Eddy's Current (6 page)

Four months after arriving, Alex and his division were about three miles from the base of the mountain range, waiting for U.S. bombers to complete their bombing so ground soldiers could advance up the mountains, search the caves and hopefully find and capture or kill terrorists. It dawned on Alex as he watched the bombers pound the mountains that the U.S. was so angered about the attacks of 9/11 that she was literally blowing up rocks. Countless tons of rock were blasted into the air by the exploding U.S. bombs. It was not unusual to see that the entire side of a particular mountain was blown apart and crumbled into a pile in the valley below.

The U.S. soldiers were asleep late one night when Alex heard a car rumbling toward him, yet still well into the distance. The sound increased steadily—then suddenly. The car was moving much faster than just a moment before. Alex and thirty other soldiers shot up out of bed, grabbed their weapons, and ran toward the entrance of the Army camp. It wasn’t a car they had heard; it was a large truck. It was being driven by a suicide bomber. The suicide bomber was not strapped with a small explosive device, as is the case with most suicide attackers. The entire rear of the truck was packed with explosives, enough to level a small town.

The truck crashed through the gate, advanced beyond the entrance wall, and slammed into the main sleeping quarters for the soldiers. It exploded into a massive fireball. The attack, as destructive as it was, was also meant to be a distraction. Exactly four minutes after the explosion, as all available U.S. soldiers were tending to the injured in the sleeping quarters, putting out fires and carrying off the dead, hundreds of Taliban fighters stormed the camp, firing weapons at any U.S. soldier in sight.

Alex and the other soldiers who had run from their beds earlier were able to return fire and kill many of the attackers. Two young U.S. soldiers were severely wounded and lay out in the open, sitting ducks for the murderous Taliban. A split second before the Taliban fighters were to open fire on the wounded soldiers, Alex jumped up from behind the wall, tossed two hand bombs at the Taliban fighters, ran toward the injured soldiers while flooding the Taliban fighters with his machine gun bullets. He draped one soldier over his upper body, grabbed the other around the torso and dragged him back behind the wall. He laid the soldiers gently on the ground, thrust his left hand into the gaping hole in his right side to stop the bleeding, and continued fighting, firing his machine gun with his right hand. Medics tended to the two injured soldiers. They survived. The fighting lasted another two hours. All Taliban fighters were killed.

Four hundred three U.S. soldiers were also killed. This fight was Alex’s last battle in Afghanistan.

Alex’s right side was severely injured. It was ripped open during the attack. His heroism did not go unrecognized. He was awarded the Purple Heart and the Medal of Honor. Alex spent weeks in the hospital recuperating from his injury. His mother stayed with him around the clock. She was now ready for him to continue with his studies at UF. He was ready for that as well. “You will now get on with your quest to become a big shot in the U.S.,” Felicia said. “That was our deal. Remember our deal?”

JULY 2003

Alex and his parents moved to Gainesville, Florida, and Alex re–enrolled in UF, picking up where he left off before his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Things were different for Alex now. He had been profoundly changed by the events of 11 September 2001, and by his experiences in Afghanistan.

Like most college campuses, the University of Florida was a haven for many self–righteous, we–have–to–be–right–because–we’re–left college students and professors. And, like most college campuses, many students and professors at UF did not hesitate to speak against U.S. foreign policy, especially if U.S. foreign policy was heavily influenced by a U.S. war.

Alex discovered that he had a knack for debate. He engaged quite often in discussions and disagreements with other UF students. He was basically quiet and shy about his personal experiences, though, so few on campus knew of his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Fewer still knew of his heroism there. Alex liked it that way. His debates were lively, driven by energy and experience his opponents could not see. His opponents often wondered about his level of intelligence and his life’s experiences. He seemed so confident in the U.S. and in its policies and actions. He never wavered.

