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  Miller’s schedule called for him to leave the White House by Marine One and travel to Andrews Air Force Base. There he would board a large tour bus with members of the press. The idea was to show how close to the American people he was while delivering his message about the Fair Share Bill. They would travel to Alexandria, Richmond, and Chesapeake in Virginia, where he would talk about the bill and how American and foreign corporations needed to pay their fair share.

  “What size crowds are we expecting tomorrow, Alison?”

  “Very good, sir. The advanced team has distributed well over one thousand tickets for each location, and members of the press have taken every available bus seat. We are going to pull the attention away from the Senate floor and back to you and your Fair Share bill. It should be a great day.”

  Miller looked over the schedule. At first, it was to be a series of short flights using Marine One, the president’s personal helicopter. Miller felt he needed to get closer to the people and had ordered the trip changed from the helicopter to the bus. It would also provide a lot of face time with the members of the press who were riding on the bus and hammer home his ideas about the Fair Share bill and the effects of the three senators holding the floor of the Senate Chamber.

  Chapter 37

  Washington DC

  Wednesday, December 2, 2015

  10:30 a.m.

  Ohio Senator John Laird was standing his fifth turn on the floor of the Senate since he and his two friends had taken control of the Senate Chamber. As planned, they had stopped reciting the reasons against the Fair Share bill and the number of American companies that were already paying their fair share of corporate income taxes. It was useful in the beginning, but the constant repetition of the same information was even wearing on the three senators.

  The new plan was to for each senator to do something completely outside politics. At midnight, Senator Saunders had brought in several children’s book that he used to read at bedtime to his own two sons years ago. He started with Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat. He was almost through with Green Eggs and Ham for the fourth time when his period on the floor was over. The children’s books had made a very favorable impression on the members of the press, and they had broadcast the information to the American voters. The immediate response had softened their image with the voters, making them look more human: senators who cared about children.

  At 4:00 a.m., Roberta Henley took over from Chip Saunders. She brought with her a book describing all the national and state parks in her home state of Florida. She jumped around within the book, starting with the parks located along the northern part of the eastern seaboard and traveling south until she hit Miami and then on down into the Florida Keys.

  Fort Clinch State Park was first, followed by Amelia Island State Park. She moved south of Jacksonville to the Guana State Park and its 60,000 acres. She reported information in the book about how in 1957 the water flowing in the Guana River was intentionally blocked in an effort to flood the upstream marshes to enhance wintering waterfowl habitats. The result was the creation of present-day Guana Lake. The lake water was brackish in the southern portion near the dam but gradually became fresh water as it traveled away from the dam. Today both saltwater and freshwater fish species existed in the same body of water.

  When John came in to relieve her at 8:00 a.m., Rickie had just virtually left the Florida Keys and was moving to the Florida Everglades. She would continue with her list of parks when she came back at 4:00 p.m.

  John’s background before entering politics had been the beer distribution business. He decided the subject would not help their image with the American citizens. He decided to try sports, in particular professional baseball. Everyone likes America’s favorite pastime, right?

  Since Ohio has two professional major league teams, he would start with the Cleveland Indians and move on to the Cincinnati Reds. He started at the beginning with the team along the lake. The team became a major league franchise in 1901 and were called the Lake Shores and later the Bluebirds, the Broncos, and, from 1903 to 1914, the Naps. It was after the 1914 season that the club owners requested a new name more like the Boston Braves, now the Atlanta Braves. The media chose the Cleveland Indians. Over the years, the team along the lake picked up two nicknames: “The Tribe” and “The Wahoos” because their logo was Chief Wahoo.

  He put special emphasis on the Curse of Rocky Colavito. Just before opening day in 1960, Frank Lane, then the general manager, traded Colavito to the Detroit Tigers for Harvey Kuenn. Colavito was an Indian fan favorite and the 1959 American League home run co-champion. Krenn was the American League batting champion.

  After the trade, Colavito hit thirty home runs four times and made three All-Star teams for Detroit and Kansas City before returning to Cleveland in 1965. Kuenn, on the other hand, would only play one season for the Indians before leaving for San Francisco. John went on to explain how Akron Beacon Journal columnist Terry Pluto documented the decades of woe that followed the trade in his book The Curse of Rocky Colavito. Colavito claimed to have never placed a curse on the Indians; he simply requested the trade over a salary dispute with Frank Lane.

  John was prepared to discuss a number of topics he had listed on a series of three-by-five index cards as he held the floor of the Senate. He did not need detailed notes as he was speaking mostly from memory. He continued with the history lesson, but in the back of his mind were concerns about the filibuster and its ramifications within the Senate and Washington.

  It was an understatement to say the pressure from their own party leadership in the Senate, along with legislative aides from the White House, to end the filibuster was weighing heavily on all three senators. Each of the three Davids would describe to their partners the requests to step inside the same cloakroom before and after each shift on the Senate floor and explain where they intended this filibuster to go. Unless they could get the help of the Democrats and go against what seemed to be the majority of the American voters, there seem to be no way to settle their disagreement and end the filibuster.

