Leon Uris (41 page)

“Hell of a bar mitzvah,” Greer said.

“Our father told me that I was a man now, and had to assume a man’s burden. I only remembered my half brother in veiled tones, and somehow the name of Alexander stuck in my mind.”

The melting away of fear in Quinn changed to a flooding gladness as Ben stopped for a drink, noting that the altitude made him dry. He took a small photograph album from his overnight bag and opened it.

“This is our dad.”

Quinn felt Rita’s hand grip his shoulder as he stared, and said nothing.

Ben drew a deep breath, turned the page. “This is the only photo I have of your mother.”

Quinn spun out of his seat and turned his back to them, mumbling to himself in a jerky voice. Ben gulped another glass of water.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I’m being very selfish. Lord, what you must have gone through.”

“I knew I’d find you. The search became the hub of my life. I went into police work to specialize in missing persons. After I made detective lieutenant, I joined the faculty of John Jay College for Criminal Justice. For years only cold trails—here are my kids, two boys and two girls. Well, they’re not kids anymore. And these are the grandchildren.”

“I’m an uncle. God, that’s strange, Uncle Quinn. And I’m going to be a grandfather, and my daughter will have cousins and an aunt and an uncle…”

“Maybe I could have picked a more appropriate time, but Ms. Crowder convinced me it would be disastrous to hold on to this information…so I came.”

Ben related the rest of his odyssey. All the principals were dead, and Alexander had disappeared as if
into thin air. Ben had vague memories of Monsignor Gallico’s visits, but these stopped.

“When Dad died,” Ben said, “I was his main survivor. I was there with the family lawyer when we emptied the safe deposit box. There were a few things of value, some stocks, jewelry, certificates of ownership, insurance policies. What I did not know was that Dad had sent a sealed envelope to Monsignor Gallico and his successors. The front read:
Not to Be Opened Until the Year of 2000 by Benjamin Horowitz or His Immediate Heirs
. Here are the contents.”

Quinn looked at photos of Marina and David and a birth certificate for a “Baby” Horowitz.

“I tried to play the Catholic card but didn’t even get as far as the convent door. It’s a deep, dark, mystical world in there, with an understanding of God that is strange and different.”

“God sure has a weird sense of humor,” Mal grunted.

“It became a matter of numbers: matching footprints on the birth certificate. The FBI had hundreds of millions of prints, but computer clarification had not caught up to them. Footprints of a newborn infant can change, so I went by probable birth dates. Well, everyone gives up a print sooner or later. When yours popped up, it was a very close match to the one on the birth certificate.”

“My footprint? How the hell did anyone get my footprint?”

“I didn’t, but a certificate told me your name, the time you were born and where. Then I researched Catholic adoption records covering a five-year period. A single line said, ‘Baby Patrick,
parents unknown
. Adopted by Daniel and Siobhan O’Connell, Troublesome, Colorado, February 17, 1953.’ The rest of it? Baby Patrick grew to be Governor Quinn Patrick O’Connell.”

“But how did you confirm your connection with Quinn?” Rita asked.

“Quinn has given innumerable pints of blood to the Red Cross to be used as a bank for a family emergency, and otherwise, he is a regular donor. I was able to get a hold of a pint and run a DNA on it, then one on myself. To make utterly certain, I had Father’s body exhumed and took enough to test him as well. The three of us are a match.”

“We don’t need DNA results,” Rita said, lifting off Ben’s glasses. “Just look at the two of them.”

They drifted down from the tale of fantasia back into Mal’s studio.

“Thank God, Ben reached us when he did. If the public learned after the election, it would be a prelude to a national nightmare,” Greer said.

“Am I privy to this?” Mal wanted to know.

“Of course you are,” Quinn answered.

“All right, then. We must put this before the American people at once,” Mal said. “But no matter what approach you make, you’ve entered a minefield.”

“He’ll tell the truth,” Rita cried.

“Truth is in the heart of the beholder. Them that wants the truth will believe him. No truth can penetrate them who can’t comprehend the truth. They will cry wolf about a Zionist conspiracy. In ten minutes I can find someone in the media down in Troublesome and tip him off that a left-wing Catholic priest planted a Jewish child as part of a Zionist plot. You think that’s crazy? Nothing among the haters will be too far-fetched.”

