Ashes Will Fall - Chapter 1

1

FIVE O’ CLOCK in the morning always comes too soon. It comes even earlier on a Saturday. The sharp tone from his cell phone was more than enough to wake Nick Ruben from his semi-sleeping state. Just because he woke up in the predawn hours during the workweek, it did not necessarily mean that he was used to it. Usually, he had some help getting started each morning from his wife Vicki. Being Saturday and the kids not needing to get up for school, there was no reason to have her up. He tried his best not to disrupt her. She was angry enough that he had to work on the weekend, he did not want to inflame things further.
It was on a rare occasion that Ruben needed to go into the office on a weekend. However, being a Vice-President of a well-known South Florida advertising agency, working on the weekends was not out of the question, especially when Saturday morning was the time that the client had to meet with him. In the advertising business, it was all about the client.
Ruben rolled out of bed as quiet and careful as he could, taking extra caution not to wake his wife. He made his way to his bathroom, doing a fairly decent job navigating through the dimly lit room.
The first light of the day was far from friendly. Aside from shocking his eyes, it reviled his hideous reflection in the mirror. Then again, at five in the morning, nothing looked good. After rubbing his face, Ruben decided that a shower and shave would do wonders to improve the picture that he saw. Indeed, after shaving the picture had much improved, and the shower made him feel even better.
With a pair of boxers on and his clothes in hand, Ruben made his way to the kitchen. No morning, weekday or weekend should start without fresh coffee. Being Saturday morning, only twice the usual amount would do. In the kitchen as the coffee brewed, Ruben dressed.
For most people, this was the time of day which they enjoyed reading the morning paper. Though the Miami Herald was sitting on the front doorstep, he chose instead to review his notes for his morning meeting. It was not that he had to read them. He could recite all the figures by heart. The New Balance running shoes account after all was nearly his. After seven long months of hard work, his efforts were about to pay off.
Ruben’s job, Junior Vice President of Future Accounts, forced him to be part public relation, part fortune teller. It was his job to convince senior level executives that by employing his company to advertise for them, it would cause the company’s sales to grow. Once the executives agreed with him and signed the papers, the account was turned over to an account manager, and he would have no more say on how things were handled. It was the account manager, who not only handled all aspects of the account, but benefited financially from its success. This time however, if the New Balance executives decided to take him up on his offer, the account would be his. He would be promoted to account manager. It was a promotion that he was due for some time now.
“Dad.” Ruben heard. He looked up from his notes to see his ten-year-old son Kyler sitting at the table with him. Concentrating on his notes, he had not noticed his son walk into the kitchen and sit across from him. Frighteningly, he had not even noticed that his son had poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Kyler, what are you doing up?” Ruben asked.
“Dad, can I go to work with you?” The ten year old asked sipping coffee.
“Ky, if I didn’t have this meeting you could, but you would be bored out of your mind listening to us all talk.” Ruben explained. He could see the disappointment growing in his face. After thinking about it, his sons face displayed the same look more often as of late. Sadly, his six-year-old daughter Ashley had recently learned the look as well.
“Look,” Ruben began. There had to be something he could do. It tore him up inside when he saw his kids as upset as his son was now. “Ky, I know that I haven’t been around for the past few months, but after today that should change.” His son’s face told him all he needed to know.
“How ‘bout this? Tomorrow we’ll all go to the zoo. How long has it been since you’ve been to the zoo?”
“Come on Dad, I’m ten.” His son explained.
“So, I’m thirty-four and I love the zoo.” Ruben defended. At least he caught his attention. “You know what, here is what I want you and your sister to do today. Get together and write a list of some things that you guys want to do tomorrow.”
“You can only do so much in a day.” Kyler mocked.
“Okay, write a list and we will work on it every weekend until we finish it.”
“Yeah right.” He answered, leaning back in his seat. There was no way it would happen.
“I mean it. Once I nail down this New Balance account we’ll celebrate for the next few weeks.” Surprisingly, Ruben actually convinced himself that what he was saying was true. Maybe he would actually do it. He did want to spend more time with his family. They brought a true since of happiness into his life. After all, he was about to finalize his firm’s most prestigious client. Once he did, he would deserve to take a small vacation. His family at least deserved it.
