a faint hint of regret creeping in as he realizes that he cannot recall an occasion when he openly questioned the general’s orders, for whatever reason. The pressure to find those responsible and the scarcity of immediate leads has begun to gnaw at Augie, who is likely not alone.
He dials Waltman’s number, knowing that he will likely be working late at a time like this. Waltman picks up on the first ring and Augie quickly explains the situation. After the usual “This-could-put-my-ass-in-a-sling” rhetoric from Waltman, he caves and says he will call back Augie within a few minutes.
Those minutes tick by like hours as they wait for Waltman’s call. Finally, after an excruciatingly long three and a half minutes, Waltman calls back.
“Okay . . . yeah . . . got it. Perfect, thanks Walt. Yeah, I know I owe you a steak dinner,” Augie says, as he hangs up the phone.
Parker looks at him expectantly, “Anything?”
“General,” Augie answers, “they got a trace. He was moving westbound at an incredibly high velocity when-”
“Wait, high velocity?” Parker interrupts.
“He’s in a plane, sir,” Augie clarifies. “They captured a cell phone signal moving hundreds of miles an hour through the air for several seconds when suddenly, the signal disappeared.”
“He probably recognized my voice and got rid of the phone, or just turned it off,” Parker suggests.
Augie shakes his head, “No, sir. Walt said they still could have traced it even if it was turned off. He destroyed it.”
“Did they get a lock on his location? What about the plane? Can they follow it somehow?” Parker fires off the questions without giving Augie a chance to answer.
“Sir,” Augie says calmly, “they’re working on it. What they do know is that the signal was traced high above the plains of . . get this . . central Montana.”
“Montana? Could he have used a scrambler to throw us off the scent?” Parker inquires.
“They ran it, sir, it’s a clear, crisp signal. They’ll contact the airports on the plane’s route to see if they can get more information on its final destination, where it took off from, and whatever else they can gather.”
“Alright,” Parker says, with a pleased look on his face, “he’ll contact you when he knows something more?”
“Yes, sir,” Augie responds, waiting for the general to tell him that he told him so. But the general surprises him.
“Good work, Augie,” he commends. “You never cease to amaze.”
“One of my many talents, sir,” Augie gallantly replies.
The general moves towards the back door of the house and continues deftly delivering orders, “Call Anderson, tell him we’re coming to pick him up in Tamawaca, and to have that disc with him. Call our pilot at the airfield and instruct him to have the plane fully fueled and that we’ll be there within the hour.”
The general turns to look at Augie and says, as if they are about to embark on a road trip, “We’re heading west, Augie, pack your trunks and your shades.”
“Yes, sir,” Augie responds, smiling at the general’s rather jocular comment in the midst of all the seriousness.
But then, just as quickly, the lighthearted moment disappears. As the general reaches the doorway, he turns around, squares his shoulders, and gives a rapid, crisp salute.
“Thanks, swabby, I pray you and your nephew are alright,” he says wistfully, the tone of his voice betraying what he feels inside. With that, the general disappears out the door, Augie following closely behind.
After the brief exchange, Moriah contemplated whether the man on the other end of the line recognized his voice. However terse their conversation, Moriah managed to recognize his.
General Theodore Parker. The one and only, Moriah thinks.
Dammit, why did I fail to look at the number of the incoming caller before answering?
He would have seen Eisley’s number and known it could not have possibly been him. Instead, in his haste and with all the surrounding distractions, he absent-mindedly answered the phone.
Parker had known his father, not intimately, and certainly not in a friendly manner, but rather they were acquaintances in the social circles of Washington politics. Of course, Parker has always been known to avoid dabbling in the political realm of the country’s affairs, his animosity of special interests and lobbyists well-known and long-standing. Parker has never been a man prone to kowtow to these groups, as he tends to view most situations in black and white, right versus wrong. After all, he is a military man, and not one to put up with bullshit or willing to follow anyone’s secret agenda. Parker understood, however, that some of the most important and crucial decisions regarding the nation considered the politics involved, and he recognized this as both necessary and ever-present, and he learned to deal with it.
Moriah’s father, on the other hand, worked the intricacies of Washington politics like a card shark at a penny ante poker game. He knew the right buttons to push and he became an expert at working the system. He also knew the Foundation was above all that, that the group did not have to answer to anybody or anything. He realized, however, that his agenda could be implemented more smoothly and with less problems when he had the right people in government on board. He guided the Foundation and the nation through difficult times with the assistance of these people because he understood what they wanted. It was actually quite simple: they wanted to look good for their constituents, they wanted to be re-elected, and they wanted their families financially secure. When these factors were met, the elder Moriah found that working the halls of Congress was fairly easy.
When Alex Moriah became older and less naïve, his father instructed him on the inner workings of the country, the purpose and obligations of the Foundation, and how its plans are carried out by the many men and women who work on its behalf across the globe. The elder Moriah taught his son the leadership abilities he would use, and he explained the responsibilities his son would one day inherit after he had passed on. Joshua taught his son how to nurture and foster relationships with his informers, how to tell them what they wanted and indeed, what they needed, to hear; he taught him how to make the tough decisions that needed to be made, and how a conscience is a component they could ill afford; he revealed to him that the fate of humanity could one day rest in his hands, and what he needed to do to ensure its survival; and most importantly, he taught him how to always cover his ass in case the shit hits the fan.
The younger Moriah knew his father and General Parker always had an adversarial relationship, but Alex never knew the root cause of the tension between them. He questioned his father about it on more than one occasion, but the elder Moriah always managed to brush off his son’s queries. What Alex did know is that Parker held a bitter disdain for his father, obviously jealous of the man’s power and envious of his father’s various connections in Washington. Alex can still feel the bile rise in his throat when he recalls Parker expressing his insincere condolences after his father passed away. Shaking the man’s hand, Moriah had wanted to punch his lights out, but he restrained himself.
Alex knew that his power would one day surpass the power held by Parker and other high-ranking military
