Chapter Thirteen
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Calvin Blanchard trembled as he approached the Presidential Podium. The weary eyes of America fell upon him. Gulping, he opened the leather-bound folder containing the speech. Cal held his head high and began to speak.
Calvin's resemblance to Abraham Q. Morton was impeccable. The mole on his right cheek appeared in precisely the same place as the late President's. No one had to know it was a prop—except Cal himself.
The President’s body double never expected to take his place. Calvin Blanchard viewed it as an empty position. However, the pay was excellent.
“Imagine getting paid to do nothing,” Cal chuckled to his wife, Melinda. After accepting the proposition, he delighted in the simplicity of his future. He never imagined the plague would resurface and surge around the world.
Calvin Blanchard stood before the American people knowing that he had deceived them. Widening his grey/green eyes, he focused directly on the camera and began to speak.
"As we work steadfastly to overcome the current situation, I assure you—the American People—that we will successfully put the plague behind us. Around the world, scientists are scrambling to produce an effective vaccine. I guarantee that once the majority of the population receives an inoculation, we will defeat this plague.
"In the meantime, wear your masks continuously in public and shelter in place. If we continue to keep a good social distance, we will stop the spread. It is up to each and every one of you to do your part.
"A recent rumor maintains the plague originated in Iran. Categorically, it is untrue. The Intelligence Community has no evidence of the current strain's origin. It is simply a fluke of nature. Pointing the finger at the Iranians will do more harm than good. I encourage anyone who speaks hatefully against them or plots against them to halt such activities. You will receive a severe punishment.
"We must work as a nation together to defeat the plague. Playing the blame game will not help.
“Thank you.”
Calvin Blanchard held up the thumbs and forefingers of both hands in a “V” for victory formation. Then, he turned his back on the camera and walked sedately away.
A cacophony of reporter’s voices yelled at his departing back. The press secretary strode to the microphone and motioned for silence.
“No questions,” Monique Abreo remarked into the microphone.
The angry journalists continued to shout their questions. However, Monique stepped back, then disappeared. Groans followed her.
Swiftly, the faux President stepped into Marine One. His wife, Melinda Blanchard, awaited him. Their next destination was a bunker in Colorado, where they would remain for the interim. If other appearances became necessary, they would come from a mock-up of the Oval Office.
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Representative Ginger Hartley breathed a sigh of relief. After viewing the Presidential speech from her Congressional Office, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. For all intents and purposes, the charade worked. Calvin Blanchard pulled off his impersonation of Abraham Q. Morton perfectly. No one would expect the switch.
In fact, only four people knew the President had died of the plague six days previously. Rep. Ginger Hartley, Rep. Deval Harrelson, Sen. Jamie Merrick, and Press Secretary Monique Abreo. The only one who concerned Hartley was Abreo. Relatively new to her position, Abreo might slip. However, the rest were D.C. seasoned veterans.
“What did you think?” Sen. Harrelson asked, stepping into Hartley’s office. He assured himself the door was closed before continuing. “Cal pulled it off perfectly.”
"We'll all breathe easier now," Ginger Hartley responded, grinning. Relieved, she sank back into her leather-bound office chair. She rested her chin in her tented fingers while propping her elbows on her desk. "No one will guess he's not actually the President."
Rep. Ginger Hartley knew withholding information concerning the President's demise broke the law. Nevertheless, she believed she acted in the American people's best interest.
Secretly confined to an undisclosed hospital, Vice President Manuel Ramirez only had days to live. Constitutionally, the oath of office should be taken by the next in line: The Speaker of the House.
Representative Hartley cringed. By all rights, Ginger should have been the Speaker. In fact, for the last three terms, she upheld the position. The previous election made her the Minority Leader. However, her opposition opponent filled the chair, Samuel Grisham. And he, according to Ginger Hartley, was not fit for the job.
“How long can we keep this up?” Deval Harrelson questioned, taking a seat. Although he went along with the plot, he had his doubts.
“As long as possible,” Hartley deviously countered. She caught her colleague’s brown eyes and held them.
Deval tried to shift his gaze but could not. Ginger Hartley's office was known as the Spider's Web. Once caught, it became nearly impossible to escape. Ginger held sway over Deval for too many years to count. He was known as Hartley's Stooge.
Ginger Hartley and Deval Harrelson entered the lofty Congressional Halls more than thirty years ago. Ginge hailed from Massachusetts and Dev from Louisianna. Both devoted themselves to their party and worked hard for their constituents' best interests. Bulldogging her way into several committees, Hartley rose swiftly. Less ambitious, Deval kept his nose to the grindstone and retained his seat.
After she became Speaker, Deval noticed a change in his longtime friend. Although Ginger had always worked aggressively to get to the top, her elevated position swelled to her head. He realized, at the moment, she scrambled to find a way into the Presidency. It irked her that Samuel Grisham was legally the next POTUS.
"Someone will catch on, Ginge," Harrelson cautioned. "I bet the rumor mill is already grinding. Someone noticed. Someone saw something out of the ordinary. By tomorrow morning, a billion posts will go up on all the social media platforms. They'll all claim it was not the President speaking."
"So?" Ginger reclined in her chair, a smug look crossing her face. "We get them pulled, or we get them declared misinformation. We got this, Dev."
"We ain't got it, Ginge." Removing the handkerchief from his suit jacket's upper pocket, Deval Harrelson dabbed at his chocolate-hued forehead. Sweating profusely, he mopped at the moisture. "If we get caught…"
“You worry too much, Dev." Ginger Hartley's grin widened. "No one's going to catch us. We have all the brains, so we're where we are. The rest of the people are stupid. They're like little lemmings. We lead; they follow."
