CHAPTER FIFTY

U.S. Capitol Rotunda

Washington, D.C.

An American flag was draped over Representative Thomas Edgar Stanton’s casket, which was on the catafalque that had been built to hold President Abraham Lincoln’s remains when his body had lain in state.

Thick red velvet ropes encircled his coffin. Inside that oval, soldiers from each branch of the armed services stood at attention facing inward.

President Allworth and Congress had agreed that “the Chairman” should be granted the honor of lying in state, a privilege only automatically granted to presidents. This was the final night for viewing, and a select few had been invited to pay their respects after the rotunda had been closed to the public.

As Walks Many Miles pushed Brooke Grant forward in a wheelchair across the highly polished marble floor directly under the Capitol dome, they saw Representative Rudy Adeogo, his wife, Dheeh, and daughter, Cassy, standing outside the velvet ropes paying their last respects to Stanton.

“How’s Jennifer?” Adeogo asked when he saw Brooke approaching.

“She’s doing better,” Brooke replied. “But there are days when she retreats into her fantasy world.”

“A happy world of unicorns and rainbows,” Miles said. “I’m sometimes envious.”

“How are you, Cassy?” Brooke asked, reaching over to affectionately touch the girl’s shoulder.

“I miss Jennifer,” Cassy answered. “I hope she’s not angry that I left her in the awful cabin. I had to!”

“She understands. Don’t you worry one little bit.”

“Do you think you could enroll her in my new school? It’s in Virginia, and my father said it’s not far from where you and Jennifer live—and it has horses. She won’t find a unicorn there, but we got plenty of real horses and I could introduce her to the new friends I’ve made. Everyone is nice.”

“What a thoughtful idea,” Brooke replied. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

Cassy grinned.

Glancing at Stanton’s closed casket, Adeogo said, “I respected the Chairman. He was a good and decent man.”

“He made a lot of enemies as soon as he began questioning whether radical jihadists were infiltrating our government,” Miles said.

“Yes, he did, but I was not one of them,” Adeogo replied. “And I would say the events of the past several days prove he was right.”

“What happens now?” Brooke asked.

“The fight between good and evil continues,” Adeogo replied, turning philosophical. “The Falcon will kill anyone who doesn’t submit to his radical perversion of Islam. In my eyes, the OIN is equally tyrannical when it smears anyone who dares question its viewpoint and tactics. I’m only a freshman member, and who knows if I will be reelected if I decide to run again. But while I am in Congress, I will push for the investigative hearings that the Chairman wanted held. We should not be afraid to ask tough questions during dangerous times. It is the only time that tough questions really matter. And we should never be bullied by thugs who wrap themselves in religious garb but are the opposite of everything that is holy.”

“We are trapped in a violent circle,” Brooke said. “First there was the violent embassy attack in Mogadishu and then the Falcon sent that Somali American couple—Cumar and Fawzia Samatar—to kill President Allworth at Decker Lake’s funeral. My uncle is shot. Jennifer’s nanny and my friend, Miriam, is murdered. Cassy’s school is attacked. Our girls are abducted and finally Representative Stanton is murdered. Will there ever be peace?”

Glancing around them, Adeogo said, “How many great American patriots have lain in state in this magnificent Capitol building? Three immediately come to mind. Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, and Ronald Reagan. Different generations, different political parties, different personalities and ways of governing. But each faced very real threats to our government. It was men such as them, and men such as the Chairman, who held up a lamp during dark times. They were human. They made mistakes, but they believed in our great nation and our right to direct our own futures. I am proud to serve among such men.” He looked at Brooke and added, “I am proud to be among such men—and women.”

“I don’t know why we simply can’t live and let live in peace,” Dheeh Adeogo said. “It could be so simple. Love one another and treat your neighbors as you want to be treated. It’s a tenet of all great religions.”

“There will never be peace as long as there are men in this world like the Falcon,” Brooke answered. “He cares nothing about love or peace. He only lives for his empowerment and personal gratification. To me, he personifies evil. Not because he hates America but because he hates everyone who doesn’t bend down to him.”

For several more moments, they spoke in hushed voices about Chairman Stanton. When they parted, all of them had tears in their eyes. The emotion inside them had welled up because of his death. But those tears were not signs of resignation or of defeat. His assassination and the discovery of treason inside the FBI and NSC had caused them to become more resolved in their fight against terrorism and oppression.

Brooke was not ready to return to her hospital bed after they left the Capitol grounds. She had spent nearly eight days there, was tired of the confinement and eager to be discharged.

“I want a hot dog,” she declared to Miles as they were leaving the Capitol. “Let’s go to Ben’s Chili Bowl.”

“No way am I buying you a spicy hot dog smothered in chili,” Miles replied. “Your doctors have you eating bland food for a reason. You’ll be out in a couple days and then we can go there.”

“Let’s compromise. We go to Ben’s and you eat a chili dog and I’ll get a milk shake.”

Because of its notoriety, Ben’s Chili Bowl stayed open long after other well-known eateries had closed. It was after midnight by the time Miles wheeled Brooke inside the eatery with its 1950s diner decor. He helped her into one of the booths that lined the wall across from the bar where a half dozen customers were perched on chrome stools eating.

“Ah, that smell,” Miles said

“Aroma, not smell,” Brooke said. “Comfort food.”

“I’ve never thought of hot dogs as comfort food,” he replied.

“They are to me.”

From her seat inside the booth, Brooke could watch a television mounted on the restaurant’s rear wall near a bright red-and-white backlit plastic menu. Brooke glanced at the screen at the same moment Al Arabic reporter Ebio Kattan appeared.

It was too noisy for them to hear what Kattan was saying, so Miles slipped from the booth and walked over to the television to listen.

“Kattan’s done it again,” Miles said, when he returned to his seat. “She’s gotten a scoop and every network is rebroadcasting her report.”

“What now? Is it the Falcon?”

“I’m not sure. She’s discovered three supertankers carrying crude oil have vanished somewhere in the Pacific after leaving an African port.”

“An African port? Did she say who owned them?”

“Some African oil company. I didn’t recognize it.”

“Where were they last seen?”

“Heading north toward the Sea of Japan.”

“How about the tankers?” she asked as she fished her cell phone out of her pocket. “Did you catch the names of any of them?”

“Ah, one was called Sea something.”

“That’s not real helpful.”

“Why does it matter, Brooke?”

“Because three supertankers carrying millions of dollars worth of oil don’t just disappear, especially in waters frequented by Russia, China, and North Korea. Something is going on.”

“One of them was named Sea Master, I think. I’m sure that’s what one of them was named.”

Brooke typed Sea Master into an Internet search engine on her phone.

“Oh no,” she said seconds later.

“What?”

She slid the phone across the booth’s red Formica tabletop separating them so he could read the name.

“Umoja Owiti,” Miles said aloud. “He owns those ships.”

Suddenly, neither of them was hungry. Their minds were on more important matters than chili dogs and milk shakes.