as shaken as one would ever notice but I could see it. I can't do to Brad what happened to me when And died. I could never do that... But if it happened, I need to know he'd be taken care of. He really is a noble person, you know. Remember how he was when we met him in High School? He was noble even then..."
"That he was. And is... Don't worry, I'll make it so and we'll have a vote. I'll mention it to Brett. Trust me, it won't be a problem. When will you know what's going on with you?"
"I dunno... Doc said maybe a couple of days before they have some idea..."
"Well, keep me posted. I'll let Brett know. And by the way, when we meet at the Club, Brett's gonna have an announcement and I wanna know if I can count on your support for whatever it is..."
"Well, unless he's planning to become an axe murderer you can... Have anything to do with him running again?"
"You'll see... I'm the only other person who knows and he swore me to secrecy. He wouldn't even tell me in the house, we hadda go take a ride in the car... It'll make sense, though."
"OK, so it's top secret. Look, of course I trust you, so if you are asking for my support for Brett of course I'll say yes."
"By the way have you run adding the share for Brad by J.R. and Kath?"
"No, not yet. This all happened so fast. But I can't see why they'd object. I'll call them tonight..."
"Just wanna have all the ducks in a row for something like that, that's all, Wymo. It'll be fine. Oh, and tell the twins to come to the meeting. Brett's gonna have something for them as well."
"Sure. Man, I love all this mystery..."
"It's all good. We've had a helluva ride all these years you and me..."
"That we have, Dix. That we have..."
After a long, pregnant pause between them Tim buzzed his secretary and told her to put his calls on hold for an hour.
Forty-five minutes later, Sean exited a secret room off Tim's office through a secret back door into a secret stairway and exited the building by a secret door. Sean thought he could make out Brett's scent when he was walking down the narrow, old stairway that was at one time might have been the haunt of the chambermaids or janitors who came and went during the day back in those days but whom no one was meant to see. Sean felt flushed, but good as he left. As a friend with benefits, Tim was the best, at once someone he loved but also for whom he had a lifetime of respect.
Sean took his Blood sugar once he got back to the Alamo and disconcertingly found it to be lower than it should be. He took two tablespoons of sugar syrup.
Half an hour later his blood sugar was fine.
A little while later, he had a text from Doctor Wong letting him know that he had an appointment for three days hence when his test results would be back.
Sean was not happy. But he was determined. He took to heart his own words to Tim that he couldn't put Brad through the years of pain and sorrow that he endured after Andy's death. He had to make sure he wouldn't do that. At once, though, it was almost like a new feeling to Sean.
To have something and someone to live for.
But before then he would have to get through a meeting with Tom Trager that evening and then whatever else lay ahead. Oh well, Sean thought as he squared his shoulders, shit happens...
Sean's call with John and Kathleen about the issuance of a share to Brad went easily. Kathleen was immediately supportive and that was all it took for John. They both said it was the right thing to do.
The meeting with Trager, Sean reasoned, should be short. At its heart it involved Tom Trager's wishing to become reinvolved in his sons' lives. Or so he portrayed it. Through channels. Bullshit, Sean thought. He didn't believe that was Tom Trager's purpose for a minute.
After all, Eric wasn't involved at all with the Consortium even though his husband, Andy's cousin Billy Dean, took over the architecture firm Andy left behind, and had dealings with Saeth International, but that was oblique. They'd moved the head office to Minneapolis as they'd become close to Scott Branson and Kevin Masterson. Tory wasn't in Janesville, either, but Kevin still was. Tory was the Consortium's London contact but now married to a Dickson. Even though Tory never had any decision-making authority and neither did Kevin, Tory's polished theatrical manners and his sardonic disposition went over well in the British capital and he was able to make deals happen.
At any rate, Sean reasoned, Tom Trager's skulking around while his son's husband was the Consortium's Controller was too close for comfort. And the obvious tipoff that this was bullshit, and as always Sean's suspicions ran to secrecy and money, was that Eric Trager had no knowledge of his dad wanting to meet with Sean. While Eric and Billy Dean lived now in Minneapolis which wasn't on the other end of the country from Janesville it was still 300 miles away and so he wouldn't be aware of everything happening in Janesville if he would be aware of anything at all. Still Sean thought that if Tom Trager was worming his way back in that it would be with both sons unless there was some other reason... Sean surmised that what Tom Trager really wanted was info on the Consortium he could use for whatever purposes he might have and to get it through Tory, and by extension Kevin. Or the other way around however it might happen. That was enough for Sean to move to scare Tom Trager off again, this time once and for all.