  The White House press secretary was slamming them at every opportunity from her podium in the Press Room. The president was getting ready to hit the road again tomorrow to tell the public they were protecting big business from not paying their Fair Share.

  The three continued to support each other the best they could. When one would relieve the other on the floor of the Senate, they would give each other a pat on the shoulder or back and a big warm smile. Sometimes the senator being relieved would stay longer at the desk and continue to show support by not taking the full eight hours of downtime to rest or hurry off to take a shower and change clothes or grab something to eat.

  Working four hours on and eight hours off the Senate floor was having a negative effect on each. John knew they could not hold out for more than another day or two and hoped other senators would pick up the baton and help carry the load.

  He was starting to talk about the great Satchel Paige. In 1948, the black American became the oldest rookie in the major leagues at the age of forty-two and the first black pitcher. Page ended the season with a six-and-one record and a 2.48 ERA, forty-five strikeouts, and two shutouts.

  As he looked around the Senate Chamber, Laird’s eyes once again fell on the empty bench seat across the aisle from his own. Randy Fisher had been absent from the Senate floor since Monday morning. If John could have wagered on any Democrat to help the three Republicans, it would have been his friend from South Carolina.

  Chapter 38

  London

  Thursday, December 3, 2015

  10:30 a.m.

  Randy Fisher was back at Scotland Yard in his little cubbyhole of an office. He had worn out BookReader’s patience with his insistence that there was more to be learned from the physical evidence. One man still stood guard outside the office, and they relieved each other every hour, but they refused to enter the room and spend any more t
ime looking at photos.

  Randy had arranged the whole batch of photographs in the same order as the day before. It made sense to continue with his examination of the evidence. He had completed the top row of pictures, but his discovery about the cell phone and the meetings afterward had interrupted his examination of the second row.

  He focused now on the map of London, the man’s handkerchief, the bottle of water, the money, and the notebook.

  The technicians in the crime lab had thoroughly examined the map of London for marks, pinholes, or circled locations that could indicate where the attack might take place. It was the very same map of London Randy had purchased through a local bookstore in Alexandria to help plan their time in London. He had spent hours in their apartment determining how to best use their time and visit as many historic locations as possible. The planning for their trip was now helpful for a different purpose; he could visualize in his mind the physical layout of Central London. He knew which way was north versus south and east versus west. He knew most of the distances between one landmark to another and whether it made sense to take the tube versus a London bus or one of the black taxis that ferried tourists around the city.

  After thirty minutes, he went on to the man’s handkerchief. The technicians had thoroughly examined it for any type of trace evidence. No DNA or chemicals were identified except for a common local brand of laundry detergent and a faint wisp of chlorine from the London water. Nothing to lead to the identification of their suspect. Randy set the photograph aside and went on to the British currency.

  Four photos displayed the bills, both front and back. He counted fourteen British pound sterling bills. Four £50 notes, five £20 notes, and five £5 pound notes totaling £325, or a little over $500 in American money. He was not an expert on the physical characteristics of the British pound and whether these bills were counterfeit; it would be up to someone else to make that determination. After fifteen minutes, deciding there was no reason to “follow the money”, Randy set the photos aside.

  The next-to-last piece of evidence was the bottle of water. A handwritten note on the photograph indicated the water bottle had been unopened when discovered. A chemical analysis of the water inside indicated nothing more in the bottle than the advertising claimed on the label: water.

  The brand name was Kingshill Forest Glade; the water originated in Scotland. The photo showed the back of the bottle and the label advertising that Kingshill Forest Glade Natural Mineral Water was bottled directly from a source in the heather and forest-clad hills of Central Scotland.

  Looking at the photo, Randy decided he was thirsty and needed some water to replace what his body had sweated out during his run early that morning with his two shadows, BookReader.

  He glanced at his watch. It was eleven fifteen. He would review the photos of the notebook and then break for lunch around noon. If he had not finished with the pages from the book, he would start again after a break.

  The notebook was shown closed in the first photos, again with a small ruler to indicate a size of three and a half inches wide and five and a half inches in height. The front cover was a plaid blend of pale blue and green squares. The logo on the bottom right appeared to Randy to be an upside down V with a profile of an Egyptian maiden and the full moon showing behind her. Clairfountaine was the brand name of the notebook.

  The back cover was the same color theme as the front but gave more information about the notebook. There were originally 180 pages on ninety sheets of ruled paper. They advertised the paper was a blend of acid-free paper stock with an extra smooth satin finish. Another handwritten note from the CSI technicians informed Randy that of the original ninety sheets, only forty-two were still in the notebook. From the distressed cover, the notebook had changed hands many times.

  He set the photos of the cover aside and concentrated on the photos of the individual pages. The first page was the one shown in their first briefing on Sunday. This showed the list of high-profile British historic sites and famous landmarks written in Arabic. Without the translation, Randy would have no idea of their meaning. Each page, previously displayed on the large screen in the briefing room, showed Randy no new information.

