THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR The Widow and the Warrior i JOHN WEMLINGER Copyright © 2020 by John Wemlinger All world rights reserved This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher. Readers are encouraged to go to www.MissionPointPress.com to contact the author or to find information on how to buy this book in bulk at a discounted rate. Published by Mission Point Press 2554 Chandler Rd. Traverse City, MI 49696 (231) 421-9513 www.MissionPointPress.com ISBN: 978-1-950659-73-9 Library of Congress Control Number: 2020915171 Printed in the United States of America ii THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR THE AND WIDOW THE WARRIOR iii JOHN WEMLINGER iv THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR This book is dedicated to every widow or widower of any service member lost to the horrors of war. This nation and each and every one of us who enjoy its freedoms are forever in your debt. v JOHN WEMLINGER vi THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR FOREWORD he story you are about to read will be a bit unset- tling. It deals with the difficult subject of vigi- lante justice, which is nothing new for writ- ers, by any means. But 2020 presents itself in a Tunique and startling way. We are a nation deeply divided along all sorts of lines—political, religious, racial, and even sexual preference is proving to be a basis for division in today’s America. As I pen this, we are in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s everywhere, and the news tracks the number of cases and the number of resultant deaths on practically a minute-by-minute basis. Unem- ployment is rampant. The stock market is a roller coaster ride of steep highs and equally steep declines. To mask or not to mask has been turned into a political issue— one over which a security guard in Flint, Michigan, was killed. In Brunswick, Georgia, Ahmad Aubery, a man of color out for a jog, was killed by two, maybe three, white vigilantes, ostensibly because he looked like someone who might have been stealing in that neighborhood. The murder of George Floyd at the hands of a white police officer in Minneapolis, has ignited the smoldering fires of racial inequality rem- iniscent of the early civil rights movement of the 1960s. Dissent is nothing new among us Americans. Thomas Paine famously wrote, “These are the times that try men’s souls.” His words are as profound now as they were at the time of the American Revolution and in times like these, vii JOHN WEMLINGER our differences amplify themselves and actions become more overt as people struggle for answers. We are a nation of laws, but to what extent may new emergency laws be put in place during times of exigency? When are our sacred personal freedoms, guaranteed to each American under The Bill of Rights and our Constitution, too firmly tread upon? And how far may the individual citizen go to secure those rights to which he or she feels entitled? I lack definitive answers to these questions, but here’s what I do know; it’s a lesson I learned forty-eight years ago during a tour of duty in South Vietnam. In times of stress, we look to our government, at every level, for solutions. But governments are fallible. James Madison said, “As long as the reason of man continues fallible, and he is at liberty to exercise it, different opinions will be formed.” The Widow and the Warrior deals with what can happen when opin- ions veer in ugly directions and beget ugly actions. Does the end justify the means? Is justice achieved? My hunch is at the end of this book, the answers to these fundamen- tal questions may prove difficult. Where will you stand? Enjoy the read! John V. Wemlinger August 2020 viii THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR The Widow and the Warrior ix JOHN WEMLINGER The Fraley Family Tree Clyde Fraley and Mary Aileen Sullivan MARRIED, SEPTEMBER 15, 1891 Virgil Fraley and Katherine Sumner Fraley (1906–1995) (1915–2000) William (Billy) P. Fraley Elizabeth Fraley Swain and Margaret Rogers and Roger Swain (1949–2007) (1949–2017) (1950–2010) (1951–2005) Anna Rogers Shane Ephraim Swain and Ed Shane (1972–UNKNOWN) (1966–PRESENT) (1965–2017) x THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR CHAPTER ONE But in real life, things don’t go smoothly. At certain points in our lives, when we really need a clear-cut solution, the person who knocks at our door is more likely than not, a messenger bearing bad news. —Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running he Monday morning editorial board meeting at The Washington Post lasted twice as long as usual, making Anna Shane’s morning four times more hectic than its normal breakneck pace. Over Tthe weekend, Donald Trump had announced “that there were good people on both sides” in the wake of the Charlot- tesville protests, during which a young woman had been run over by a white supremacist. This was 2017, not 1817. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen in America now. It wasn’t a question of if The Post would respond. The wrangling in the meeting was over how strongly the news- paper would react to the pass the new president appeared to be giving to the far right. As The Post’s national polit- ical editor, she would be the point person in crafting the paper’s response. The light on Anna’s desk phone was blinking when she returned to her office, alerting her to waiting voicemail. Christ, what now? I don’t have time! she thought as she deposited her pages of meeting notes on her desk. She was about to pick up the receiver to see who else was demanding 1 JOHN WEMLINGER her time and attention when her iPhone vibrated in her pocket. Voicemail can wait, she thought as she took out her cellphone and saw the call was from Bill Jenkins, the paper’s publisher. She answered immediately. The book on Jenkins was that you didn’t keep him waiting unless you wanted to work somewhere else. “Anna, can you come to my office? It’s important.” She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been summoned to his office. Jenkins usually worked through her boss. That’s just the way things worked at The Post, somewhat like it worked in the military. There was a chain of command, and Anna’s boss, the paper’s editor-in- chief, stood between her and Jenkins in the pecking order. But there was so much going on since Trump’s unexpected election, that her curiosity was piqued. Burying her sur- prise, she managed a confident, “Yes, Bill. Be right there.” Jenkins motioned her into his office as she appeared at the open door. They had been co-workers and friends for over twenty years. Anna had always considered him to be the poster boy for self-confidence. Well-built, about six-feet- four-inches tall, the former All Big-10 college basketball player at Indiana University still retained the lean look of a well-conditioned athlete. Always immaculately dressed, his appearance and his attitude reflected a certain pride for having survived a professional lifetime navigating the shark-infested waters of politics inside the beltway. He was the one most often credited with reviving not only The Post’s reputation as a profound voice of professional jour- nalism, but its bottom line as well. Most recently he’d been heard, on several occasions, scoffing at the new president, who often referred to the paper as “the failing Washing- ton Post.” Nothing rattled him, including the presidential tweets directed toward his paper that seemed to be coming more and more often. But this morning Jenkins was different. Subdued, Anna thought as she stepped into his office. He barely made eye 2 THE WIDOW AND THE WARRIOR contact with her. Even more puzzling and disconcerting to her, he made no introduction of the other man in the room, a complete stranger to her. Instead, Jenkins focused on the other man and said, “If you will excuse me, I will leave the two of you alone. I have a luncheon appointment, so take as long as you need.” He collected his jacket, car keys and phone, offering only a weak smile as he left her with this stranger. What the fuck? she thought. That’s rude! Not even an introduction? The other man nodded at Jenkins, “Thank you for your help.” He was, Anna estimated, in his late ’60s, early ’70s, distinguished looking with well-groomed silver hair, and dressed in a beautifully tailored three-piece, gray pin- stripe suit. She could not imagine who he was, why he was there or what he might want with her. “Anna, my name is Charley DeBooker. We have not met, but I am the attorney for your mother, Margaret Rogers.” Watching her carefully, he held up his hand and pointed to the couch. “Perhaps you should sit down. I have some difficult news.” Anna’s heart raced. My mother’s attorney! Shit! I didn’t know my mother even had an attorney.