As far as the new share went, though, whatever it took, Sean would get it done. He wasn't going to leave Brad out.
At that moment, Sean's phone rang and, surprised, he saw that it was Dr. Wong. Well, at least maybe she'd have something to tell him, good or bad although it wasn't supposed to be for a few days yet. Sean answered and told the doctor that he and Brad would be in to see in half an hour which was agreeable to her.
Sean felt his heart sink. He knew Brad must be feeling the same way he felt when he had to stoically endure Andy's illness with his chin up even when he knew there was no hope. Sean silently prayed to God that everything would be alright.
Sean texted Brad and then went to his office a few blocks down the street to pick him up.
Brad got in the car and at once saw the look on Sean's face.
"It's gonna be OK, Sean," Brad said squeezing Sean's hand.
"I hope so..." Sean said. "If it's not that's the last thing I want..."
"Last thing I'd want, too, hun, but it's gonna be OK. Let's just go hear what the doctor has to say."
"I guess that's all we can do... I just..."
"I know," Brad said.
Entering the doctor's office, Sean and Brad noted a thick folder on her desk. Dr. Wong was no- nonsense and to the point. Bedside manner was not her specialty.
"Sean, we have all the test results back. They came in a lot earlier than we thought so I wanted to get you down here right away."
"And?" Sean said, arching his eyebrows.
Brad sucked in a deep breath which did not go unnoticed by Sean who felt even more apprehensive.
"You're going to need an operation."
"OK, And?" Sean said.
"Can you bottom line it for us?" Brad asked.
"Yes. Sean, you have a tumor on your pancreas. But you're in luck. We're 98% sure it's benign. Not that long ago we'd have just assumed it was malignant. Not anymore. With the blood tests we have now and the quality of the scans we are able to classify the likelihood of malignancy, and yours came in at the lowest possible on the spectrum. Now, it's going to have to be removed, and perhaps a small portion of your pancreas if it's burrowed in some, but we can do the operation arthroscopically with about a three-centimeter incision. The operation can be done on an outpatient basis and should take about an hour if there are no unforeseen complications. Since you are in excellent overall health there shouldn't be any, but you never know. I'd say this is about the best-case scenario we could have hoped for. You're not diabetic and you almost certainly don't have cancer."
"That's it?" Sean said.
"That's it," Dr. Wong replied. "There's just one other thing and it's not a big deal."
"What's that?" Brad asked.
"We don't do those types of operations here at Mercy. There isn't enough demand for that type of surgical team here. You'll need to have it done at Wisconsin General in Madison. We work with their surgical teams quite a bit, so it won't be an issue. I can schedule the surgery for next week. Now, you will be under general anesthesia so you will need Brad to go with you and wait so that he can take you home once you're out of recovery."
"I have a question..." Sean said.
"Go ahead," Dr. Wong replied.
"I'd like a friend of mine who's a doctor and a surgeon himself to be part of the surgical team. In whatever capacity the Surgeon can use him."
"Who would that be..." Dr. Wong asked with knitted brows, seeming not at all amused by Sean's request.
"The Governor."
"Governor Dowling?"
"Governor Dowling."
"Well, that's certainly an unusual request. Have you asked the Governor?"
"No, but I will..."
"Well, I guess let me know what he says and I'll put that information in your file. No guarantees on that."
"OK. I'll call you back within an hour." Sean said.
"An hour?"
"Yes, an hour."
"Alright. So do you guys have any other questions?"
"I don't think so," Brad said. "Well, I mean, Sean's gotta keep monitoring his blood sugar, right?"
"Yes, the tumor is still there. And even afterwards until we're sure long-term. This isn't a joke."
"No offense, doctor, but from you I wouldn't have expected a lotta levity," Sean said in a gentle, teasing manner with a smirk.
"Yeah, that's not me. Anyway, there you have it guys! Anything else?"
"I think we're good," Brad said with a wink to the doctor. "Come on, Sean. You gotta get a hold of the Governor."
For the only time during the meeting Dr. Wong smiled. A little.
Once in the car, Sean headed off in the direction of Tim and Brett's house.
"Maybe Brett's working from home today... If he is, I can talk to him direct," Sean said like a man on a mission.