“So, the zoo, and whatever else Ash and I have on the list?” Kyler asked.
“Just try and remember that you can only do so much in a day son.” Ruben mocked his son. Seeing a broad smile spread across his son’s face, Ruben filled with pride. “Deal?” He asked his son with an extended arm.
“Deal.” Kyler answered as he accepted the handshake.
“Well Ky, I had better get going. I don’t want to be late.” Ruben said as he drained the remainder of his coffee. Not surprisingly, his son emptied what remained of his coffee in the sink. Thinking about his family, Ruben felt a knot begin to grow in his throat. Before this morning, Ruben had no idea what he had allowed to happen to them. His job had made it so that his son was forced to wake up early on a Saturday and have coffee with him in order to share a father-son moment. Worse still, his son had to make a deal with him in order for the family to spend time together.
It was not always like that. Early in his career, Ruben had always made time for his family. Whenever possible they ate dinner together, they would have picnics at the park, feed the ducks at the lake, and spend entire days at the beach. Even on occasions, they would take weekend long fishing trips on their friend’s boat. Sadly, all of that was pretty much give up to about a year ago. About the same time that he was handed the preparation of the New Balance account.
As if things could not get worse, Ruben knew that his marriage was being affected by his job. He still loved his wife very much, his heart swelled with pride each and every time that he saw her. Her beauty was unsurpassed by anything that he had ever seen. It was not the love that he felt for her that worried him. It was her that Ruben worried about. He knew that she loved him but that her flame for him seems to be dying down.
The end of the day used to be the part of the day that he most looked forward to. After a tough day, Ruben used to enjoy the drive home. The traffic however, was something that he never wanted to deal with. At the same time, the traffic was a necessary evil that he accepted, knowing of the reward that he would have waiting for him when he arrived home. He always had a beautiful wife, a tasty dinner, and happy kids waiting for him to walk through the door.
Now things have changed. Instead of driving home in the heavy Miami rush hour traffic, Ruben was usually the last person out of the office. The closer he got to nailing down the New Balance account the later he worked to make sure that every last detail was worked out. That usually meant that there was little to no traffic on the road waiting for him when he left work
A long drive home was not rewarded the same as it once was. Where a loving wife once sat waiting for him to walk in the door, a television remote sat on the chair. Cold fast food or a frozen dinner now replaced a warm homemade dinner. Where there were once happy kids that once sat waiting for him, they seam to be too busy to pay him any attention.
The time that the family did spend together was also very different then what it used to be. The normal loving conversations that a man and a woman shared were replaced by anger and never-ending arguments. Half of the time, Ruben had no idea how any of the arguments even began. At first, Ruben attributed it to being a man. Lately however that just did not seam to be the case. Every conversation turned into an argument. The sad thing was that the argument was not the worst part. Worse than the argument itself, was that he enjoyed the arguing. Without them, Ruben feared that the two of them would never talk.
That would have to change. Ruben missed the time that he used to spend with his wife and kids. Maybe a vacation was in the mist. He had always said that the family would one day go on a cruise together. Once he finalized the New Balance deal, he was sure there would be no problem with him taking a few weeks off.
Whether his company liked it or not, a few weeks off would be on appropriate compensation for the last few months of work. As Ruben locked the front door he decided to that before he left work today, he would book a cruise for his entire family. Yes, things were going to change. Maybe even his close family friend, Anthony Lazo would be able to join them.

FROM THE DECK of the Daydreamer, Lazo had seen many sunrises over the mirror like sea. None however, matched the beauty of the first. Every time he was on the water, he took time out to enjoy it. Nothing could be more riveting than watching the birth of a new day. Watching the sea appear to give birth to the sun had become part of his daily routine. This sunrise however, would be the first that he did would not have the time to enjoy.
