the procession. He stood his ground and refused to change his mind. The President called again just before the procession was to start, and after he failed to talk Olson out of it, the decision was made to let him have his way. At 11:55
A.M. four caissons, each pulled by three pairs of white horses, arrived at the foot of the
Capitol steps. Senator Olson stood off to the side and admired the precision of the young military men as they lifted each coffin off its catafalque and marched toward the door. As
Olson moved to follow the last coffin out the door, a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. The thin, small Senator turned to see the smiling and apologetic face of Michael
O’Rourke. “I’m sorry about last night, Erik.” Olson reached up and patted O’Rourke’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Michael. This means a lot to me.” The two men turned, walked out the door, and descended the Capitol steps. One by one each coffin was carried by its special detail and placed on top of the black, two-wheeled carriages.
As the last coffin was placed on its caisson, the order was given and a lone drummer started to beat out the cadence. Following military tradition, each caisson was followed by a horse and a soldier walking beside it.
O’Rourke, Olson, and four of the Senator’s bodyguards fell in behind the last riderless horse. Another command was given and the procession moved out to the beat of the drum. The street was lined with a large crowd of onlookers and media as the
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procession traveled down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House at a somber, dignified pace.
The commentators covering the event for the networks commented at length that
Senator Olson was the only one of the remaining 531 Congressman and Senators who had elected to walk behind the procession.
O’Rourke was dismissed by all as one of Olson’s bodyguards. The large, red-brick colonial was located on a secluded four acres of rolling Maryland countryside that overlooked the Chesapeake Bay. There were estates just like it up and down the coast of the Chesapeake, some smaller and some bigger. None of them, however, were as secure.
Several years earlier, the owner had paid close to a million dollars to convert the turn-of-the-century house into a fortress. The bulk of the perimeter security system was composed of night-vision cameras, underground motion sensors, and laser-beam trip wires. The next line of security was in the actual construction of the house. All the windows were double-paned, bulletproof Plexiglas, and all the exterior doors were triple-hinged, two-inch-thick steel, covered with wood veneer and anchored into reinforced—
steel frames. Four bodyguards were present at all times. The owner was Arthur Higgins.
To those who knew him or had heard of him, he was known simply as Arthur.
He had unofficially worked for the CIA since its inception, and over the last forty—
some years he had done most of the Agency’s dirty work.
When Director Stansfield took over, Arthur was ordered to cease all association with the Central Intelligence Agency and all other United States government agencies. He had blatantly ignored the order. In the large library of the house, Arthur sat at his desk and watched the TV coverage of the funeral procession. He knew each of the men who had been killed, several of them well. He felt no sorrow over their deaths, and that didn’t surprise him. Arthur prided himself on being emotionless. He believed emotions were something that clouded one’s judgment. But when the face of Senator Olson came on the screen, Arthur’s eyes squinted tight, as he fought to suppress the anger rising up from within. Not many people in the world could elicit an instantaneous physical response from Arthur, but Senator Olson was one of them. Just before the procession reached the
White House, one of the commentators for CBS realized that the man standing next to
Senator Olson was not wearing a tan trench coat and sunglasses like the other four bodyguards! He was wearing an expensive black dress coat and a nice silk tie. After informing his producer of this obvious fact, the producer put his assistants to work trying to find out who this unknown man was. Minutes later, as the procession was arriving at the gates of the White House, CBS announced that Senator Olson was walking with
Congressman Michael O’Rourke, who was also from Minnesota. The cameras were naturally drawn to O’Rourke’s good looks, and the producers at every network scrambled to find out more about the unknown Congressman.
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The procession stopped in front of the White House, and the four coffins were taken by their special details and placed on four black catafalques in the East Room.
The room was packed with leaders of foreign nations, Ambassadors, U.S. Supreme
Court justices, and a select group of U.S. Senators and Congressman, with the families of the deceased politicians sitting in the first several rows of chairs. When Olson and
O’Rourke entered the room, no chairs were left, so they stood in back with the other people who could not find a seat. After the last special detail had left, the congressional chaplain stood and read a long prayer for the repose of the souls of the four men.
President Stevens then stood and gave a surprisingly short, somber, and nonpolitical eulogy. He spoke only of the tragedy of death before its time, the importance of prayer, and helping the loved ones who were left behind heal properly. He was followed by several Senators and Congressman, who mentioned some touching personal moments, but who also stayed away from saying anything controversial.
All of the politicians who rose and spoke avoided the subject that was in the forefront of everyone’s mind, the subject that they were all afraid to broach, for fear of falling in the footsteps of the four dead men who lay before them. Senator Olson was the last to speak, and he directed all of his comments to the families of his deceased colleagues.
Once again, the flag-draped coffins were carried, one by one, out of the East Room, and this time were loaded into four black hearses that would deliver them to Andrews Air