As usual, Sean and Brad had no trouble with the State Police security detail but were disappointed to learn from them that at present there was no one home and Brett was at the Governor's office in Madison.
"It's OK, Sean. Let's get home and you can call Brett up at the Capitol," Brad said. "Anyway, aren't you glad there's really nothing bad wrong with you? I am. I want us to be together for a long time. I love you, ya know. And I always will..."
"I love you, too, Brad. You saved me."
"I did what I hadda do. And I'll do it again this time."
"OK, well, I'll call Brett when we get home. And after I finish I want you to fuck me."
"We'll see..." Brad laughed knowing that the chance he would ever turn down sex with Sean was nil.
Sean knew that, too.
"And I mean rail me," Sean said.
"That's fine but remember you gotta meet that fucking Tom Trager at the Club tonight..."
"Yeah, I know. Pain in the ass. Well, him not you... And you know, that cat's gonna jump on me again when we get home..."
"The cat loves you, Sean. He's not dumb. He knows he only has his balls because of you..."
"I get the feeling that cat has some kind of sixth sense or something..."
"He does. Kinda like the twins do."
"Why do you say that with such certainty?"
"Because I feel it. Can't really explain it. That cat has something about him. I just know. That's all I can really say..."
Sean knew when Brad was at his end explaining something and so he let it pass.
When they returned home, true to form, Wizard screamed and jumped into Sean's arms, rubbing his head across Sean's cheeks, and purring like a freight train all the while.
Brad laughed, shook his head and just laughed, "Fuckin' cat!"
"Oh for God's sake, Brad, he loves us..." Sean laughed.
"He loves YOU, hun... And that's fine."
"Anyway, about that fucking Tom Trager at the Club tonight..."
"Fun, huh..."
"Wanna come with?"
"Whadya mean?"
"I think a witness might be a good idea and a bartender would make a good witness... You mind?"
"Of course I don't. It'd be fun to play servant to Tom Trager while you and I would be laughing to each other the whole time."
"Exactly. But I just really need a witness, Brad... And you're the best person to do it..."
"I got it. And I don't mind being bartender. I'm a good one. Will you be having your usual tonight, Mister Wyman?"
"Certainly, Bradley... And maybe my usual later as well..."
"Certainly, Sir."
OK, well I'm gonna call Brett now... Sean called on Brett's private line which only a handful of people knew.
"Hey, Sean!" Brett answered. "Gimme just a minute," Brett said as he shooed his secretary out of the office. "OK, whadya got..."
"I have to have surgery. For a tumor on my pancreas. At Wisconsin General. Next week. And I want you on the surgical team."
"WHAT?"
"You heard me... Will ya do it? I need, I just need someone I know to be there while I'm on the table. Plus, you are a top-notch surgeon."
"You need to understand that if I agree to do it, then the Surgeon will need to agree to have me on the team and that I won't be the one performing the operation."
"I already know that... I told the doctor down at Mercy that I was gonna ask you and that I'd let her know. They have to schedule the surgery and arrange the team."
"Fine. I'll do it. If the Surgeon agrees to put me on the team. It would only be in a minor assisting role, I can assure you."
"That's fine, and I'd like to say you won't regret it, but I guess if I die on the table, ya can't win `em all..." Sean laughed.
"You're one of a kind, Wymo... Anyway, I gotta go. The Treasurer is waiting outside to see me on something we've been working on. I'll see you at the meeting at the Club."
"You bet, bye! And thanks!"
Sean called Doctor Wong and told her to add Brett to the surgical team.
That evening, the meeting with Tom Trager was dispatched without as much fuss as Sean thought that there could have been.
Initially, Trager objected to Brad's presence. "He's not a bartender. What do you take me for, an idiot? He's your `husband.' And what's with the damn cat..."
Sean was seated in a high-backed chair and stroking Wizard much the same way as he recalled a character called Doctor Evil from an old comedy entitled The Spy Who Shagged Me. For his part Wizard angrily swished his tail, hissed at Tom Trager, and then growled.
"Brad's here to serve us beverages and to attend us as needed," Sean said. "I can't imagine that you'd rather I had just gotten anyone off the street to come in here and do it, able to listen to everything we say. At any rate, I've never heard that you had any objection in the past to paying Brad for, shall we say, services rendered... Correct?"
"Leave it to you to marry a hustler, Wyman..."