Lazo had never taken the time out to think about how to dispose of a dead body. Sure, he had read several books, watched plenty movies and seen countless television shows that had their own ideas on how to dispose of a dead body. The problem was, he was not a calculating, shady character that did this type of thing on a normal basis. Though he was sure that there were good ideas in those movies and books, confronted with a real life dead body, he could not recall a single one. The point remained, he had to do something.
After contemplating what to do, he ruled out the most obvious methods that first came to his mind. Calling the police was out of the question. He had a dead body lying in a pool of blood from an execution style wound that he would be unable to explain. Not to mention the cocaine residue that would most likely be all over the house and the boat. It was not exactly the best situation to have cops crawling all over. The same thing was true with a hospital. They ask too many questions and the police can be easily be contacted. All it took was a simple phone call. That left only one option, he had to dispose of the body by himself. When he realized the fact, he was not able to make it to the bathroom before he threw up once again, and left him with yet another mess that he would have to clean later.
Being just after midnight Lazo was not terribly worried about being seen when he dragged the body out to the Daydreamer. As gently as he could, he placed the body on the floor in the cold storage room. The blood would not be a problem in that room thanks to its design. Once he docked, he would simply hose the room down, disposing of the blood.
Once the body was secured, he returned to the house to solve his next problem. Every high school student knew that the human body itself was naturally buoyant. Therefore he knew that if he simply tossed the body off the side of the boat, it would do nothing more then float. Doing that greatly raised his chance of getting caught. He knew that he had to find a way to force the body to sink. In turn, the search began.
Lazo took quite a bit of time searching through his house trying to find things that would help. He found rocks, iron plates from the pile of weights that were sitting in his garage, and even an old anchor for his boat that he thought about using. Then again, how would any of those ideas work? The weights would work in sinking the body, however if it were ever discovered they would be able to match them to his set. The rocks could work, except that a neighbor might see him and remember if ever asked by an investigator. The anchor seamed to be his best bet until he noticed the boats former name was etched into it. Though it was the former name, it could easily be traced back to him. When he put the anchor back into the cabinet, he found the answer to his problem, a bag of instant concrete. Without giving it a second thought, he took the bag to the boat, started the engine, and sailed off.
Lazo did the best that he could to navigate his way through the waterways that led out to the inter-costal but could not help but to think about what was lying on the floor of the cold storage room. Just thinking about what he was about to do, Lazo began to have second thoughts. He was about to dispose of a human body. No, it was not just a human body, but the body of a man that he had worked with for several years. Though he was not a friend, it all was still a shock.
Making his way down the waterway, a plan began to form. Down in the galley, he had a large filet knife that he used to clean the largest game fish that he caught. He had used if a dozen or so times. The blade would be plenty sharp enough to cut through flesh, or so he hoped. With luck, he would make a slice from the bottom of the chest to the waist. Using small handfuls of dryly mixed cement, he would pack the cavity. If he was lucky, some of the blood would be absorbed. Once the cement was dry enough, he would carefully drop it over the side. The only problem was, could he go through with it?
Finding a place where he would do it was not difficult. Having sailed these waters before, Lazo already had the perfect spot picked out. He not only knew that the water there was deep, but also that boaters tended to stay away from that area. It was not exactly a good fishing spot, and it was too deep for snorkeling. Scuba divers had plenty of shipwrecks to dive, rather than this expanse of deep nothingness. It was the perfect spot.
When he arrived at the site, the sun had yet to rise. Hopefully, he would have enough time to get most of this done before it did. For that to happen, he would have to work quickly. As he made his way back to the cold storage room, he found the fillet knife.
Looking down at the body, he tried not to look at it as human. Slicing into a human body was not a normal act. Then again, this was not a normal situation. When it was clear that hoping would not work, he got started.
Before slicing, he began mixing some of the concrete in a bucket. He made sure to leave the mixture on the dry side in hope that it would dry quicker. Once he was pleased, he turned to the body. Trying his bet to maintain his composure, he began. With surprising ease, the knife slid through the skin. Immediately, blood began to ooze. Kneeling next to the body, he pulled the knife from the chest to just about the waist. As he did, he felt the room begin to spin and bile began to rise to this throat. He found himself fighting the urge to faint. Yet, he could not avert his eyes from the blood flowing from the cut. Not being able to fight it any further, he turned to the corner and vomited.
