The Final Warning

Chapter 4

Chapter 4Chuck Pavel was born in America of Romanian parents who had left Bucharest for the New World in 1996. His parents Georg and Anna were penniless young sweethearts when they reached America. They settled in Pennsylvania where Georg found a job as a car mechanic. Two years later, after he and Anna had married, they set up a business together, repairing trade vans and trucks for the manual workers who populated the poorer suburbs of Philadelphia.

The pair slaved hard and honestly, as they had been brought up to do, and their trade flourished. By the time Chuck and his younger sister Romana were born, the business had grown too big for its backstreet shed, and the Pavels moved with their two youngsters to a large derelict garage in Drexel Hill on the south side of the city. Working all hours that God gave them, the couple modernised the garage and converted the area above it into a comfortable three-bedroom flat for the family.

Georg Pavel’s mother and father had both been killed during the oppressive Communist regime in Romania when they were very young. As for Anna, she and her mother had watched helplessly as her father had been led away by the militia on a faked charge of espionage. They never saw him again.

In spite of their nightmare memories, Georg and Anna had kept in touch with their homeland, and with Anna’s mother Paola, who they had left behind when they moved to America. Eight years after they had arrived in the New World, Georg spoke by telephone to his old school friend Anatol Demescu, now a middle-ranking official in the Bucharest city council.

With the help of the US Consul in Bucharest, Demescu arranged for Anna’s mother to be sent by boat to the States. On a damp and windy day, standing on Pier 3 of the East River Terminal in downtown Manhattan, Anna and Paola were reunited after almost a decade apart. In the shadows of the terminal building, shielded from the weather by the overhanging iron roof, Georg Pavel gripped the hands of his two small children and watched as the two women stood locked together in an endless embrace, their tears joining the dank rain of the chill October morning.

Paola unpacked her few belongings in the bedroom that Anna had decorated for her, and that night Georg and Anna fell asleep in each other’s arms. For them, the nightmare was finally over and they could live their dream together.

* * *

The day before Chuck’s thirteenth birthday, the Pavel family moved from Philadelphia to the town of Summit in New Jersey. They could afford a proper house, thanks to the sale of Pavel AutoCare, and Georg felt the time had come to establish a new home for themselves within reach of New York City. Also, Chuck was beginning to turn in seriously good grades, and if they were going to give him a chance to shine academically they wanted him to have the best possible schooling.

Chuck was delighted to see the back of Drexel Hill High. He didn’t enjoy the teasing there, either for his brains or for his looks, both of which were somewhat unusual. And when his parents announced their plan to move to a proper house, with a room to himself where he could work and play to his heart’s content, Chuck was more excited than he had been since the Christmas he got his first ever computer.

In the summer after he turned seventeen, Chuck had started earning money by walking people’s dogs around his neighbourhood. The dog he liked best was a big sloppy retriever called Bilko which belonged to the Stone family. The now seventeen-year-old Chuck used to cycle over to the Stones’ handsome house on Dogwood Road, a posh leafy street about eight blocks away, and collect Bilko from Mrs Stone before she left for work at the Summit Municipal Court, where she was one of the chief bailiffs.

If Chuck had known she was a bailiff it would have surprised him, because she was always very nice to him – and to Bilko – and he had read that bailiffs were a tough lot. He did know that Mr Stone was a high-powered lawyer who worked long hours in Manhattan. Occasionally a case of his would be written up in the New York Times, and it always seemed to be about big-time fraud, or one company suing another for millions.

Chuck was not interested in big business, but he was always engaged in current affairs, and he did read of one case that caught his attention. It was about this IT company which had set itself up as a clearing house for internet transactions. Apparently it had been caught filching money that was on its way from buyers to sellers. It was quite a sophisticated scam that amused him for its clever use of technology. Mr Stone led the prosecution team on that one.

One day Chuck plucked up his courage and asked Mrs Stone about the case. Bilko was keen to get on with his walk, and he kept tugging at the lead and pushing himself between them, so it wasn’t easy to talk for long. But Mrs Stone could tell that Chuck was really interested to know more. When he and Bilko got back from their tour of the neighbourhood, he found a Post-it note stuck to his handlebars asking him to ring the doorbell when he returned.

The young man who opened the door introduced himself to Chuck as Mrs Stone’s son Jeff. He looked maybe twenty-two, twenty-three.

‘Mom says you’ve been reading about the Billstone case.’

‘I saw it in the Times, and I’m kind of into computers and stuff.’ Chuck was not sure how to handle the situation. He had never been inside a house like the Stones’ before, and Jeff was ushering him in. The size of the place made him feel out of his depth.

‘It’s pretty complicated,’ said Jeff, handing him a Pepsi from the huge fridge behind him. ‘Dad was up most nights for a month studying the files. He’s having to stay in town till it’s over.’

‘You in it too?’ asked Chuck.

‘No way!’ Jeff laughed. ‘I’ve got my own fish to fry.’