"That'll be enough of that, Trager. I'm a fair guy, but that was low. Even for you."
"OK, so I'm here, Wyman. Tell me what you're gonna tell me so I can get the hell out of here. I got people to see."
"Very good," Sean replied. "As I am sure you will not be surprised to know the extent of my research into your dealings didn't end with what I presented to you some years ago. Far from it. And I've kept it updated over the years. Just in case. You understand, I'm sure... Shall I go into it, or can we skip that part..."
"If you're gonna try to fucking blackmail me AGAIN I think I deserve to know what you think you got..."
"Fine," Sean said, handing Tom Trager a thick dossier. "Take your time. Look it over. Read the whole thing if you'd like. I'm in no hurry. Brad, freshen up our drinks, wouldja, hun?"
"Certainly," Brad said. "Mr. Trager?"
Trager condescendingly waived his hand indicating his assent. After a few more minutes and in an almost eerie replay of their last meeting the color drained from Tom Trager's face.
"Is that enough information for you?" Sean asked. "I've got more..."
"Your drink, Mr. Trager," Brad said, laying a fresh drink and coaster down.
Tom Trager merely glared at Brad.
"Name your fucking price, Wyman."
"Money's not involved this time, Trager."
"What then..."
"After our meeting here which will be over in about three minutes you're going to pack your things and you'll be leaving town. I have an aircraft chartered for you waiting at the airport. It is going to deliver you back to Florida. The deal is that you will never set foot in Janesville again while you are alive. And you are not to contact your sons. Ever. Or have anyone else contact them. In any way whatsoever. And none of that is not negotiable."
"WHAT?!"
"I wasn't stuttering, Trager. And I'm not going to repeat myself. You will be escorted to the airport by two of my security people one of whom is ex-FBI. Any shit out of you and they have instructions to load you on the plane and fly you to Milwaukee where a detail from the Milwaukee FBI field office will be waiting to meet you. You pull any bullshit in flight and the same thing will happen. They say federal prisons are like Country Clubs, but I'm not sure I'd care to chance that. Would you? Anyway, you'll be departing from the airport in just about, let's see, 45 minutes..." Sean said, checking his watch with a flourish. "That should allow you time to pack and pay your hotel bill. No need to return your rental car. I've already taken care of that for you."
Tom Trager just stared, dumbfounded.
"Was I clear enough?" Sean asked.
"You're an asshole, Wyman. What the fuck! Don't have a choice! Fuck you!"
"You've got a choice. Your destination this evening will be Florida, or Milwaukee. What's it gonna be?"
Trager said nothing.
"Can't hear you..." Sean said.
"Can I freshen your drink, Mr. Trager?" Brad asked.
"Shut the fuck up and get out of my face you God-damn two-bit rent boy!" Trager exploded.
"Fine, then," Sean said, pressing a buzzer on the desk. "Milwaukee it is."
"I'll take Florida," Trager said.
"Very well. I've just signaled your escorts and they'll be here presently. They're up at the bar right now."
After Tom Trager had been bundled off, Sean looked at Brad.
"You were perfect!" Sean said. "The way you pissed him off was epic!"
"Trager's nuthin' to me," Brad said. "I was here to help YOU."
"Still..."
"Besides, he's right. I was nuthin' but a rent boy..."
Brad's remark cut Sean to the quick. Somehow he thought Brad felt ashamed about that part of his past life. But he couldn't say anything in case Brad might see it as pity. So he tenderly touched Brad's shoulder.
Brad appreciated that. Sean was a good husband, everything Brad had ever dreamed that someday he might have but was too realistic to hope for it in those distant past days living in the shitty shotgun shack down by the river.
"I'm not ashamed about that, Sean. I mean about what I did. Why should I be? I hadda do it. Was that or starve and maybe be homeless. Wun't no one there t' help me. Seem like `nother world now..."
"I guess it was... And I know you did what you hadda do. I'da prolly done the same. Thing is, I never hadda make that decision..."
"Nope. You only got drugged, raped by a meth-head chick who ended up knocking herself up, and then you did what YOU hadda do..."
"I guess we both did..."
"And that's all that needs to be said, Sean. So, anyway, what's gonna happen to Trager?"
"He's going back to Florida. And then once he's there an FBI Agent IS going to meet him. Not to arrest him, just to scare the crap out of him. They'll play it up like he's going to be detained and shit and then let him go once they get what they need. I requested that they ask him whether or not I'd made my point. And they're gonna make him sing for his supper, too. He's gonna be a stool pigeon or go to jail. Guy's a pussy. He'll fold like a tent."