After a few minutes of dry heaving, Lazo decided that it would be the last time that he wasted time doing that. With a new sense of vigor, he picked up where he left off. As carefully as he could, he pealed the skin away from the wound. Using a cup, he poured small amounts of the concrete into the cavity. He then used the knife to mix the blood and concrete together. Just as he hoped it would, the mix quickly soaked in the blood and began to set.
There was no question that when the concrete hardened, the body would sink without any problems. However there was now yet another problem. Lazo knew that by the time the sun was up, there might be other boats topside. Now, with a faint orange hue barely breaking through the darkness, he could still be masked by the night. The problem was the concrete. If he dumped the body with it still not hardened, he could not be certain it would remain in the cavity. If he waited for it to dry, he ran the risk of being seen.
When he went topside however, the answer was evident. There was nothing to be seen anywhere along the horizon. If he did not dump the body now, he may not have the opportunity again. In turn, he quickly moved through the boat into the body. He noticed that the concrete had already begun to harden. In all honesty, he wished that he had more time in which to allow the mix to set. If he dumped it now, he ran the chance that the mix would somehow fall out of the cavity, causing the body to float. If it stayed put, his problems would be solved.
The concrete filled body was expectedly much heavier than before. The jelled like consistency of the concrete was not as set as Lazo had thought it was. As an after thought, he sprinkled dry concrete mix over the top of the cavity. Hopefully, this would be soaked up and help the mixture set. Though it did not work as well as he had hoped that it would, it did make a small difference.
At the top of the stairway that led from the rear cabin to the deck Lazo took one more glance at the horizon to make sure there would be no surprises. After a careful examination, he decided that now was as good a time as any to risk it all, he dragged the body onto the deck to an area where the safety rail could be raised so that you could easily get into the water from the deck. Attempting to be as careful as possible, he picked up the body. Straining, Lazo picked up the body just high enough to clear the lip around the boat. As he leaned over as far as he could without falling, he dropped the body. As he let go, his arm somehow caught one of the legs. In return, the body flipped over and landed face first.
“Oh shit” He gasped. He watched as the water around the body slowly tinted crimson. After minute, the thought hit him. The concrete had to have fallen out.
With out wasting any more time, he decided that it was time to go. Racing to the boat’s controls, he turned the ignition switch and brought the boat’s engines to life. He had to wait as the electronic winch pulled the anchor from the water before he throttled the controls. As soon as the anchor cleared the water, he slammed the throttle into the full forward position, and the propellers began churning up water, and the thick diesel exhaust billowed as the boat began to drift. Soon enough he was moving at ten knots. His heart however, was beating much faster than that.
The sight of the body falling into the water and then just simply floating there was going to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. The whole situation was more than he had ever counted on. Now he was not only an accessory to murder, but he had a boat full of blood. Further more, there was a dead body floating in the water for anyone to find. The entire situation was not one that anyone could imagine to be in.

THOUGH PHYSICAL TRAINING was not necessarily a soldier’s favorite activity, it was a necessary evil of being a soldier. However, in Rudy Valentino’s case, P.T. was something that he did enjoy. It gave him a useful way to exert his pent up frustration in a useful manner. Strangely, the members of Bravo Company, third Ranger battalion shared his convictions about being physically fit. Some of that may have to do with the fact that their lives may count on them being fit on any given day. More important than themselves, one of their fellow brothers' lives may one day depend on them being in superb physical condition. If there was something more important then that, First Lieutenants Rudy Valentino, Joseph Raymond, or any of other Rangers in Bravo Company could not think of it.
Captain Peter Johnson, the commander of Bravo Company had pretty much delegated his unit’s training to both of the unit's leaders. Working as a team, Valentino and Raymond usually alternated days of physical training. For the most part, Valentino handled the days that the unit did muscular failure and Raymond handled the days that they ran. Then again, on any given day, they pretty much did both anyway.
