supersecret agency.
Alex could only hope tomorrow would start on a better note.
CHAPTER
8
S TONE, M ILTON, R EUBEN AND Caleb walked along the main trail on Theodore Roosevelt Island, a ninety-acre memorial to the former president and Rough Rider that sat in the middle of the Potomac River. They soon reached a clearing where an immense statue of Teddy Roosevelt stood with his right arm raised to the heavens as though he were about to retake the oath of office nearly ninety years after his death. The area was elaborately laid out with brick pavers, two curved stone bridges over man-made canals of water, and a pair of huge fountains that flanked the statue.
Oliver Stone sat cross-legged in front of the statue, and the others joined him there. Stone was an enthusiastic fan of T.R., which was the reason they were here, albeit as trespassers, since the island officially closed at dark. He announced in a solemn voice, “The regular meeting of the Camel Club is officially called to order. In the absence of a formal agenda I move that we discuss observations since the last meeting and then open the floor for new business. Do I have a second?”
“I second the motion,” Reuben said automatically.
“All in favor say aye,” Stone added.
The ayes carried the motion, and Stone opened the notebook he pulled from his knapsack. Reuben slipped some crumpled pieces of paper from his pocket, and Milton slid his laptop computer out, then took a small bottle of antibacterial lotion out of his pocket and thoroughly washed his hands. Stone used a small penlight to see his notes, while Reuben read by the flickering flame of his cigarette lighter.
“Brennan went out late tonight,” Stone reported. “Carter Gray was with him.”
“Those two are joined at the hip,” Reuben noted hotly.
“Like J. Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson,” Caleb added jokingly as he took off his bowler hat.
“I was thinking more of Lenin and Trotsky,” Reuben growled.
“So you don’t trust Gray?” Stone asked.
“How can you trust any prick who actually likes being called a czar?” Reuben replied. “And as far as Brennan goes, all I can say is he should thank his lucky stars for terrorists because but for them his ass would be headed for the unemployment line.”
“Reading the newspapers again, are we?” Stone said in an amused tone.
“I use the papers to get my laughs, just like everybody else.”
Stone looked thoughtful. “James Brennan is a gifted politician, and his intellect is first-rate. But more than that, he has the power to make people trust him. Yet inside, a darker beast lurks. He has an agenda that is not available to the public.”
Reuben eyed him closely. “It seems to me that you’re describing Carter Gray more than you are the president.”
Milton broke in exitedly. “I’ve compiled facts on several conspiracies of global proportion that have not been reported by any news media.”
“And I,” Reuben said as he eyed his notes, “have personally noted three occasions when the present Speaker of the House has been unfaithful to his quite fetching wife.”
“Personally noted?” Caleb asked skeptically as he stared at his friend.
Reuben barked, “Two of my close acquaintances in the know keep me abreast of things. Clearly, despite the trouble some of his amorous predecessors have gotten into, it still seems our esteemed congressman continues to cavalierly insert his dinky in places it should not be.” He waved his notes. “It’s all here.”
“What close acquaintances?” Caleb persisted.
“High-placed sources that desire to remain anonymous, if you must damn well know,” Reuben snapped as he stuffed these allegedly libidinous revelations back in his pocket.
Milton interrupted impatiently. “Yes, but let me tell you about my theories.” He spent the next twenty minutes enthusiastically discussing theoretical ties between North Korea and Great Britain for purposes of worldwide terrorism, and a possible
Alex could only hope tomorrow would start on a better note.
CHAPTER
8
S TONE, M ILTON, R EUBEN AND Caleb walked along the main trail on Theodore Roosevelt Island, a ninety-acre memorial to the former president and Rough Rider that sat in the middle of the Potomac River. They soon reached a clearing where an immense statue of Teddy Roosevelt stood with his right arm raised to the heavens as though he were about to retake the oath of office nearly ninety years after his death. The area was elaborately laid out with brick pavers, two curved stone bridges over man-made canals of water, and a pair of huge fountains that flanked the statue.
Oliver Stone sat cross-legged in front of the statue, and the others joined him there. Stone was an enthusiastic fan of T.R., which was the reason they were here, albeit as trespassers, since the island officially closed at dark. He announced in a solemn voice, “The regular meeting of the Camel Club is officially called to order. In the absence of a formal agenda I move that we discuss observations since the last meeting and then open the floor for new business. Do I have a second?”
“I second the motion,” Reuben said automatically.
“All in favor say aye,” Stone added.
The ayes carried the motion, and Stone opened the notebook he pulled from his knapsack. Reuben slipped some crumpled pieces of paper from his pocket, and Milton slid his laptop computer out, then took a small bottle of antibacterial lotion out of his pocket and thoroughly washed his hands. Stone used a small penlight to see his notes, while Reuben read by the flickering flame of his cigarette lighter.
“Brennan went out late tonight,” Stone reported. “Carter Gray was with him.”
“Those two are joined at the hip,” Reuben noted hotly.
“Like J. Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson,” Caleb added jokingly as he took off his bowler hat.
“I was thinking more of Lenin and Trotsky,” Reuben growled.
“So you don’t trust Gray?” Stone asked.
“How can you trust any prick who actually likes being called a czar?” Reuben replied. “And as far as Brennan goes, all I can say is he should thank his lucky stars for terrorists because but for them his ass would be headed for the unemployment line.”
“Reading the newspapers again, are we?” Stone said in an amused tone.
“I use the papers to get my laughs, just like everybody else.”
Stone looked thoughtful. “James Brennan is a gifted politician, and his intellect is first-rate. But more than that, he has the power to make people trust him. Yet inside, a darker beast lurks. He has an agenda that is not available to the public.”
Reuben eyed him closely. “It seems to me that you’re describing Carter Gray more than you are the president.”
Milton broke in exitedly. “I’ve compiled facts on several conspiracies of global proportion that have not been reported by any news media.”
“And I,” Reuben said as he eyed his notes, “have personally noted three occasions when the present Speaker of the House has been unfaithful to his quite fetching wife.”
“Personally noted?” Caleb asked skeptically as he stared at his friend.
Reuben barked, “Two of my close acquaintances in the know keep me abreast of things. Clearly, despite the trouble some of his amorous predecessors have gotten into, it still seems our esteemed congressman continues to cavalierly insert his dinky in places it should not be.” He waved his notes. “It’s all here.”
“What close acquaintances?” Caleb persisted.
“High-placed sources that desire to remain anonymous, if you must damn well know,” Reuben snapped as he stuffed these allegedly libidinous revelations back in his pocket.
Milton interrupted impatiently. “Yes, but let me tell you about my theories.” He spent the next twenty minutes enthusiastically discussing theoretical ties between North Korea and Great Britain for purposes of worldwide terrorism, and a possible
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