"What'd he do?"
"Well, I could mention the drugs but that would be a little too cliché. He's had some involvement, not directly but he's in far enough to know who's who, in child sex trafficking. I can't help it, it's too close to home. I think of Tommy even though Joey and Lennie never told me his whole story. I can only guess..."
Brad observed a tear welling in Sean's eye.
"Then you're right to do what you've done."
"Only reason I gave him sort of an out is because of Eric and Tory. As much of a piece of shit as he is, he's still their dad. I merely quarantined him. For now."
"We best get home. It's best not to overtax yourself right now."
"You're gonna be there, too."
"At the meeting?"
"Yes at the meeting. You're going to be given a share just so you know. You see, Ginny set it all up. The number of shares and who all has one. Andy's share died with him. It was never split up among the rest of us. You are my husband the same way Andy was, and I know that Ginny would have intended the spread of ownership to be as she originally devised. After all, her papers were silent on the point of what would happen in the event of the demise of a share. She meant for us to work that out ourselves. I know she did. She told me. "Sean, the time will come..." is what she said. She believed in us enough to believe that we'd do the right thing. I can tell you that Dix is on board. If Dix is then Brett is. And J.R. and Kath love you to death. I mean you're just as much an Uncle to their kids as you were to the boys... It'll be a unanimous decision to grant you a share."
"I never thought... I mean... Well, I'm still gonna work for Kevin. I can't leave him. He's been too good to me for too many years. But I'm not taking it if it's not unanimous. That might lead to bad feelings and worse..."
"I knew you'd say that and it has to be unanimous anyway under the rules. Dix said the same thing."
"We should have them over again soon, Brett and Tim..."
"Yes, we should... Perhaps at the Lodge..."
"Anyway, let's get you home and in bed."
"Lucky me..."
"It's gonna be lucky for you. I'll make sure of THAT!."
"I'm still worried about this surgery. I just hope there's not too much of a recovery period. I mean..."
"You'll be fine, Sean. I know."
"I better be... I will be... Not like I never faced this kinda shit before. But... Well... A year ago I might notta cared. You gave me a reason to care. A reason to live. And I want us to have as much time as we both have left." Sean squeezed Brad's hand.
"So do I. Never thought I'd have a husband. Never. Least of all someone like you."
"Well, you kinda forced yourself on me, ya know..."
"Had to. You were ready. You need a husband. You're no good on your own."
"Yeah, me and Kath have kinda got to the bottom of all that. This next time is gonna be my last regular session with her."
"I know... She's done you a lot of good, Sean."
"Not as much as you have."
The meeting at the Country Club unfolded in several parts.
The first part took place when Tim, Brett, Sean, J.R. and Kathleen filed into the room. Sean dispatched Tim to invite Brad in.
"Alright," Sean said, "the first order of business on the agenda is to vote on the restoration of the number of shares to that existing prior to the death of Andrew Churchill."
"Wymo," Tim said, "If I may, I think most of us know that we will be voting that the restored share shall run to Brad. Therefore, in the interest of time, I move that the motion be for the number of shares be restored as you just said and with the newly created share running to Bradley Fletcher. Do I have a second?"
"I second the motion," Kathleen said.
"As many of us are in agreement, say aye," Sean said.
The ayes were all around.
"As many as are opposed say no."
Silence.
"The ayes have it. The motion is adopted." Sean said.
"I have another motion," Tim said. "I move that the share just created and running to Bradley Fletcher be effective immediately together with all of its rights and privileges. Do I have a second?"
"Seconded," Kathleen replied again.
The voting was again unanimous.
"Do we have other business?" Sean asked.
"I'd like to address the meeting," Brett said.
"Proceed."
"OK, well, other than Tim this is the first anyone has heard of this. I intend to run for a second term as Governor. That's not all that interesting in and of itself. Based on historical precedent, my team has a record that is easily defended, and I wouldn't expect a strong opposing candidate. I'd win. Easily. But that's not the real announcement. The real announcement is that I intend to run as a Republican AND a Democrat. I've asked a few outside people to join us for the rest of the meeting so that my reasons for doing so will become clear."
"Can you DO THAT?" Sean asked.