Though he did not run PT, Johnson took part in all of the aspects of the unit’s training. Though on this morning in particular, Raymond was not only in charge of the units training, he was the only person in the chain of command that was actually in attendance. Johnson and Valentino were in a meeting with Colonel Simon Williams, the Third Ranger Battalion’s commanding officer. The meeting was also expected to have the US Army Special Operations Command Lesion, James Winston. However, for some reason or another, he was running late. That was no surprise. In turn, the three soldiers made small talk in the office as they waited for the civilian.
“Are you going to be ready in two months?” Williams asked. He was referring to the upcoming deployment to Iraq that was to take place in two months.
“We’re ready now Sir.” Valentino responded with a great deal of pride. Williams expected as much. “That training in Coronado with those SEALs was good for morale.”
“But from what I heard, we lost?” Williams asked.
“Well Sir, the exercise was designed for them to win. Every joint exercise is designed that way. Whoever the hosting unit is, the exercise was designed for them to win. If the roles were reversed, they would have been on the losing end. More importantly, according to their mission perimeters they failed their mission. They sub sustained too many casualties.” Valentino explained. Once again, there was a since of pride about the way that he said it.
“Not to mention that if it was a real world situation, the hostages would have all been killed. Those SEALs are good, they just are not that good.” Johnson concluded.
Of course Williams already knew all of this. Having been in the Special Forces community for longer than the two soldiers in his office put together, he knew the politics all too well. The other more well-known and popular units, such as the Army Green Beret Special Forces, the Navy SEALs, and Marine Recon get all of the publicity. In joint exercises, the more so-called prestigious units are given all of the strategic advantages. He doubted that the politics in military would ever change.
“Well, Mr. Winston wanted to be the one to talk to you about this, but it looks like he is a little late. I don’t want to take up much more of your time, so I’m going to go ahead and tell you why you were called in here today.” Williams began. Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed. Everyone changed into serious mode.
“As both of you know, the Army has asked us quite often to share our expertise in certain fields of knowledge with other units around the service. Well, now the Miami Dade S.W.A.T. has requested our services.” Williams explained.
“Our unit has been given the tasking. The Miami-Dade police department in South Florida has requested to have some assistance from us to aid in their S.W.A.T. training. I know that you and Lieutenant Raymond are from that area, so naturally you both were our first choice. Now, I can’t send both of you and leave the unit so short on leadership. So after discussing it with Captain Johnson and Mr. Winston, we decided that you will be tasked out.” Williams said, gesturing to Valentino.
It was true that Miami was home to Valentino, however that was not by his choice. Just because he was from the area, did not mean that he was necessarily the best person for the tasking. Both he and Raymond had connections there, and both were far beyond capable of training a S.W.A.T. team. Besides when he left Miami seven years earlier, he did not intend on returning. Even though years have passed, he knew that the demons that he left behind, still remain.
“Well Sir, with this upcoming deployment, I feel that I would be better used here to train with my guys.” Valentino argued before he was cut off when Williams raised his hand.
“Captain Johnson and I have been over this already. You are by far the better instructor in close quarter battle. The units’ upcoming training is mainly marksmanship and such. Lieutenant Raymond is more then capable to train those types of situations. I also took the liberty of looking at the training schedule for the next month, and just about the entire unit’s training called for Raymond to conduct it anyway. Captain Johnson I’m sure, will have no problem taking over your training missions.” Williams explained.
Valentino knew that the old man was right. As hard as he wanted to fight the fact, he knew that it would be a losing battle. Johnson after all was a competent leader. More then simply being a leader, Johnson was a good teacher. Most of what Valentino had learned was through experience with Johnson. On the other hand, there was a possibility that he could spin this in his favor.
“Sir, Lieutenant Raymond and I have proven ourselves time and time again. Iraq, Columbia…” Valentino began. Once again, he was stopped by yet another raised hand. This time it was Johnson.
“Look Rudy, this was my call. It was either you or Raymond. We both know that you are much better with CQB, mainly what the S.W.A.T. unit is requesting our help with. You are being tasked out for it. Full stop, no argument. This time, I am going to get the chance to train my guys.” Johnson explained firmly.
