Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [20]
Crane knew he could position whatever the BM boys did as ineffective in contrast to his own brilliant economic and political theology, which he called Pax-Americanism. The Pax-Americana philosophy was quite simple: what was good for America was good for the world. And who was in a better position to define what was best for Americans than Wellington Crane?
His listeners loved the way he cut to the heart of an issue, defined the sides, and took a stand. For multitudes of confused Americans hungering for answers, he provided a no-nonsense clarity that eliminated all gray areas. His authoritative declarations and stamps of approval were all anyone needed to make a decision, he felt, and he carefully cultivated this codependent relationship with his listeners.
He often wondered what he loved most about himself. Was it his annual income of over $50 million? Was it his power to mold public opinion, influence policy, and decide who should win or lose elections? Whatever it was, Wellington knew he was the complete package, without peer.
He was proud to call himself a self-made man. Born into a middle-class family in Louisville, Kentucky, the lights went on for him in junior college, where he had auditioned for and been given a one-hour weekly radio show on the school’s privately owned radio station. He dubbed his little soapbox Wellington’s World and quickly recognized his talent for engaging and enraging audiences while capturing market share. He craved power and attention and parlayed his talent into a succession of bigger and better jobs. He hit pay dirt when a major Atlanta-based media conglomerate offered to syndicate his show nationally while giving him the latitude to push the boundaries of acceptable broadcast practices. Never content with the status quo, he expanded his scope by forming the Wellington Crane Freedom Foundation to Promote American Values. The foundation provided unlimited opportunities to push his pet causes and make a few bucks—actually, lots of bucks—but, hey, that was the American way.
As he headed back to the war room, he shouted, “Get me a cup of coffee, Amanda.” It was time to prepare for another show.
As always, he checked his underground hotline before scanning the news services. The vast network of strategically placed informants on his payroll often provided him with scoops and insights not available to others. He was thrilled to see the hotline blinking and immediately picked it up and returned the call. He greeted his informant and asked, “What do you have for me?”
“Mr. Crane, I’m calling from the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center and have information that might be of value to you.”
“I’m all ears,” Wellington replied excitedly.
“A very sick-looking man with a towel over part of his face was just admitted to the hospital under heavy Secret Service protection. That man is President Lyman Burkmeister. They whisked him away immediately to the VIP suites.”
“Are you sure it was him?” Wellington asked, not wanting to look like a boob by airing false information.
“Yes sir, I am. My girlfriend works VIP and confirmed it was him. You can take that to the bank.”
“Thank you for your good work. We’ll be sending you something you can take to the bank.”
Wellington hung up and took a moment to connect the dots. It all added up, he thought, recalling that more than one reporter had commented on Burkmeister’s sickly appearance in the Rose Garden. Eager to share this new detail with his adoring fans, he would once again scoop the major news networks.
It’s going to be a great day, he thought. He would start with the headline news and then move quickly to the tantalizing new tidbit on Burkmeister. His guest today, Senator Tom Collingsworth, despised