"I can. Both the federal and state constitutions are silent on the issue of political parties and there is no state or federal law preventing me from doing so. Years ago, there was some guy who was the Mayor of New York City who ran under both parties. Name was Koch if I remember right..."
"Well, what about the Democrats?" Sean continued. "They're just going to LET YOU do that?"
"They will if I win their primary. What choice would they have? And I'll win it handily. My approval rating among Democrat voters right now is at 76%. In any race you wanna configure, I'd win it. And I'm not going to have a Republican challenger."
"Yeah," Brad said, "But say you win the Democrat primary. What happens to the parties? I mean, half of the Democrats in the legislature can't stand you."
"That's only what they say," Brett said. "They hate each other worse than they hate me. Most of them will jump on the bandwagon when I win the primary. They can't run against a Governor with the kind of numbers I have. And they know it. The Democrats who really don't like me are the Madison Commies and a few useless ones from Milwaukee who are mad that we got half of the people in Milwaukee off welfare and things are finally looking up in that town. Those groups don't have the numbers and they have no power state-wide as it is. They're just the fringe. The Democrats who aren't on board will probably splinter off and form a Socialist party or something like that. A noisy rabble. Let them. And as for the Republicans, I wouldn't cry in my beer if a few of them fell off, either. There's like four or six Libertarians who think since we have such large majorities we can afford to play their little pipe dream la-la-land games. And then there's a couple more who all they talk about is God. I told one of them that I hated to disappoint him, but God isn't going to be the Governor of Wisconsin and that I'd leave the God stuff to God. Every vote with those people is a struggle. But like I said, we're going to hear from a few people right now and then it'll all make sense."
"Shall we call the others in now?" Tim asked.
"Yeah, I guess so," Brett said. "But before we do I need everyone to know that this is a top- secret briefing and we will be hearing from some folks who work for the CIA and two from British intelligence. It is a matter of grave importance. What you are about to hear is the entire reason that I'm running for a second term and why I think I need to do it as I just outlined. And this is for our ears only and no one else's. I cannot emphasize enough that this is a top-secret briefing."
Other than Tim and Brett, everyone was shocked and had no idea what to expect.
"I'll call them in," Tim said.
More shock ran across faces as Tim came back with Benton Saunders, Jonathan Jones, Mrs. Cheadle and two others who nobody recognized.
"Let me introduce everyone," Tim said. "We all know Benton, Jonathan and Mrs. Cheadle. The other two gentlemen here are Special Agent Dave Stanton of the CIA and Sir Stafford Williams of British MI6. Joey and Lennie were going to be here tonight, but we felt it was OK to brief them separately about their roles which has already been done. Mr. Stanton, why don't you begin."
"Thanks. Good evening. I'm Dave Stanton, Special Agent, CIA. We'll keep this briefing as short as we can. And I'm afraid we won't be able to take any questions. Present with me are all of the players here in Janesville who will be helping our country and our British cousins in a matter of grave import.
"First, I'd like to explain what it's all about as I'm sure that's what everyone would most like to know. I'll be the liaison between the CIA and the Governor's office on this. No doubt we all recall about 25 years ago a disease pandemic called COVID-19, or the Wuhan virus. At the time, even though our government and the British government had solid intelligence that it was a deliberate germ warfare attack on the part of the Chinese Communist government, that information was never made public. It was felt at the highest levels that to do so would cause public panic even more than what happened. Eventually the panic over the disease subsided, but it took five years to stabilize our economy at the level it had been prior to the attack.
"Our government, and the British government represented by Sir Stafford here have evidence now that a second more sophisticated attack is being planned by the Chinese Communists and is most likely in the late planning stages. We are going to ask your help in heading it off.
"I'll be appointed to an innocuous position on the Governor's staff under an assumed name. My function will be to coordinate information flows. I might as well put it plainly: the federal government will have decoy CIA operations against the Chinese that we will let them figure out parts of while the real intelligence will be run out of a State office building in Madison. Wisconsin is a perfect place for this as no one would ever guess that a relatively small midwestern state with a first-term Governor would be the focus of an international intelligence operation.