Any soldier knows when it was time to fight, but only a smart soldier knew when it was time to concede to his commanding officer. That included Rangers, even ones as stubborn as Valentino. There was not much to argue anyway. Out of the three officers in Bravo Company, Valentino was the best suited to assist in the training of the tactics that a S.W.A.T. unit would need. Being the only member of his unit to have cross-trained with the Army’s Delta Force, Counter Terrorism Unit, as well as the FBI hostage rescue team in Quantico Virginia, Valentino was the best versed in CQB training. In fact, he handled all of Bravo’s CQB training. Within the Third Battalion, Valentino was considered to be the only real trained expert.
“Now, do you have any more excuses Lieutenant?” Williams asked.
Sure, he could come up with at least a dozen reasons, all of which he was sure would not change the mind of either of his commanders. His reasons were all personnel and they would only accept a professional one. That, he did not have. The problem was, he was not sure if those personnel problems would become professional ones. When he left home to attend West Point, he promised himself that he would not be coming back. Just the thought of returning sent fear deep into his soul. He feared going home more than he feared getting shot at. Hell, he wished that he could face an Iraqi Republican Guardsman rather than face her.
“Lieutenant?” Williams asked, drawing Valentino out of his thoughts.
“No Sir.” Valentino answered. With that answer, he knew whether he liked it or not, it was time for him to face his fears. The just hoped that he was up to the task.

THERE IS A certain bond that a reporter shares with their cameraperson. More than one reporter’s career has been made because of the person behind the camera. All the same, a reporter’s career could just as easily be broken. For a reporter on their way to the top, the right person behind the camera was just as important as the story itself.
Around the time that a person makes the decision to become a reporter, they have to choose what type of reporter that they want to be. It pretty comes down to two types. A person can chose to be in the news anchoring aspect of reporting, or they can choose to take part in the investigative aspect of reporting.
A person that chooses the anchoring aspect of the job is a person who lives to see themselves in the lights. In order to succeed, they need to fit a certain mold. Perfect teeth, impeccable hair, and the ability to read from a teleprompter are all necessary features. An ego is not essential, however acquiring one is an unavoidable side effect.
On the other spectrum, there is the investigative reporter. The investigative reporter works all of their connections in order to report every angle of a story. More important than how good they look, is their ability to think on their feet. Reacting to an ever-changing environment in a way to uncover the full story, especially when the people involved tried to keep things hushed. All of these are important factors to being a successful investigative reporter. In turn, when Heather Gil made the decision to become a reporter, there was no doubt in her mind that she would peruse the latter.
Throughout a person’s life, they make a multitude of decisions that create a basis of what their lives are going to be. Along the way, sacrifices surround every choice that they make. Every direction that you take, have effects, may it be positive or negative in their lives. Either way, we all must live with the choices that they make. Gil was no exception.
When Gil decided that she was going to be a news reporter, she knew that there was no way that she was made to sit behind a desk, read a story that was written by someone else, and then take credit for it. It was bad enough as an investigative reporter that a producer was going to be telling her what stories that she could pursue, and those that she was not permitted to approach. In knowing that, she made the simple choice of becoming an investigative reporter.
In no time, Gil became one of the most popular reporters in regards to the South Florida viewing public. People would turn on the news, hoping to see what she had uncovered today. There was always something. Who was embezzling money this week? What business was taking shortcuts in order to cut costs on their product? Everyone watched channel five in order to see her.
Gil knew why she was so popular within the confines of the Miami television viewing audience. Being a young Hispanic female in a city that has predominate Hispanic viewing audience, her viewers had something to relate to. Further more, she was the incredibly beautiful daughter of a Cuban mother and Puerto Rican father. She had the exotic beauty of the islands. Throughout her life, many people had told her that she resembled the cartoon character Pocahontas. With long flowing dark hair, brown eyes, and natural bronze tan, she could see why they would say that.