  As the lunch hour approached, he heard a soft knock on the door, and Agent Booker stuck his head in. “How about some lunch, Senator? You have been in this office all morning. I’d be going stark raving mad by now.”

  Randy shoved his straight chair back from the table. “I think you’ve got a wonderful idea, Agent Booker.” He collected all the photographs, turned them on their side to slap then against the tabletop, and arranged them into a neat stack. The top photo was the cover shot of the notebook. Randy was standing up from the chair when it dawned on him that the notebook was the same brand used by Deputy Commissioner Shepard. Obviously, the Clairfountaine brand was popular in London.

  Outside the office, BookReader waited. Randy gave them quick look. “Okay, guys. Which cafeteria in the building do you want to eat at today?”

  Reader spoke first. “We’ve been thinking, Senator Fisher. This place has lost all of its culinary attraction for us. I heard about a sandwich shop about a block over that is supposed to be great. How about we stretch our legs and give it a try?”

  “Is it raining?”

  Reader was quick. “Not yet. They say the rain will move back in this afternoon, so if we hurry a little we can grab some lunch and be back inside before it starts.”

  Randy laughed. “You’ve got everything checked out, Agent Reader. I would hate to disappoint you and force us to eat once again in good old Scotland Yard.”

  They were walking down the hallway toward the elevator lobby when Randy spotted Constance Langhorne standing next to the elevator. He leaned slightly closer to Reader as they neared the lobby. “I don’t suppose Ms. Langhorne was the person who provided you the information about this wonderful restaurant?”

  A slight smile formed on Reader thick lips. Under his dark black skin, Randy could not tell if he was blushing, but his smile grew larger as they reached the elevator.

  Randy did not wait for an answer. He came to a stop before the young and beautiful female Scotland Yard officer. Her face broke into a smile, and her eyes dashed from Randy’s face to Reader’s and then back to the senator.

  “Ms. Langhorne, would you like to join us for lunch? We’ve been given solid information that there is a great sandwich shop about a block over from your building.” Randy heard Booker let out a muffled laugh but decided to ignore him. He kept his eyes on the young woman.

  She sent an even bigger smile back to Randy. “Senator, I think that would be lovely. I was going that way myself, and I would be glad to join your merry little group.”

  “Excellent,” Randy said.

  He turned to Reader. “Charlie, be a gentlemen. Help the young lady on with her coat.”

  From the front of the building, they worked their way across Victoria Street to Abby Orchard Street. The buildings were modern for this part of London. That indicated their construction had repaired damage from the bombing during the Second World War.

  They walked down Abby Orchard Street and came to the Luke House. The eight-story concrete and steel building contained apartments on the five upper floors and a combination of offices and retail shops on the three lower floors. Their lunch destination, Beverly’s, a sandwich shop, was on the street level.

  The restaurant’s interior reminded Randy of an old diner he might see in a movie from the 1930s or 40s. Wood tables covered with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and leather padded wood chairs were set at an angle to the front window. The place seemed to be busy with the noon lunch traffic, but surprisingly there was one available table near the back. As they approached the table, a woman in her early fifties came from behind the counter. She had been watching their approach since the foursome had entered the restaurant.

  She breezed over to Constance and gav
e her a big hug. “Honey girl. It’s so lovely to see you. Your father’s been wondering when you would stop in again.”

  Constance Langhorne was blushing. Randy was certain from her red-faced expression the chance meeting in the elevator lobby had been arranged so Constance could show off the Americans from the United States.

  Constance took a deep breath and turned to Randy, who had a slight grin on his face. “Senator Fisher, this is my mum, and this restaurant belongs to my family. I am sorry, but I let it slip that you were in Scotland Yard on a visit to London. She asked if I could bring you around.”

  Randy stepped up to the mother of his escort. Her hair, a mixture of brown and gray strands, was tied back into a ponytail with a red scarf. It was easy to see the family resemblance to Constance. The facial features were the same, but Mrs. Langhorne had a heavier body than her daughter.

  “Mrs. Langhorne. It is a real pleasure to meet you. The boys here have been telling me about the great food you serve to your customers. I’ve been waiting all day to give it a try.”

  Beverly Langhorne beamed toward her guests with pleasure and quickly got them seated at the table she had been holding in reserve. It took only a few moments for Mrs. Langhorne to place menus in their hands and offer suggestions from the lunch specials. Randy changed to hot chocolate, and the others stuck with a variety of hot teas. Edward Langhorne, Constance’s father, stopped by their table after delivering a lunch order to the next table. He was a few years older than his wife, slender, with a gray handlebar mustache reminiscent of an English shopkeeper from the 1930s.

  Randy decided to try the cold lamb sandwich with a little mustard for a real change of pace. To his delight, he found it was quite good, accompanied by excellent conversation during lunch. Constance was relieved that Randy had not taken offense over her little trick to have him meet her parents. She beamed her bright smile at him as she watched how well he got along with her parents. Only Agent Reader received more smiles from Constance than Randy did.