The Brethren

Of course, no one moved.

"I want to appeal;" Picasso yelled.

"So do I," said Sherlock.

"Must be a good decision," Yarber said, collecting his robe and standing. "Both sides are unhappy"

Beech and Spicer stood too, and the Brethren paraded out of the cafeteria. A guard walked into the middle of the litigants and witnesses and said, "Court’s over, boys. Get back to work."

The CEO of Hummand, a company in Seattle which made missiles and radar-jamming machinery, had once been a congressman who’d been quite close to the CIA. Teddy Maynard knew him well. When the CEO announced at a press conference that his company had raised $5 million for the Lake campaign, CNN interrupted a liposuction segment to carry the story Live! Five thousand Hummand workers had written checks for $1,000 each, the maximum allowed under federal law. The CEO had the checks in a box that he showed to the cameras, then he flew with them on a Hummand jet to Washington, where he took them to the Lake headquarters.

Follow the money, and you’ll find your winner. Since Lake’s announcement, over eleven thousand defense and aerospace workers from thirty states had contributed just over $8 million. The Postal Service was delivering their checks in boxes. Their unions had sent almost that much, with another $2 million promised. Lake’s people hired a D.C. accounting firm just to process and count the money.

The Hummand CEO arrived in Washington amid as much fanfare as could be generated. Candidate Lake was on another private jet, a Challenger freshly leased at 400,000 a month. When he landed in Detroit he was met by two black Suburbans, both brand new, both just leased at $1,000 a month each. Lake now had an escort, a group of people moving in sync with him wherever he went, and though he was certain he’d soon get used to it, it was unnerving at first. Strangers around him all the time. Grave young men in dark suits with little microphones in their ears, guns strapped to their bodies. Two Secret Service agents were on the flight with him, and three more waited with the Suburbans.

And he had Floyd from his congressional office. Floyd was a dull-witted young man from a prominent family back in Arizona who was good for nothing but running errands. Now Floyd was a driver. Floyd took the wheel of one Suburban, Lake in the front seat, two agents and a secretary sitting behind. Two aides and three agents piled into the other, and away they went, headed for downtown Detroit where serious local TV journalists were waiting.

Lake had no time for stumping or walking neighborhoods or eating catfish or standing in the rain outside busy factories. He couldn’t hike for the cameras or stage town meetings or stand amid rubble in ghettos and decry failed policies. There wasn’t enough time to do all the things candidates were expected to do. He was entering late, with no groundwork in place, no grass roots, no local support of any kind. Lake had a handsome face, a pleasant voice, nice suits, an urgent message, and lots of cash.

If buying TV could buy an election, Aaron Lake was about to get himself a new job.

He called Washington, talked to his moneyman, and was given the news about the $5 million announcement. He’d never heard of Hummand. "Is it a public company?" he asked. No, came the answer. Very private. Just under a billion in annual sales. An innovator in radar jamming. Could make billions if the right man took charge of the military and started spending again.

Nineteen million dollars was now in hand, a record, of course. And they were revising their projections. The Lake campaign would collect thirty million in its first two weeks.

There was no way to spend money that fast.

He folded the cell phone, handed it back to Floyd, who appeared to be lost in traffic. "From now on we use helicopters;" Lake announced over his shoulder to the secretary, who actually wrote down the directive: Find helicopters.

Lake hid behind his sunglasses and tried to analyze thirty million bucks. The transition from a fiscal conservative to a free-wheeling candidate was awkward, but the money had to be spent. It wasn’t squeezed from the taxpayers; rather, it was freely given. He could rationalize. Once elected, he’d continue his fight for the workingman.

He thought again about Teddy Maynard, sitting in some dark room deep inside Langley, legs wrapped in a quilt, face squinting from pain, pulling strings only he could pull, making money fall from trees. Lake would never know the things Teddy was doing on his behalf, nor did he want to.

The Director of Middle East Operations was named Lufkin, a twenty-year man Teddy trusted implicitly. Fourteen hours earlier he’d been in Tel Aviv. Now he was in Teddy’s war room, somehow looking fresh and alert. His message had to be delivered in person, mouth to mouth, no wires or signals or satellites. And what was said between them would never be repeated. It had been that way for many years.

"An attack on our embassy in Cairo is now imminent;" Lufkin said. No reaction from Teddy; no frown, no surprise, no cutting of the eyes, nothing. He’d gotten such news many times before.

"Yidal?"

"Yes. His top lieutenant was seen in Cairo last week."

"Seen by whom?"

"The Israelis. They’ve also followed two truckloads of explosives from Tripoli. Everything seems to be in place."

"When?"

"Imminent."

"How imminent?"

"Within a week, I’d guess."

Teddy pulled an earlobe and closed his eyes. Lufkin tried not to stare, and he knew better than to ask questions. He would leave soon, and return to the Middle East. And he would wait. The attack on the embassy might proceed with no warning. Dozens would be killed and maimed. A crater in the city would smolder for days, and in Washington fingers would point and accusations would fly. The CIA would be blamed again.

None of it would faze Teddy Maynard. As Lufkin had learned, sometimes Teddy needed the terror to accomplish what he wanted.

Or maybe the embassy would be spared, the attack thwarted by Egyptian commandos working with the United States. The CIA would be praised for its excellent intelligence. That wouldn’t faze Teddy either.

"And you’re certain?" he asked.

"Yes, as certain as one can be in these situations."

Lufkin, of course, had no clue that the Director was now plotting to elect a President. Lufkin had barely heard of Aaron Lake. Frankly, he didn’t care who won the election. He’d been in the Middle East long enough to know it didn’t really matter who set American policy there.

He’d leave in three hours, on the Concorde to Paris, where he’d . spend a day before going to Jerusalem.

"Go to Cairo;’Teddy said without opening his eyes.

"Sure. And do what?"

"Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for the ground to shake. Stay away from the embassy"

York’s initial reaction was one of horror. "You can’t run this damned ad, Teddy;" he said. "It’s R-rated. I’ve never seen so much blood."

"I like that,"Teddy said, pushing a button on the remote. "An R-rated campaign ad. It’s never been done before."

They watched it again. It began with the sound of a bomb, then footage of the Marine barracks in Beirut; smoke, rubble, chaos, Marines being pulled from debris, mangled bodies, Marines lying dead in a neat row. President Reagan addressing the press and vowing revenge. But the threat sounded hollow. Then the photo of an American soldier standing between two masked gunmen. A heavy, ominous voiceover said, "Since 1980, hundreds of Americans have been murdered by terrorists around the world." Another bomb scene, more bloody and dazed survivors, more smoke and chaos. "We always vow revenge. We always threaten to find and punish those responsible." Quick clips of President Bush on two separate occasions angrily promising retaliation-another attack, more bodies. Then footage of a terrorist standing in the door of a jetliner, dragging off the body of an American soldier. President Clinton, near tears, his voice ready to crack, saying, "We will not rest until we find those responsible:" Next the handsome but serious face of Aaron Lake, looking sincerely at the camera, coming into our homes, saying, "The fact is, we don’t retaliate. We react with words, we swagger and threaten, but in reality we bury our dead, then forget about them. The terrorists are winning the war because we have lacked the guts to fight back. When I’m your President, we will use our new military to fight terrorism wherever we find it. No American death will go unanswered. I promise. We will not be humiliated by ragtag little armies hiding in mountains. We will destroy them."