She knew full well that she was an attractive woman. After all, she was not ashamed that her beauty that drew in many of her viewers. For Gil, drawing in an audience was nearly as important as the story itself. Once she drew them in however, she had to give them a reason to stay. After all, without an audience, none of her stories would be heard.
Gil had been told before that she was a cold hearted, calculating reporter who would stop at nothing in order to pursue a story. She took it as a complement. After all, the man who had said it was a high school principal who was stealing state money. He was placing honor students in a state funded program designed to keep students at risk of dropping out, in school. These programs caused money to be funded into the school to keep students there. Gil however, discovered that was not the worst part. The worst part was that the principal was pocketing much of the money. It paid for his BMW, country club membership, and brand new yacht.
That investigation had lasted four months and had nearly cost her job. In the long run, the story broke and she became a beloved member of the South Florida community. After all, when it involved kids, everyone cared. After that, people made plans to tune into her daily reports to hear the next big breaking story.
However, before she can go on television with her latest story, her day had to begin with an assignment. Every morning, after her cameraman Oscar Cortez picked up their daily assignment from their producer, they met for breakfast at the same diner. There, they shared their opinions on their current assignments and those assignments that they wished that they had. Luckily, their current assignment was one that they had hoped that they would get.
The Governor of Florida, George Mitchell, was only one month away from being elected President of the United States. His running mate, and would be Vice-President Fredric Grant was going to speak to a group of South Florida supporters the following evening. Of course, South Florida’s favorite reporter had been given the story. Now all that they had to figure out was how they were going to go about reporting it.
“How do we handle it?” Cortez asked, slapping strawberry jam on his rye toast.
That was basically the same question that he asked her every morning, not that it mattered how she answered. Cortez had more experience behind the camera then most reporters had behind a microphone. When it came to setting up a story, Gil knew to step back and allow him to do what he did best. All the same, he knew to step back and let her shine.
“I guess that you’ll shoot some B-roll. I’ll pick some key facts out of the speech, show it, and talk about it.” Gil said working it all out in her head. She knew all too well that when they got to the convention center, the plan would change a hundred times. Then again being a local reporter, she would be restricted to whom she was permitted to talk to and what she could ask. She would not be afforded the leeway that the reporters from CNN and Fox would get. With those restrictions, there was not much else for her to do for her story.
“You going to try to get an interview?” Cortez asked.
“Yeah right, me and all of my connections.” Gil mocked. Then again, Cortez had a tendency for making things that he mentioned come true. She often wondered which of the two really have the connections.
“What ever you say.” Cortez answered. She saw that he was giving his accustom, "We’ll see about that," look. She had come to know it well. When she saw it, she knew to leave it alone and wait to see what he would pull out of his sleeve.

IF THERE IS one thing that a man who travels a lot must get used to, it was sleeping in different hotel rooms every night. However, being the Vice-Presidential candidate in an election that was just over a month away, Fredric Grant did not have a problem with it. In fact, Grant enjoyed all of the effort that the different hotel staffs took to ensure his comfort level. It did not hurt that he was sleeping in the best suites; in the best hotels that each of the cities had to offer.
Miami was a city that Grant had looked forward to visiting, even if it was for only part of a day. After arriving late in the night, and after only a few hours of sleep, he was strategizing with his over eager staff. Looking around his suite, he saw a lot or red eyes, and couldn’t help but wonder if it was caused by a late night of work, or a night of bar hopping. It did not bother him in the least if it was the ladder. Most of them were young and single, and the city would offer a unique opportunity to further exploit the once in a lifetime chance to brag about working for the future Vice-President.
Though they were currently on schedule, not something out of the ordinary so early in the day, it was doubtful that they would stay that way. A campaign often had that effect. In two hours, the entourage would make their way to the airport, fly to Tampa where Grant would give a short speech and collect checks from supporters. The day would be capped off by flying back to Miami for a two-thousand dollar a plate fundraiser where he would give yet another speech. Now, if he could only get his staff to agree on the speech.