Mal looked at the brothers and shook his head. The resemblance was remarkable. “The problem is, Jew hating has always been close to the surface throughout the last two millennia. It’s the perfect system of bigotry, time-tested—the Roman sacking
of the nation, the divorce of Jesus from the Jews in order to make a new religion, Islam, the ankle-deep blood of Jews by the Crusaders on the Rhine, the Inquisition, Martin Luther, the pogroms of Eastern Europe, and lest we forget, the Holocaust.”

“Is the human race forever in a prison of bigotry?” Quinn whispered.

“Quinn, I don’t want you or Rita or the kids to have to walk into a blizzard of hate. Withdraw from the race,” Mal said.

Ben once again berated himself for his bountyhunter zeal. Greer answered him that he had to do what he did. Neither Quinn nor Rita spoke of the terror they had endured before and after the AMERIGUN convention.

“We Jews are the most outstanding example of a patriotic minority,” Ben said. “At only two percent of the population, we’ve created great industries and writers and musicians and doctors. As I teach my students, there are over seventy Jewish American Nobel prize winners. Goddammit, we deserve the respect of our countrymen!”

“There has been no crime…no conspiracy,” Quinn said.

“Depends on who is telling the story and who is listening,” Mal said. “They’re all in place, waiting for the news.”

“And if I quit, the Second Amendment will never be tested.”

“Remember what was done to the Clintons,” Rita said. “Destruction, sheer destruction.” Her quavering words were her first. She knew what lay ahead if he went on. Quinn was deeply jarred by her less than enthusiastic support. His strong allies in life were becoming his reluctant allies. Greer? What about Greer? She’d be too clever to slip one way or another at this point.

“It’s your call, boss,” Greer said.

“Like my old commander Jeremiah Duncan said, ‘If blood bothers you, don’t go on this mission.’ Greer, buy some network and cable time. I’ll read a statement from here to the American people at one o’clock,” and then he laughed, “Rocky Mountain time.”

“Call me if you need me,” Mal said, and left the studio.

Rita hedged. She’d give no further resistance. She would come to his side. Only, it was shaky knowing what was ahead. Greer saw through it. She took Rita’s arm and spun her around.

“Here’s truth,” Greer snapped. “Quinn Patrick O’Connell cannot and will not walk away from this fight. Never has, never will.”

“I know,” Rita said with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I know.”

“What will you say to the voters, Quinn?” Greer asked.

“Straight up and down, I think. I won’t plead or defend. I won’t grovel. It’s going to be up to the people.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Greer sighed. “Ben, come with me. We have to sequence your story correctly for the press.”

“My nieces and nephews, Duncan and Rae?” Ben asked excitedly. “Isn’t Duncan’s wife due?”

“Their dad will tell them. You’ll be able to meet them in an hour. Excuse me, we’ve got work to do,” Greer said. She and Rita exchanged hard glances.

Breaking News Breaking News Breaking News

“This is Lou Luenberger, MSNBC Denver. We are in Troublesome, Colorado, the home of Democratic candidate, Governor O’Connell. The air around his
travelling headquarters has been rife with rumors. The O’Connell people have kept a lid on things, skipping the daily afternoon press briefing. The center of this appears to be a new player on the stage, who flew in from New York this morning. He has been tentatively identified as Detective Lieutenant Ben Horowitz, also a professor of criminology. The governor will make a statement at eleven Eastern, eight Pacific Coast time.”

Quinn sat, naked to the world. No notes, open collar, no flags, no mantel filled with photographs, no busts of Lincoln or statues by Remington.

“My fellow Americans,” Quinn said, “today I experienced one of the most joyous events of my life. As you are aware, I was orphaned at about the age of one year and was raised in a convent until I was three. I do not remember the names of any of the nuns, and I do not know the name of the convent or its location.

“At the age of three I was adopted by my mother and father, Dan and Siobhan O’Connell, ranchers near Troublesome, Colorado.

“My family and I were no more or no less dysfunctional than the average American family. Being Irish, we got into our Eugene O’Neill mode from time to time. In the end, we came back to a most loving relationship. Dan is gone. Siobhan is very ill. I am the most fortunate person in the world to have been their son.

“Yet for every orphan there is a dual life of fantasy. You cannot separate the orphan from this dream. The need to know your biological parents is a need to know yourself. Who am I, really? Where did I come from? God puts you on a relentless search. You are never a complete person if you do not find your roots.

“Today, I met my brother, Ben Horowitz, who has been searching for me for nearly half a century.”

