Double Team
Chapter 209
“For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen.”
—Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
EMILY MADE THE RUN to pick up our parents at the airport Friday afternoon, accompanied by Leah as her security. They’d gotten to know each other during the run and were coordinating transportation. Of course, the rest of us had been transported by coach to Symphony Hall to set up and rehearse.
Symphony Hall in Boston. If possible, this place impressed me more than Carnegie Hall in New York. Built in 1900, it’s been home to the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Boston Pops for 122 years. And it’ s beautiful. Walking on stage, my head was filled with images of concerts directed by Arthur Fiedler directing the Boston Pops. This hall had seen literally thousands of orchestral and chamber performances over the years. Standing on the stage, I felt dwarfed by the orchestra seating and two wrap-around balconies above. I wondered how the four of us would ever be able to fill this space with our music.
But Symphony Hall has impeccable acoustics. As Cindy and Remas did some warmups, I stepped off the stage and went to the back of the hall to listen. Flawless. We wouldn’t be using instrument pickups or a voice mic for Desi. This hall had seen thousands of recordings of the orchestra and the recording of our two performances here would be carefully edited to create a full CD of our live National Service tour. It was almost overwhelming.
Our rehearsal went well and we were conducted to a ready room where we could all change costumes, eat our light dinner, and greet Mom, Dad, Mark, and Betty. We weren’t changing our program significantly, though #Jacobisnotdead had fallen off the trending lists and national news had moved away from the splashy coverage of the hurricane in Texas. When we moved away from Boston, I was definitely changing my mid-concert spiel. I made a few alterations for tonight.
First, I hugged my parents.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through what you did,” I said. “I’m still digging into what happened and trying to bring them to justice. I’ll find them.”
“Don’t put yourself or your family in danger,” Dad admonished.
“Your parents are tough,” Mom added. “We know you are called to do a difficult job. We knew when we watched reports of your last tour that it could be dangerous. Just know, my dear son, that we are at home waiting for your return. We will be there for you.”
“Thank you, Mom. That means the world to me.”
This beautiful concert hall is a 122-year-old reminder of what it means to have and maintain a dream. Cindy, Remas, Desi, and I are awed to be performing here. This represents what it means to us to recover the dream of the National Service.
We’ve come to a point where my family, even my parents who are here on stage with us, can joke about hearing the announcement from the National Service Survival, Search, and Rescue team that I was dead. We’re pretty sure they were fed faulty information somewhere along the line and I assure you, we bear no hard feelings toward that remarkable team. I’m awed by their performance in Galveston. They are part of what it means to recover the dream. They are the best, strongest, and bravest of what the National Service has to offer.
We have sent out word to invite them to appear on stage with us so we can thank them for the shining example they’ve set. Sadly, they seem to have slipped off the grid again and no one, even in the Office of Civilian Service, can locate them.
I think that’s an indictment against our current National Service laws. We owe the people of America the knowledge that service corps members are cared for and supported in every endeavor. For all we know at the moment, they could be on assignment in China where funding for such an organization would be easy to get. It would surely be much easier than finding secret funds at this level to support training and supplying them off the grid in the United States.
That is why we need to support service reform and to vote against any candidate this fall who opposes reform. The only reason a candidate can have in light of the evidence presented by the President’s National Service Reform Commission to oppose reform is that they somehow personally profit from maintaining the status quo. Certainly, we know there are American companies who profit greatly from selling to the National Service or getting agricultural labor at a steeply discounted rate from service corps members. But what could possibly motivate the people we elect to represent us to ignore the clear mandate to improve labor and service conditions for us in the service?
We are determined, in this mid-term election, to recover the noble vision for the National Service by electing only representatives and senators who will seriously hear the reform measures, debate them openly and fairly, and act to help the ten million youth serving today to recover the dream. We offer this, not only as our campaign, but as our prayer.
I didn’t like the SSR disappearing again as soon as the emergency was over. That meant they could pop up anywhere, including in our RV park. Even having identified the members of the team through the confusion of the rescue in Galveston, the AI had been unable to locate the signal from their badges. I knew the badges were still sealed in Faraday bags.
I’d been watching the Weather Channel on TV, and there was an Atlantic storm east of Puerto Rico that looked like it had Florida in its sights. It was moving northeastward and was named Delilah. There had been so many tropical storms and hurricanes this year we were in our second time through the alphabet and everyone was hoping this would be the last one. I figured if it hit, the SSR team would be first on location. Of course, it could always be an earthquake in California instead.
We watched the news feeds for anything we could imagine as a response to Friday night’s concert and saw nothing, so after our run in the morning we loaded the coach and picked up the parents to head for Boston Common to play tourists for the day. After exploring the common and historic sites, we headed toward Faneuil Hall and stopped to explore the Park Street Church cemetery where so many early patriots are buried. We had an early dinner at Legal Seafood Company and the coach picked us all up for a quick trip back to Symphony Hall to get ready for our evening performance.