Though his staff was a good one, Grant was not sure if he could fully trust them yet. Trust was not something that he took lightly. Being a man who had spent much of his life working in the intelligence community, trust was something that needed to be earned. In fact, he could count the men that had earned his trust on one hand. Of those people, he could not ask them to join his staff when and if he moved into the Old Executive House as the Vice-President. It was bad enough to have one spook in the office, an entire staff would bring about endless conspiracy theories. Thankfully, his long time friend and political alley Paul Jacob offered him some help. He suggested the he hire Rodger Floyd as his Chief of Staff. It was his best move yet. Though Grant had the ability to lead, he had very little in the way of political know how. Floyd had the political savvy needed for a national campaign. The staff that he had chosen was top notch, but he was not yet sure if he could trust them yet.
Staring out of the large seaside window in his hotel room, Grant was enjoying a glass of fine Puerto Rican rum. From behind him, he could hear both Floyd and his Communications Director Adam Goodrich scrutinizing every line. Though there were aspects that Floyd thought should be changed, Goodrich stood his ground. Goodrich was a proud man, and when it came to writing, he did not allow many to criticize.
The speech he was to give was a good one, as were most of his speeches. Most of it was generic, just a different version of his stump speech, except for the small section about future plans the administration had for South Florida. He doubted that the people who paid the two thousand dollars to listen to the speech cared about what he was saying, instead wanted to be able to brag to all of their friends that they attended the fund raiser.
“Relax Rodger,” Grant said, still looking at the sunlit Atlantic Ocean out of the seaside window. “The speech is fine. You know that no one goes to one of these things to listen to what I have to say.”
“You know that’s not true sir. The newsies will use this speech and repeat the parts that impact the locals. What you say is important. And how you say it is just as important.” Floyd pointed out.
“The newsies are going to spin the speech into whatever gets them the most viewers.” A new voice explained. Grant turned from the window to see Jason Haddon walking in.
“Jason, and to what do we owe the honor of your presence?” Floyd asked shaking his hand.
“Would you believe that I was in the neighborhood?” Haddon said as he placed his briefcase in an open seat and gave Grant’s hand a firm shake.
“No chance in hell.” Grant said with a smile.
“Okay, I’m on my way to a meeting for the Governor, and decided to stop in and see how things are going.” Haddon answered, hoping that his explanation would suffice. It was not yet time for any of them to know about his reason for being in South Florida.
“Well, we could use all the help that we can get.” Grant said as he turned back to the window. He listened as Floyd and Goodall got into it again over the wording of expanding the current dilapidated Homestead Air Reserve Base into the strategically important defensive weapon that it should be. It was a point that Jacob had emphasized before they left Washington.
Sitting to the side, Haddon listened to the debate with feigned amusement. In all honesty, he had other things on his mind. He was sent to Miami with a specific objective, and it had nothing to do, at least directly, with the election. It had to do with the accusation of land in the southwest of the county, deep into the everglades.
“And what do you say Jason?” Grant asked him form the window. Haddon looked up to see all of the eyes in the room focused on him.
“I’m sorry sir, I missed the question.” Haddon said sitting up strait.
“Is it more important for me to reiterate the Governors views or my own?” Grant asked.
“Well sir, you see the polls yourself. The people don’t like you because you are a puppet. They respect you. You bring experience.” Haddon answered.
“So does the Governor.” Grant pointed out.
“Out of all of the Republican career politicians, why did the governor choose you?” Jacob asked. He gave Grant no chance to answer. “What the hell does it matter why he chose you? He chose you. He needed you. He knew that he needed you in order to win the elections, and he approached you. You didn’t need him now did you? You weren’t running for office. He was. Don’t you ever forget that.” Haddon explained.
A few eyebrows rose at the assessment from on of Mitchell’s key advisors. Haddon was Mitchell’s go to man. It was strange to hear this type of honesty from a politician was uncanny. Candor is not a trait displayed in Washington, unless it suited ones needs. Trust was not something that Grant took lightly. Being a man who had spent much of his life working in the intelligence community, trust was something that needed to be earned. In fact, he could count the men that had earned his trust on one hand. He would have to wait and see if any of his new staff would join that select group.