Quinn briefly told the tale of David Horowitz, Marina Geller, and Yuri Sokolov.

“Herein lies the rub,” Quinn said. “I believe the American civilization has reached a challenging moral plateau. We have made a powerful attempt to rid ourselves of bigotry. We still have a long way to go to rid our nation of racism. If I had been Alexander Horowitz, I believe I would have been elected governor of Colorado. I also believe that Governor Alexander Horowitz could have won the Democratic Party nomination. And I also believe that Alexander Horowitz could win the presidency.

“I am the same man I was yesterday. I have not changed. I will carry on with the same issues I had yesterday. Along with my other commitments, I will fight for the repeal of the Second Amendment.

“I was raised as a Catholic. I will remain in the Church. Yet I cannot help but inquire into my Jewish heritage. Where this will take me, I cannot predict.

“The human race has had a checkered existence, from the beginning unto this very day, of blood and evil. Yet we come to moral imperatives, like slavery, where we must rise and create a new norm. The issue of guns, I believe, is such a moral imperative. I also believe that the crushing of anti-Semitism is such an imperative.

“I have come to you speaking the truth. If you believe me, if you want what I want for the American civilization, for American decency, then we will carry the day.

“Good day, God bless you, and God bless America.”

Balancing a bucket of ice and a bottle of vodka and glasses, Rita backed her way into the guest room and closed the door behind her with her foot.

Greer sat on the bed, back against the headboard, watching another gathering of pundits on TV. Her face bore a rivulet of tears dripping off her nose and chin and carrying down the colors of her makeup. On the nightstand, a dead pint of vodka.

“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer wept.

“Mal told me he is plugged into Denver. They’ve called for volunteers to man the switchboards.”

“Quinn?”

“He’s with Mal fixing a plan for the balance of the day. No press conference till tomorrow.”

Rita set the tray down, poured another for Greer and a double for herself. She left and came back from the bathroom with wet and dry towels, sat on the edge of the bed, and wiped Greer’s face as one might a kindergarten pupil.

“What about Duncan and Rae and Lisa?” Greer said, still weeping.

“We saw them before Quinn spoke to the nation. They’re with their Uncle Ben now. He’s a really nice man.”

“I’d better get my shit together,” Greer slurred.

“Lemme see. Too late to get back to Denver. Then…I better be here in the morning. You and Mal pissed at me?”

“I knew Quinn wasn’t going to quit,” Rita said, “but I just got damned frightened for a moment. I’d better get my attitude straightened out. I’ll not live in fear.”

“I, uh, got to work out some damage control…this can run out of control like a wildfire,” Greer said.

“Take a deep breath, Greer, and let’s get drunk.”

“Hey, two
shiker sikas
!”

“The first reports from Denver and DNC are not that bad.”

“Well, now,” Greer said, “we have thirty channels of talking-head experts taken out of cold storage and given electric shocks to get their batteries surging. Frankly, I get my in-depth news from E! Channel and Comedy Central. Oh, that goddamn Quinn is a bastard.”

“How well I know.”

“He’s so wonderful,” Greer wept. “I called Warren and told him to shag ass and get the yacht up from Florida. I’m going to spend five million dollars on myself in Paris. Son of a bitch…we came so close. Now, I’ve got to leave pretty soon…I mean, for all time.” Rita dabbed a new downpour of tears from Greer.

“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer repeated.

“I want you to know what a courageous thing you have done, Greer. It was the work of a genius. And it was overflowing with love. I think I know how much you love him.”

“I love you, too, Rita. Only a very secure woman would have left me alone with Quinn Patrick O’Connell. As I grew to love you more and more, it made things bearable for me.”

This was followed by another slug from the bottle, which Greer scarcely needed. The women embraced and hung onto each other. Greer was feather-light. Rita rocked her back and forth and let her blurt.

Rita fluffed some pillows and stretched Greer out and lay beside her so that she held Greer as her baby, and she stroked Greer’s head and whispered a Mexican lullaby.

“I love you both,” Greer managed.

A moment later there was a knock and the door was opened. There stood Quinn. Rita held her finger to her lips for him to be quiet.

“Some rioting has started,” Quinn said. “Birmingham. Chicago is simmering.”

“Hadn’t you better try to reach the President?” Rita asked.

“He knows what happened and how to reach me.”

“Quinn, I’m with you, man.”