Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [100]
“They told us Hudson had been specially chosen to be our version of the Third World superterrorist. David Hudson had been selected, and he was being trained to be our version of the terrorist Juan Carlos.”
Carroll’s stomach had suddenly dropped; his forehead felt flushed. He leaned forward in his chair.
“That’s why he was at the Bragg school? Why he was pushed ahead, beyond all the others?”
“That’s what we helped teach him to be…. And Mr. Carroll, Captain Hudson was good at it. He is still good, I’m sure. From planning a terrorist raid—even a murder if it was necessary, David Hudson was on a level with Carlos…. The Army trained Hudson to be the best… and in my opinion, he was. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t keep him content in the peacetime Army.”
Carroll didn’t speak—because at that moment, he couldn’t. The realization that the Army had secretly trained its own Carlos, and that he had possibly turned—it was unbelievable.
“Colonel, in your opinion, could Hudson have been involved with Green Band? Could he have technically masterminded an operation like that?”
“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Carroll. He has all the technical skills.”
Williamson paused, sighed. “One more fact about Hudson, though. When I knew him, at least, and I think I knew the man fairly well, he loved the United States very much. He loved America. Make no mistake, David Hudson was a patriot.”
Chapter 73
THAT EVENING, VERY LATE in Washington, President Kearney was feeling completely debilitated and old, decades older than his forty-two years. The sheen of sweat covering his neck was cold and made him feel ill.
It was past 1:30, and the White House was quiet.
As he walked the corridors of power, the President of the United States held a confidential document under his arm. The sheaf of papers was pressed tightly against his right side by his elbow, but seemed to burn through the material of his suit and shirt, to scald his skin.
Nearly every president as well as a few chosen first-time senators and key congressmen, had learned an important U.S. history lesson when they arrived in the capital city of Washington. Kearney had learned his within the first month of his Presidency. The lesson was that within the broadest scope of American power and its immense wealth, the politician was little more than an appendage to the system. A concession to form, a necessary inconvenience in many ways.
The politician—senator, congressperson, judge, even the President—was grudgingly tolerated, but each was expendable.
The presidents before Justin Kearney—Reagan, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Kennedy, Johnson—had all learned the lesson in one way or another.
Even the seemingly powerful and secure Secretary of State Kissinger had eventually learned his lesson…
There was a higher order working inside, working above and beyond the United States government. There had been a higher order for decades. It made all the sense in the world, actually; it made sense of almost everything that had happened over the past forty years: the Kennedys, Viet Nam, Watergate, Koreagate, the “Star Wars” plan.
They were waiting for President Kearney in the dramatic and imposing National Security Council briefing room. Twelve of them had been inside there for some time, working through the night.
They appeared to be an ordinary enough committee, all in white shirtsleeves and loosened ties.
They stood en masse as the President of the United States entered. They rose out of respect for the office, for the lofty traditions, for what they themselves had rigorously maintained about the office.
The forty-first President of the United States then took his accustomed seat at the head of the highly polished oak wood table. Pens and lined yellow writing pads had been set neatly at his place.
“Did you read the position papers through, Mr. President?” One of the twelve committeemen quietly asked Kearney.
“Yes, I read it in my office just now,” the President solemnly answered. His