70
Wilson — Cambridge, MA
A small but distinguished group of mourners stood around the freshly dug opening beneath the black casket containing Carter Emerson’s alleged remains. Cambridge Cemetery. It was near the Fielder family plot where Wilson’s paternal great-grandparents and grandparents were buried. Wilson gazed out over the Charles River. Carter Emerson wasn’t dead.
Carter’s wife Elizabeth and his daughters Sarah and Amy were sobbing as they clung to each other. There had been no wake or viewing or traditional funeral service, just as Carter had requested. A dozen or so secret service and FBI agents stood several yards away near the line up of limousines, watching every movement. Hap’s men were there too. Another two-dozen agents and police officers were spread across the cemetery’s entrances and exits. The service was closed to the public and the press.
The President of the United States was there in person to deliver a short eulogy. Without condoning what Carter and Charles had done, he praised them for having the fortitude and foresight to expose the harsh reality of one of the nation’s deepest flaws: inequity. Then he repeated many of the things he’d said the day before in his speech from the Oval Office. Wilson wasn’t surprised. What else could he do? Even though the service had been closed to the press, somebody would find a way to discover what the President said and put it on the web within twenty-four hours.
After the eulogy, the President of Harvard University offered a prayer over the casket, asking for God’s understanding and blessing for one of Harvard’s most accomplished and brilliant scholars. Wilson watched Carter’s wife and daughters hold each other, but they seemed to be shedding tears of fear and apprehension, not sorrow and grief. Then the short service was over.
As everyone delivered their final condolences to Carter’s wife and daughters, President Roberts approached Wilson and Emily. His first words were addressed to Emily, praising her for her courage while being held captive. The fact that he seemed to know all the details surrounding Emily’s kidnapping took them both by surprise. “Are you experiencing post-traumatic symptoms?” the President asked.
“No, I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking. I appreciate your concern,” she said.
“If it hadn’t been for Emily’s fortitude, I would have thrown in the towel,” Wilson added, putting his arm around her.
“You’re an amazing couple. Walk with me,” he said, guiding them away from the gravesite and into a nearby grove of trees. “I’d like to invite both of you to a working lunch at the White House with Chief Justice Stanley Vandenberg, Senate Majority Leader Kip MacArthur, Speaker of the House Dorothy Brock, and a few cabinet members and advisors.”
Wilson and Emily were speechless.
The President stared at Wilson. “The only reason I attempted to minimize the crisis in my speech yesterday was to stabilize our weakening financial strength,” the President said, looking intense and sincere. “New York has already lost much of its global dominance to London, where more than fifty percent of the world’s equities are now traded. This crisis could bury New York and weaken the American economy for decades to come. London and Europe would benefit from our weakness once again, just as they did after the ’29 crash. It would also accelerate a massive capital shift to emerging financial centers in Shanghai, Hong Kong, Singapore, Mumbai, Dubai, and Sao Paulo. There’s no question that we have to address the changes your father and Carter envisioned, but we must do it without abdicating our global leadership. I assure you the White House is behind this one hundred percent. Congress has gotten the message loud and clear, and the court is committed to reform. There will be change. Trust me.”
“Did you know this was coming?” Wilson asked.
“Carter advised me before his disclosure meeting at Harvard. We’ve known each other for many years. I have the utmost respect for him and your father. And while I will never be able to publicly condone their methods, they did the country and the world a big favor. You should be proud of them. Not a day goes by that I don’t pray for your father’s recovery,” he said, pausing briefly. “I sense you not only understand his quest but have one of your own. The country needs your input.”
Again, Wilson was moved by the President’s heart-felt sincerity and authentic appreciation, but he remained cautious. He waited for Emily to give him a sign of what she was thinking. She looked weary. Just as Wilson was about to tell him they’d think about it, Emily responded firmly, “We’ll come to your luncheon meeting, but right now we don’t trust anyone.”
The President’s admiring gaze alternated back and forth between Wilson and Emily. “I don’t blame you a bit,” he said. “Let me work on the trust issue. We need you to help us make sure Charles and Carter didn’t live their lives in vain.”
Wilson studied the President’s eyes, searching for a reason not to trust him. When he found none, he looked over at Emily and slowly nodded his head.
“I’ll have my chief of staff make the necessary travel arrangements. He’ll be in touch with you in the next couple of days,” the President said as he placed his hands on their shoulders and squeezed gently. “Your generation will have to finish this job.”
The words hit home. Did my father and Carter orchestrate everything? Including the President’s cooperation?
After they said good-bye to the President, Wilson and Emily lingered in the grove. He was worried about her. The trauma of the kidnapping and their hiding out in Maine had taken a toll on her physical health. Her doctor had put her on medication for bronchitis and recommended that she get as much rest and quiet as she could over the next few days. “Are you sure the medication you’re on isn’t affecting your judgment?” he asked with a playful smile.
“My judgment? You really think I don’t know what you’re planning?” she said, her face coming alive with new energy. “Here we are at Carter’s funeral service and neither one of us thinks he’s dead. I watched his wife and daughters the entire time. They may be mourning, but not over Carter’s death,” Emily said.
“I thought the exact same thing,” Wilson said.
“We have to find out what happened to him. Witness protection program? Kidnapping? Another one of his contingency plans? Who knows? But there’s no way you’re going to do this without me. Who else is going to keep you alive long enough to father our children?”
They smiled broadly at each other before embracing tenderly. “So who’s going to set the new date for our wedding?” Wilson asked.
Emily looked at him with a teasing grin. “Someone who can make and keep commitments.”
They muffled their laughter, mindful of those at the gravesite fifty meters away. Finding joy in each other at every possible opportunity, no matter how strange or twisted their future became, would be their only refuge. That would be Wilson’s first wedding vow.
71
Tate — Venice, Italy
Ospedale Civile. Venice, Italy. April 16th. A nurse entered room 369 just before two o’clock in the morning, to administer the specified doses of antibiotics and painkillers. Before she left the room she woke the patient and turned him onto his side to check the bandages on his back.
“I have a message from Morita,” she whispered into the patient’s ear. Her English was flawless with only the slightest Italian accent.
“Morita?!”
“Shhh,” she said quietly to avoid drawing attention from the armed guards standing by the door.
Tate smiled even though it hurt to move his mouth.
“She wants you to know you’re in good hands,” whispered the nurse.
“I need to get out…”
“Shhh,” she said, again. “They’ll be transferring you tonight.”