Alex graduated from UF with his bachelor’s degree in June 2006, then earned his master’s degree over the next two years. He had majored in law enforcement, and his grades were second to none. Alejandro and Felicia were proud of their son’s achievements. Alex had only begun. He had plans that went well beyond his college studies.

It was the summer of 2008, and not the best time in history to leave college and enter the job market. By early June, rumblings had begun about the coming economic problems developing in the U.S. economy. For a short while, Alex pitied himself—just a small amount, but enough to feel disgusted about his own whining.

He had overcome so much — impossible odds, really — Dean Rodgers, the narcissistic and abusive farm labor boss, unheard of work and sacrifice on the part of his parents, his own hard labor as a young boy, his life as a soldier in war, endless hours of study, a bachelor’s and master’s degree. But now, instead of looking to the future and counting his blessings, he found himself temporarily in a slump. After two short days in mild depression, Alex was ready to move on. He would prepare himself to serve as an agent of the FBI, the agency he considered to be the epitome of patriotic service to the country he loved.

The FBI Academy was located on the United States Marine Corps base at Quantico, Virginia. Alex applied to the academy and was accepted. His credentials and life’s experiences were so impressive that he began with a credibility normally imputed to sons and daughters of influential politicians, FBI agents, and others who have no special standing themselves but who are related to one or more who do. He began at the FBI academy in January 2009, and was selected to serve in the FBI’s honors internship program.

Though there was trouble brewing at the FBI, his life at the academy was good. Alex excelled and impressed his instructors regularly. He made quick work of a field of study that often leaves behind even the most intelligent and dedicated student. Upon his graduation in December 2010, he was assigned to the Jacksonville, Florida, FBI office to work mostly on port terror prevention, but also on drug cases.

Alex’s work at the FBI was not professionally satisfying for him. The FBI was not the place to be. It had lost its luster. It was known for overstepping its authority on a regular basis, including aggressive, even illegal investigations under the pretense of the Patriot Act. Among the very public problems at the bureau were stories of illegal wire tapping, leaks of confidential records, and, of course the legacy brought to it — deserving or not — by being lumped together with the completely bungled intelligence that precipitated the mess in Iraq.

Alex trudged through three years of FBI service in Jacksonville. Though his record there was impeccable, he was not happy. He loved America, he was not cynical of her, but he had grown skeptical of her leaders, especially the leaders at the FBI. The FBI was a mess, and Alex wanted out. As was the case each time Alex moved on in his life, he wanted to make sure he did so for the right reasons, in the right way and without any bitterness toward anyone.

Politics interested him. His mother had prophesied about his future, but were those the dreams of a mom who adored her son, or were they Devine revelations, sent to a mother who could will them into existence? Alex had no political experience. He had no standing in a major political party. Few outside of UF or the Jacksonville FBI office knew him.

There was a possibility, though. Gainesville and Jacksonville were in Florida’s third congressional district, and the seat was soon to be vacant. It was now early January 2014. The election would be held on 11 November 2014, less than a year away, with the primary scheduled for 12 August, only seven months down the road.

“Mama and Papa, I want to run for congress. The congressional seat will be open. The congressman from the district is retiring, and I believe that I can win the election. What do you think of my idea?”

His parents were stunned. Alejandro spoke first, “I have learned to believe in you. It’s not that I believe that my son is perfect, like many parents believe about their children; it’s not that at all. But I believe in you, Nino. You can do it.”

Felicia was crying at hearing the news, not because she was necessarily happy or sad, but because that’s what she did when she heard news. She cried. It was her job. “My Nino, listen to me. You will be a fine congressman. I know you will. You will win the election, and you will make a difference. I will warn you, though, that if you become like many of those other corrupt politicians I’ll come up to Washington, find you, and turn you in the right direction. You must change Washington, but you must not allow Washington to change you. Please do it. I want you to do it. I know you will do it.”

Alex sent his résumé to the Democratic Party leaders in north–central Florida. The Party bigwigs in Tallahassee were initially impressed to the point that they got together in Jacksonville with the democratic leaders from congressional district three to compare their notes and to meet with Alex.