“Those lemmings are the people who vote for us,” Deval remarked, shoving his hanky back into its pocket.
“That’s my point.” Ginger leaned forward and sneered. “They’re dumb enough to keep voting for us.”
"Exactly." With a defeated sag in his shoulders, Rep. Harrelson rose and placed his hand on the doorknob. For a moment, it seemed as though Deval had more to say. He hesitated, although for only a moment, then exited.
Suddenly he wished he were back home in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. The son of a corner grocer, he'd had no real hope for the future. Then, in college, he'd been bitten by the political bug. He took part in several protests and began organizing them. Before long, he held his first campaign and, much to his surprise, won. He continued to climb until he'd finally sought a seat in the House of Representatives. He'd been in D.C. for thirty years and played Hartley's Stooge for most of them.
Deval Harrelson wondered if it were time to give up. Ginger Hartley's latest plan went entirely too far. If caught, the consequences were dire. It meant… No, he did not want to consider what it meant. He knew a treasonous act would destroy his career, reputation, and life. His shoulders drooped as he entered the busy Rotunda.
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Senator Jamie Merrick stood on her toes overlooking the crowd in the Rotunda. Her eyes sought either Hartley or Harrelson. When she spied Deval, she pushed her way through her colleagues and hooked her arm through his.
“Well? How’d it go?” Jamie asked as soon as they were alone.
"It went," Harrelson answered, reaching for his hanky again. Aggressively, he mopped his perspiring brow.
“No one suspects?”
“Probably, but Ginger has a plan.”
“Good.” Jamie breathed a sigh of relief.
Jamie Merrick was a newcomer when compared with Ginger Hartley and Deval Harrelson. She arrived in D.C. twelve years previously as a Junior Senator. As ambitious as Hartley, she climbed the ranks with the speed of an acrobat scaling toward a circus tent's high wire.
Jamie entered the Halls of Congress wanting to make a difference. Noticing her grand ideas, her longer-term colleagues promoted her. Consequentially, the press named her a rising star. Keeping her image clean, she dressed impeccably in a smart polyester pantsuit. Her brown hair pulled into a French Twist appeared neat and sophisticated.
No one had to know her stage name: Porche Starr. Dropping out of high school, she longed to become a Broadway star. Impulsively, she left Cloverdale, Indiana for Manhattan. While awaiting her big chance, she began stripping at The Atlantis Playground.
Although she auditioned at several casting calls, Jamie did not achieve her goal of becoming a Broadway Super Star. She may have achieved fame in her high school drama club, but she was not good enough for the limelight. The stripping gig became permanent.
Senator Ansel Carmichael noticed Porche Starr. When he visited Manhattan, he frequented The Atlantis Playground. The spry young stripper soon became his private dancer. One thing led to another. Before long, he invited Porche to his posh hotel room. Then, he set her up in a lavish apartment.
Ansel Carmichael eventually talked Porche Starr into running for an open Senate seat. Ansel dressed in her appropriate clothing and turned her platinum locks back to brown. Returning to her given name, Jamie Merrick cleaned up well.
Running as an ordinary but concerned citizen, Jamie Merrick talked the talk and walked the walk. No one suspected her background. The voters viewed her as a Champion of the People. As a result, she won the election with a good margin and entered the Senate. And remained Ansel Carmichael's mistress.
Ambitious, Jamie Merrick climbed the ladder. She sat on several committees and slept around. She swung both ways by advancing her political career in the bedrooms of her colleagues. Jamie did not care if her bedmates were men or women as long as she kept moving upward. Then, she caught Ginger Hartley's eye.
Ginge took Jamie to her bed and kept her there. Digging deep, Ginger discovered all she could about Porche Starr. Maliciously, she held it over the young Senator’s head. Unless Jamie did as Ginger commanded, all her dirt would fly. Caught in the spider’s web, Jamie eagerly complied.
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Deval Harrelson departed from the Congressional Halls for his Georgetown condo.
"We're safe as long as no one notices," Deval recalled his final words to Jamie Merrick.
Although he'd squeezed her arm reassuringly, he doubted his optimism. At the moment, he doubted Calvin Blanchard's ability to fool the American People.
Suddenly, he viewed Ginger Hartley as an absolute fool. Her ambitions carried her too far. If she grasped the Presidency, she would assume more power than she could handle. Deval realized the entirety of his thirty-year mistake. Hartley's Stooge retook control of his life and his situation.
His hand shook as he grasped his smartphone. Squatting on the edge of his sectional sofa, he dialed a number he thought he would never utilize. The phone rang: once, twice, three times. If it went to voicemail, Deval knew he would hang up.
Then a brisk voice said hello.
“Hey, Sam.” Deval attempted to sound casual. “It’s Dev. Deval Harrelson.”
"Yeah, so what's up Dev?" Samuel Grisham replied excitedly. The Congressman's voice surprised him. He rarely spoke to Hartley's Stooge.
“We gotta talk, Sam.” Deval rushed his words before he changed his mind. “Something big just came up. Can we meet?”
“Sure,” Speaker Grisham eagerly responded. “When?”
“Now, if you can,” Representative Harrelson stated, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.
"Yes." Grisham checked his wristwatch. The hour grew late. However, Harrelson's out-of-the-blue call intrigued him. "Where?"
“Your office, thirty minutes?”
“Thirty minutes, okay.”
Thirty minutes later, Deval Harrelson ceased to exist as Hartley’s Stooge. He became a Whistleblower.
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