Dawn of the Unthinkable by James Concannon Page A

take Kennedy out, this guy probably
could not stir the same passions.
    “Senator, I can’t remember too many senators
other than Bobby Kennedy getting shot, so I think you’re safe.
Besides, I don’t think anyone would do something like that in a
committee hearing room. Too many witnesses.”
    Kincaid lapsed into a depressed silence. He
had not thought of that; of course, Rudi was right. Oh, man ,
he sighed to himself, the press would have a fine time with this
one . He could hear the messages pouring in now from “The
Mothers against Inappropriate Touching in the Face of Sap
Squirting,” or some such focus group that seemed to form with the
sole purpose of devilling him. Sometimes he wondered if it was all
worth it, whether the indignities he had to put up with could
outweigh the perks. Then he thought of the one perk he was on his
way to, and he picked up his pace. She would take his mind
off this sorry mess.
    He got back to his office
and went into his private bathroom ( One of the perks , he
reflected, mine even has a shower, unlike those for the lowly
congressmen. ). He looked in the mirror and cursed that he would
need a shower. He had hoped that a little water would take the
stuff out, but nothing short of a whole scrub would do. He started
to strip down, ignoring the phone ringing in the office. Ginny, his
secretary had already left, and the rest of the staff was at one of
the endless retirement/bridal/engagement parties that any large
organization could generate. He had long ago quit attending these
events unless forced. His own family life had somewhat
disintegrated in the face of too many late nights on the Senate
floor, and in other, less-esteemed establishments; therefore, it
was hard to celebrate others’ good fortunes. Besides, as a classic
narcissist, he could not much see the point of any gathering in
which he was not the center of attention. He flipped open his cell
phone and dialed her number. He had not put it in the phone’s
memory, and the phone itself was registered in an aide's name. If
something ever came up, he wanted “plausible deniability,” a term
that still made him laugh. Washington had many euphemisms for
lying.
    The phone rang twice before it was picked
up. There was silence on the other end, and he quickly looked at
the window on the phone to make sure he had dialed the right
number. The number was right, so he said hesitantly “Hello…?”
    The answer came back as a snarl, “Where the
hell have you been? You’re late!” The ferocity of the tone took him
by surprise. He was used to her being in control but still had a
hard time adapting to the lack of fawning respect he got from most
other people. Of course, this was part of her appeal, and he could
feel a flush of excitement coursing through him.
    He stammered, “I, uh, kind of got tied up
here. Some legislative stuff, you know,” giving a little half-fake
laugh.
    Her reply chilled him. “I know! I saw it all
on TV! Were you hurt ?” She laughed wickedly. He closed his
eyes and felt a headache beginning in his temples.
    “What did you see?” he asked, fearing the
worst and trying to find the remote control to the TV.
    “Check out CNN , baby. They been
replaying it over and over again,” she cackled. “They even have the
point of impact, just like your beloved Zapruder film.” Once
again, he regretted telling her about that; she was always using it
to club his lack of manhood. However, nothing could have
emasculated him more than the film he was now viewing on the
tube.
    It clearly showed the young lady approaching
him, and him using his best fatherly, senator mannerisms. You could
not hear what they were saying, but you could see him look away at
one point; people would be able to see that he was looking for an
aide to pull him out of the conversation. It was at that point that
the silly yellow bottle came out of her purse, and he reached for
the page. You could see her startled expression, which quickly
turned to