"Unless we can head off this planned attack the only other option is war. A war is something that neither we, nor the British want, but in all candor our economic response to the Wuhan virus left China severely weakened when a lot of countries repatriated their industries and left their export-dependent economy in a long depression with all the ensuing social unrest and clampdowns that we remember. In other words, while we do not want a war, we feel that the Chinese are indifferent to one due to their own perceived weakness and would probably be happy enough to start one if they thought it would end well for them. We made it through those times 25 years ago albeit at great cost, but the Chinese Communist Party almost didn't. They are still weak and unstable. And therefore dangerous. I think at this time I'll ask my colleagues to let you know what their functions are in all this. Benton?"
"Thank you," Benton began. "I'm sure everyone is surprised to see me here. I've been working for the CIA since I graduated from MIT. While my job with Mr. Wyman's son T.J. is on the level, my function in this operation is to keep tabs on the Chinese workforce here in Janesville in terms of communications in and out. We know there are a number of them working here who are more likely than not acting as spies. We've been able to decode their transmissions and haven't seen anything of great value so far, but what we're really after is to know the channels. Jonathan?"
"Thanks, Bent. My role is to assist Benton as a cryptographer. If we see coded transmissions, and we've seen a few already, we need to be ready right away to figure out what they are. I even have some of the better kids in my math classes working on cryptography. They have no idea what it's for, and all I have them working on is stuff that will reveal patterns, but they are a help. And the beauty of it is that there's no suspicious communication going on between me here in Janesville and the CIA in Washington, DC. Who's next?"
Sir Stafford rose. "I'm Sir Stafford Williams, MI6. On His Majesty's Secret Service. For these purposes, I am an eccentric British businessman who's just bought a small brewery in the downtown area here and will be operating the brewery and a tied pub. I'm so eccentric that I'll be living in the apartment above the brewery. I'll be working with the others in sharing information between our two governments. In addition to MI6, I have a direct connection through Mrs. Cheadle to both the Prime Minister's office and Buckingham Palace. My communications will run to the head of MI6, the Prime Minister, and His Majesty the King only. I will be keeping both of them apprised of any developments. Mrs. Cheadle?"
"Right!" said Mrs. Cheadle. "I've been reactivated on a special agent status as the link between everyone here and the UK government only insofar as forwarding communications goes. That way, no one in this room will have a need to communicate directly. No one would guess that a 70-something former nanny and a grandmother who is retired and lives in Florida would be British intelligence. I served Her Late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II in a somewhat similar capacity many years ago. I'm delighted to serve again. Needless to say, any communication with me will have to be run out of the Alamo. The means for doing that are being put in train with the help of Great Lakes Security. Communications will be run from here to me in Florida where I will send innocuous messages that don't mean anything back to the UK to a decoy at His Majesty's Treasury posing as an old friend of mine. The real communications will be run back to the UK on a completely separate system by means of places like the Falkland Islands, Montserrat, or our other possessions. No one would think to look in those places. Bloody sheep farmers getting involved with China. I think not!"
"I might add," Sir Stafford broke in, "that all of our communications between the states and the UK will be done using methods and encryption of British origin which are an extension of some of the work done during World War II and the means to penetrate them are not possessed by the Chinese. Or anyone else. Things our government has never shared with anyone over the years. Not even your government. The equipment is extremely expensive and only parts of it are made by any one UK company. None of it is foreign made. Then the whole of it is assembled and tested for reliability at an undisclosed location. The internet locations and communications are untraceable as they do not make use of the standard web but of a secret web that only your government and mine even know exists and by methods which I am not at liberty to disclose. We shall be installing such equipment here in Janesville at the Alamo in a basement room to which only I will have access."
"I think we can take a few questions even though we said we wouldn't, so does anyone have any questions?" Brett asked.
"When and how are the Chinese planning this strike?" John asked.
"We don't know," Brett said. "But the whole reason for me running for Governor again, and running from both parties, is not so that I have basically no effective opposition as Governor, but because if it comes to pass, then there needs to be one person here in Wisconsin who has total control. In other words, if more resources are needed, who can best direct them, or who has the levers of power, or if things need to be massaged, or reallocated who can get it done. Anyone else would fuck it up. It fell to me to work for the feds in this instance. I can't quit now. In exchange for this, I negotiated a deal with the federal government and they have agreed to instruct the Federal Reserve Bank to pay the State of Wisconsin ten billion dollars a year for the duration of the operation, all sub-rosa. And we all know if it was anyone but me that money would be pissed away instead of spent or saved for good uses.