We tried to make the performance as identical to the one the night before as possible, since the two performances would be cut together with best takes to create our CD. I didn’t change my spiel much, just getting a couple of tips from Donna on cleaning up a few phrases. I didn’t know if we’d be including the speech on the CD or not. Regardless, the audience was welcoming and enthusiastic.
After our run Sunday morning, we were just relaxing in the motorhome. There might have been a little kissy-huggy-fucky going on. I’m not saying. Remas had turned on TV and was watching Face the Nation. It caught my attention. The interviewer was Brett Farnswell. His guests were none other than Dan Schaffer and Marissa Chamberlain, the notification team that had been to my parents’ house.
“With me today are Dan Schaffer, District Director of the National Service in Indiana, and Reverend Marissa Chamberlain, Chaplain of the Service in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Director Schaffer, recently you and Rev. Chamberlain came under fire for delivering word to a family that their son had died in service when, in fact, he was talking to them on the phone. Can you tell us who the orders came from to notify the Hopkins family of their son’s death?”
“Family notification is one of the sad responsibilities of managers in the National Service and the instruction of whom to notify and when comes from an automated system.”
“There are that many deaths each year in the service?”
“Mortality statistics have not changed significantly in the age group 18-21 since the inception of the National Service nine years ago. Sadly, we still see in excess of 20,000 deaths a year in this group. The difference is that these kids are often far from home, serving their country, and we try to make notifying their families a priority,” Schaffer said.
“Yet not only was this notification false, it was delivered after news had already been delivered over the national media,” Farnswell said. “Since the automated system failed, can you tell us what delayed the notification?”
“We were set up,” Marissa said. “We received notification in plenty of time but were given faulty information.”
“In what way?”
“First, notification of the parents was not the intended target. We were told that Mr. Hopkins was part of a plural domestic partnership and his home address was in Indiana. A PDP automatically takes priority as next of kin and we went to the address of the farm the PDP used as its residence.”
“And?”
“We found it empty. A man mowing the grass told us the pod had recently moved to Washington, DC,” Dan said. “That made the notification even more urgent and after confirming a new address, Marissa and I took off for DC. It is not unusual for people entering the service to have a temporary address and maintain the home address where they originated. We were disappointed to discover no one in residence at the house. It appeared we had failed in our task.”
“But you notified the parents.”
“We returned to Indiana where Jacob Hopkins is fairly well-known as the guitarist of Marvel and Hopkins,” Marissa said. “I’ d never met him, but had heard of him in many areas where I visited with people preparing to enter service. I felt compelled to make sure that someone was notified and suggested that we try his parents when we returned to Fort Wayne so that maybe they could direct us to his pod. That is what brought us to their door, not knowing the news had just hit the media, nor that Jacob was, indeed, still alive.”
“And you think you were set up? How so?”
“When we arrived at the parents’ home, they had a video recorder running to tape the entire encounter. That recording was on the internet in minutes after our visit. I feel that we were ambushed when we were attempting to do our job. A job, by the way that wrenches the heart and that we attempted to do with compassion and care. I understand Jacob Hopkins is still on tour with Marvel and Hopkins and can only say to him that this was a cruel and heartless ploy for self-promotion. He should be ashamed.”
“Fuck,” I moaned. “That kind of backfired.”
“We’ll figure out a response,” Beca soothed me. “Joan and I will have something up on the website this afternoon. And we’ve got PR people at the OCS. Simon should be all over this since he’s responsible for promotion and advertising.”
“I hate having people think we’d do something like that. Can we call them?”
“I’ll see if Jo can set something up,” Rachel said. “They’re probably in DC now. That’s where Face the Nation originates.”
“If they are, they probably met with the General first and he filled them full of bullshit,” I said.
“The problem is no one knows who’s in charge,” Livy said. “I don’t think anyone at my camp knows the Office of Civilian Service is calling the shots. They all believe the National Service Headquarters is. They need to get this settled.”
“Not going to happen until there’s reform.”
We celebrated Livy’s birthday Sunday afternoon even though it wasn’t until Monday. Her parents had come in time for the show Saturday night and we all sat around the motorhome with the grill going and I just kept flipping burgers until everyone was full. About four o’clock, it was time to get people to the airport. Once again, we were scattering to the four winds. The six parents were headed back to Indiana. Livy was headed back to Blacksburg. Beca, Joan, Nanette, Sophie, and Brittany were returning to DC. Emily, Rachel, Desi, Cindy, Remas, and I would be headed to Albany, New York later in the week but we had a few days off. We considered all going back to DC for the few days’ break but came up with a better idea.
