Election Day (John Taylor #6) - Chapter 15

The next day was a whirlwind. Packer could practically taste the PR value of Taylors’ on-air apprehension of a mad bomber. Taylor wanted to tell the man to go screw himself, but Caldwell still somehow convinced him to give one interview after another. Taylor decided then and there that he never wanted to be in the spotlight again. He’d truly hated the attention he’d received after his takedown of Qasim, but that paled in comparison.

Most of the news crews had been live when Taylor came crashing out of that window and millions of Americans had been tuned into their TVs, hooked on the horserace that was the nation’s politics.

Packer sat Taylor in a small studio, where he had to listen as newscaster after newscaster reacted to that footage before asking him the same questions as the last dozen reporters. Packer had written him an outline of what he needed to say, some of it stuff Taylor would have said anyways, and other parts Taylor flat out refused to say.

He’d been okay with the ‘aww, shucks’ type answers about just doing his duty but balked at declaring his willingness to give his life to ensure that American people in the future could become President. Of course, he’d been willing to put his life on the line for Caldwell, but that had nothing to do with politics, which Taylor cared little about.

Hubbard had survived their fight with several broken ribs, a broken nose, concussion, one severely sprained and one broken wrist. They had him handcuffed to a hospital bed with an army of federal agents keeping an eye on him. Caldwell’s final speech had been canceled after the building, along with every other building on that block, had been evacuated. Taylor hadn’t heard if they’d managed to get Hubbard’s bomb off that gas pipe, but since he hadn’t heard any massive explosions, he assumed they’d managed it.

By midnight Taylor stood on the wings of a stage, watching Caldwell give her big speech. The final results wouldn’t be in for several days, but her lead was massive enough that there wasn’t any doubt that she was the next President of the United States. Although she’d already been the favored candidate, according to the few minutes of election coverage he’d watched before being hustled on stage, she’d cleared her expected margin by several percentage points. According to which guest the different channels had on, it was either because the American public were sheep easily wowed by any spectacle or because the American public were wise and able to recognize how strong Caldwell had been, standing up to a madman bomber.

Taylor assumed they were all idiots. He was happy his friend had gotten what she wanted, although he had a vague memory of some ancient curse warning people about getting exactly what they asked for.

“How’re you feeling?” Whitaker said, coming to stand next to him, taking his hand.

“Like someone beat the shit out of me. At least I don’t have to wear a suit and tie,” he said, looking at some of the people around him.

When they decided that Caldwell would bring him on stage after she brought up her daughter, there was a discussion about what he should wear. Some of her advisors had argued for finding a tailor on short notice, but for once Packer had an idea that Taylor liked.

‘Nope,’ Packer had said. ‘He’s our everyman. Welders in Duluth want to see a guy who looks like him. Besides, the whole world knows how he dresses after seeing the clips of him. Just get him some of his own clothes, clean of course.’

Taylor had been pretty sure that last bit had been a shot at him, but he didn’t care. At least he was comfortable. They did find a fancy dress for Whitaker, and he had to say he approved. She cleaned up nicely when she wasn’t going for the whole androgynous federal agent thing.

“Yeah, I thought you’d be happy about that. You know things are going to change, right? You’re a national figure now. You go beating the shit out of a suspect, it’ll end up on the national news.”

“That had occurred to me. Think the Feebs will still want me working for them?”

“Are you kidding? Joe can’t stand you and he hired you after the last thing. Now, with your profile, they’d cut off an arm to keep you with the agency, even in your ‘special’ capacity. You know the public relations coup you give them over the other federal agencies?”

“Great. Being a show pony, just want I wanted.”

“Don’t worry; they aren’t going to have you doing appearances. They know better than to actually let you talk to the public.”

“I think I did okay today.”

“You told that reporter from Dallas to get his head out of his ass. On a live broadcast.”

Taylor just shrugged.

“Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Hey, it’s your victory too. You were right there with me.”

“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?”

“We make a hell of a team.”

“That we do.”

“And it’s with great pleasure,” Caldwell said from the stage, “that I give you my very good friend, John Taylor. John, come on out.”

Taylor started to turn, to go further backstage when Whitaker wrapped her arm through his.

“Nope. Let’s go take your bow.”

End