"I really didn't totally want a second term – I really didn't – but under these circumstances I have to do it. At any rate, the best information I have which is the best any of us here will get tonight is that we could probably expect an attack anywhere within the next six to eighteen months. It would likely be launched in multiple locations and by multiple means and not as crudely done as it was last time by simply putting people on airplanes and flying them to foreign locations. For example, in New York or Boston or San Francisco by means of the subway systems, in Los Angeles in the barrios by infecting small stores and restaurants, in less dense cities like, say, Houston by means of shopping malls, and so forth. They could employ foreigners, or even Americans. Hell, you could infect half of Janesville in two weeks just by letting it loose as a football game at Monterey Stadium on any Friday night. There's a hundred ways they could do it. And we don't have a solid idea of the specific disease it might be, and it could be more than one. The best bet is another virus, or viruses, but we really don't know. So we have to be ready. Ready for that, or ready for war which no one wants. So now you know...
"And don't forget that with the Wuhan virus, right away after I got to Walter Reed we were dealing with service people, mostly Navy, who had the virus. I was there for it and I treated it. Then they pulled me off treatment and put me on research. I know the kind of thing we'll probably be looking at. That's one reason why the feds came to me.
"We can't have a repeat of last time. The way it was handled was an economic disaster in the long run, and it didn't save many lives at all anyway from what those of us involved in research could tell, but that's how it was done back then... Not this time."
"Why are WE hearing about this?" Brad asked. "I mean, you all have your functions. Do we have any? If not, this would seem to run against `need to know.'"
"Allow me," Tim said. "It's ALL of us, guys. We've all got parts to play. The twins are being tasked with setting up stock market future purchases with which they can sink half the Chinese stock market if need be. T.J.'s been brought up to speed on what Bent and Jonny are all about. Wymo, we'll need the consortium to make seemingly innocent purchases of some office buildings in Wuhan, Shenzhen, Hong Kong and Beijing. Don't ask why. It's "just good investing." Brad, you and Kevin handle all the accounting. We'll need you to monitor banks for unusual money transfers or stock transactions. J.R., we'll need you guys to attract Chinese money guys here for vacations at your golf courses and casinos. All nice and friendly like we're sucker Americans except they'll be monitored and bugged. They like hookers, too. Kathleen, you'll attract patients to your practice from among T.J.'s workforce and see what they're willing to spill under, shall we say, clinical conditions. I know this all seems very cloak and dagger, but it's how we gotta play it. And I know this is gonna sound rough, but the Chinese Communists? They lie like rugs... We gotta be prepared this time. Last time it almost cost us our economy. And our Brit friends, too. We can't afford a repeat performance. And we can't rely on a divided federal government. They're a joke. Not even the President knows the full extent of this operation. And Congress? Certainly not! They almost cost us more than the Chinese did last time. This is for all the marbles, guys. Duty calls. We're it."
"I'd like to throw something out there," Sean said.
"Go ahead..." Tim said.
"I'd like to make Glen Muick Lodge available if needed. For everyone who doesn't know, it's a private home that I own in a secluded location north of Rhinelander, Wisconsin on a nine- square-mile piece of land owned by Tim's family. It's separate from the rest of the property, on the other side of a large river, and it's extremely private. You can only access it by means of a private, gated road with 24/7 security. There is also the ability to land and take off small aircraft. I could easily have a camouflaged hangar built. The Governor stays at the Dickson family lodge on the other side of the Wisconsin River when he's up there. The lodges are linked by a private bridge. Great Lakes handles the security."
"That is something we'll certainly bear in mind. It might come in handy. Thank you," Agent Stanton said. "Could you provide us with a map of the site?"
"Absolutely. Just come by the Alamo tomorrow morning and pick it up. Pull into the driveway on the side of the house on Garfield Street."
On the way back to the Alamo, Brad looked at Sean. "Can you believe this shit?"
"Well, I guess we have to believe it..."
"I never thought I'd be into shit like this. I mean, ME? Fucking BRAD FLETCHER?"
"Scare you does it?"
"Nah, but it's a pain in the ass."
"You got that right. All I ever wanted was to have a normal life..."
"I guess neither one of us have had that..."
"Nope. But I know what I gotta do besides all this shit."
"What?"
"I gotta write that last journal book."
"You've always needed to write that."
END CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
*1955 Chevrolet Nomad photo: http://www.miamilakesautomall.com/chevy-blog/wp- content/uploads/sites/86/2014/11/1955-Chevy-Nomad-e1415040630138.jpg