“So, you guys go ahead with the motorhome to our campground at Albany,” Em said to our drivers. “Find a comfy place to stay. The box truck will be taking off today, too. I’ll drive the coach for the next couple of days. We’ll take the scenic route and just mosey along. We’ll join up with you Thursday night and be all set to go to the venue on Friday. Sound good?”
The other drivers agreed. I kind of thought the woman who drove our coach might have something going on with the guy who drove the motorhome. They grinned at each other when told to go find someplace comfy.
“Sorry to be a wet blanket,” Lamar said, “but Leah and I follow you. We’ll stay clear as much as possible, but Ron was very specific about making sure you have security wherever you go. We’ve got a car. Just let us know the destination each day and we’ll stay as discreet as possible.”
“We’ll live with it,” I said. “You guys are great running partners in the morning and now Emily and I won’t have Nanette and Livy to challenge us.”
Monday morning, we mounted our horses and rode off in all directions.
It was only a couple hundred miles from Boston to Albany, but going the scenic route through New Hampshire and Vermont would add about a hundred. Emily spotted a couple of inns on her routing that would make perfect stops for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights. Of course, she got Lamar and Leah rooms in the same inn. We didn’t want them camping out while we had a nice hotel. They followed the bus, starting a while after us. When we got together Monday afternoon, they had an interesting story to tell.
“I’m not much interested in military stuff, but I know what two stars on the lapel means,” Lamar said. “Major General Fucking Gerhardt came to visit you. He had a five-person security team with him and they did not look like National Service.”
“Christ! What did they want?” I asked.
“Offhand, I’d say you,” Leah said. “Since they wanted to know where you were. We told them your motorhome pulled out early in the morning for Albany, New York on I-90. We didn’t mention the coach and they didn’t ask.”
“We need help,” I said redundantly. Rachel was already on the phone to Ron Starling.
It took a while to get the story straight and let Ron know what we were doing. It looked like this was going to get heated. I certainly wasn’t going into Army MP custody. They had zero authority to arrest me. Well, at least they couldn’t now that I was no longer on the Air Force base. I was looking it up while Rachel and Ron were conferencing in Will, Jo, and Simon. One thing for sure was that I needed to stay off of federal property. The general had apparently felt he could get away with using military police if he moved before we did Monday morning. I was thankful we’d left early.
“Okay,” Rachel said. She’d conferenced Emily in on the call as well. “Ron thinks we’re safe as long as we are sightseeing in New Hampshire and Vermont. We’ll be picking up additional security when we cross into New York. The general would no doubt like to see us not perform in Albany. You’ve been embarrassing him. But he can’t use military resources unless you’re on a base or federal property. That means we need to be careful about routing and stops.”
“Can we travel on the interstate?” Desi asked.
“Yes,” Em responded. “The interstate right of way and highway are owned by the state it crosses through. We don’t have problems with that. And it’s unlikely anyone would try something military in a National Park or Forest, but we’ll avoid those just the same. The biggest threat would be on military bases, National Service training and base camps, and federal buildings like the Capitol, White House, and Supreme Court.”
“Okay, so I’m pretty sure the general has access to National Service security teams just like we do. We’re going to get into a pissing contest over who has authority?”
“Exactly,” Rachel said. “Will says he’s had it and is using some of your information, cleaned up by White House resources, to take over. It’s going to be hostile and temporary. It will be completely at the whim of the President as to who remains in control. In this administration, we’ve got the President behind the Office of Civilian Service. Without the reform bill, the next president could switch control back to the military.”
“Lamar, how’s your long-distance running?” I asked.
“We’ve been running ten miles every morning,” he laughed.
“Yeah, but I need to stretch my legs for a few hours and listen to the music of my feet. Let’s look at the map and plot out twenty or twenty-five miles.”
Three times, I’d led the SSR team on twenty-mile runs. It was one of the things that bothered me about them showing up someplace with no working infrastructure. They could be parked twenty miles away and still be on site in three hours or less, carrying their full packs of emergency supplies. Lamar and I dressed in running gear and dropped our IDs in the Faraday bag. I didn’t think anyone was tracking us close enough to try to find our signal, but all eight of us dropped our IDs in the bag to be sure. Unfortunately, of course, there were a hundred other ways to track us if someone was dedicated. We had cell phones, the bus had a tracking device, we had WiFi. For all I knew they could track the birth control implants we all had. That made chills go down my spine.
As we pounded down country roads, uphill and down, through some incredibly beautiful terrain, I started to get my thoughts in order. Something had been bothering me ever since I saw Paul announce I was dead on national TV. Suddenly, the team I’d trained with was in play. If the general was smart about it, he’d send them to pick me up. Assuming they would follow that order. Were they all in on the project like I was sure Paul was?
I really hoped Hurricane Delilah made landfall in the next twenty-four hours. Then I’d know where they were.
Or weren’t.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