As candidates go, Alejandro is, overall, an attractive one. A war hero—yet he would not promote war. An FBI agent; now that might be a problem. A skilled debater; that’s good. Worked his way to where he is the old–fashioned way. Great. That’s a real plus. Good looking, great presence. Real pluses there, too. He’s single—slightly negative. No experience. Not good. Strong family support, which is a huge plus.

Not good if he goes against Jennings. Not at all sure how he’d do against Jennings, either. Might even split the democrats, allowing the republican to walk right in. No good.

Might be eaten alive in a debate, even though he’s a good debater. Jennings will have mega bucks; Perez, nothing. Not good at all. He and Jennings might not hit it off. No good. Jennings has to have support.

Young, but he would appeal to older Floridians. Very good. UF connections. Great. Should do well in Jacksonville voting. He’s Hispanic, so he may not do well in rural areas. Relates to people well. That’s indispensable. Can’t buy it.

No skeletons. A huge, monstrous plus. Highly intelligent. Good, good, very good. And personable. Rare combination. Good public speaker, though not great. Slight disadvantage, especially against Jennings. Energetic. Contagious. Optimistic. In this day and age, a huge plus. Seems to always take the high road. First–class. Naive, though. Needs to learn.

“We want to support you, we really do, Mr. Perez,” Don Litten, chairman of both the state of Florida Democratic Party and the North Florida Democratic Action Committee, said, “but we have to go over tons of details first.”

Litten and his committee members were not there to show their support for Perez. They were there to convince him that he should throw his support to Thomas W. Jennings, their anointed choice to fill the seat. They and Jennings had too much invested in Jennings’ candidacy to make a change at this point. They would patronize Perez, then move in for the kill, to convince him to abandon his plan and throw his support entirely to Jennings. They considered it worth their time to come over from Tallahassee to convince Perez that he should support Jennings.

“We need that seat in order to maintain our standing in Washington. Time is limited, though. The clock is not working in our favor. We’re talking about mounting a major campaign from scratch in a very short time. Competition is tough. The republicans are still stinging from the whipping they took a few years ago. They are coming after this seat with all they have—money, endless advertisements, mud slinging; you name it, they’ll use it. We also have a problem in our own camp. And I’m more concerned about that than I am about the republicans,” Litten said.

“The candidate we have, Thomas W. Jennings, is a very prominent democrat from Jacksonville with huge funding behind him,” Litten went on to explain. “He’s also a UF grad. And, here’s the real challenge for you if you run against him: He’s an attorney who has represented big port interests for decades. He’s sure to get the big port money. He has fought hard and long for their interests. Why do you think the ports of America still are not burdened with the huge increased costs needed to provide the level of security necessary to protect us from the arrival of a bomb or two into our ports?

“You and other Americans might see that as irresponsible, but to Jennings, and to us, it means that he’s done a good job saving hundreds of millions of dollars in increased security costs for the Jacksonville port, and billions for ports nationwide, so we are owed that seat by them. The ports owe us, plain and simple. When organizations with that much money owe you, you’re in good shape.

“Anyway, we have evaluated your proposal from all angles. You are absolutely invaluable. We are awed by your credentials and your life’s experiences. Here’s what we propose in response.

“We would like for you to campaign for Jennings. You — a war hero, FBI agent, hard worker, bright, moral and ethical — would be a great asset to the campaign. I’m sure that, in return for your support, Mr. Jennings will be able to secure you a major position as a security expert with a port or transportation company. Should you end up with a port company, for example, you could continue to make the case that port security is fine as is, and needs no further strengthening. You would win all the way around. The port companies would embrace you. You would be helping your fellow democrats, and Jennings would never forget such support. As he works his way up in Washington, he would find secure and lucrative employment for you.”

“No,” Perez said, flatly, “and that is final. This meeting is over.”