Chuck wanted to ask what that meant, but Jeff went on before he could interrupt. ‘Ever heard of Adam Sukova? He thinks he might have a run at the White House in four years’ time. I’m part of his team.’

Cool, thought Chuck. This guy works for a president.

He put on a casual voice to cover up his curiosity. ‘Is that complicated too?’ he asked.

Jeff smiled. ‘It will be. Anyhow, let’s go back to the Billstone case.’

When Mrs Stone got home from her morning at the Summit Municipal Court, she was surprised to see Chuck’s bicycle still there against the outhouse wall. She could hear her son and the young dog walker talking in the conservatory, so she stopped in the doorway to listen in.

‘How would you do that?’ Chuck was asking. ‘I mean, if you want America to be less interfering around the world, haven’t you got to persuade people it won’t make things worse for us back here?’

Mrs Stone hadn’t heard Chuck being outspoken before. He was usually a bit awkward about getting into long conversations.

‘That’s the point,’ Jeff replied. ‘That’s why we have to start campaigning now, even if the election is four years away.’

‘So you can build up the argument – get things moving your way.’

‘You got it,’ Jeff said, noticing his mother in the doorway. ‘Hi, Mom. Things overran a bit here. Chuck and I have been chewing the fat over the Sukova campaign.’

Mrs Stone laughed, a bright tinkling laugh that sounded to Chuck like water falling. ‘You’ll not stop Jeff on that one,’ she said.

Chuck could tell that this was when he should leave. It being the school holidays, he was keen to make the most money he could from his dog-walking, and he was well behind now on the jobs for today.

‘I’ll be off, Mrs Stone.’ He turned to her son. ‘Thank you for the talk. I think I’ll read up more on politics.’

As he walked towards the door and his bicycle, he looked back over his shoulder, and a shy smile lit up his face.

* * *

Two years later, when the Sukova campaign was in full swing, Chuck, keen for some summer work, reached out to ask Jeff Stone if there was any work he could do for him. Jeff took him on as an intern, processing mail from electors and helping to cluster the opinions into topics and issues for the candidate’s speeches. Chuck was in his element. The world of politics had become a fascination in the months following his first meeting with Jeff. He was captivated by the notion of how a country as huge and complex as America could be run by a team of mere mortals. He had never thought before about how much the life around him depended upon consensus – upon people buying into democracy as the code for their behaviour.

He began a study of communism, comparing the pros and cons of rule by diktat and rule by the masses. After school he would spend hours in the college library, looking up books and articles about Romania, tracking the rise and fall of the Soviet Union, studying the dictators of Africa and the Middle East.

With Jeff Stone’s help, he got a special pass to the United Nations Headquarters on the East River in Manhattan, where he became known as ‘the bookworm’ to the Nepalese curator of the UN library.

His role in the Sukova camp was menial and boring, but Chuck brought an energy and skill to the task that got him noticed in the team. After a few weeks, he was allowed to sit in on some of the meetings that discussed the endless opinion polls that fed the campaign’s think tanks. When it came to interpreting public opinion on key issues like abortion or nuclear energy, the team developed a habit of collecting Chuck’s view, because it sometimes shed a bit of light that helped to shape their thinking. But it was only a matter of time before his popularity and success came back to bite him.

Connie Bergman was what Jeff Stone described as a people hater – and she could not stand Chuck Pavel. She was a brilliant journalist who Stone, now going on twenty-six, had taken on as Adam Sukova’s campaign press secretary, despite being warned that she would make enemies like the rest of them made friends. This she duly did. But her skill at managing the media, her instinct for the right angle on the right story, and her turn of phrase in the candidate’s speeches ensured her survival.

Miss Bergman did not take kindly to the presence of a goggle-eyed intern in her meetings. In particular, she resented the way his views were being sought, and the contribution he was making to policy statements and press releases.

The day came when she and Stone were with a group discussing a speech that Sukova would be giving at a convention on human rights in Chicago. Chuck sat in, with the job of verifying the contents in the light of relevant opinion polls and focus-group findings. As they reached a passage in the speech about US troop deployments in Syria, Chuck raised a hand to catch Stone’s eye.

‘Yes, Chuck?’ asked Stone. Bergman rolled her eyes to the heavens.

‘This bit where he says “there’s no such thing in my book as friendly fire”.’

Bergman looked daggers. She had crafted the line herself to give some punch to a tired subject. ‘I’m worried it could boomerang,’ Chuck continued, trying to ignore her body language. ‘Research is showing strong sensitivity against criticism of our troops on the ground.’

‘It’s a key passage,’ barked Bergman, impatient and dismissive. ‘Nothing shows up the incompetence of the US high command like this does. Our soldiers being blown to pieces by our own side?’

Chuck took a breath and continued. ‘I’m only talking about the way it might come across – a slur on our fighting men, when what we’re going for is a run at the presidency.’

Bergman was puce with anger. ‘We’re not novices, you know,’ she sneered. ‘This whole Syrian business is the soft underbelly of the Republicans. They’re vulnerable as all hell on it, and now is the time for us to lay it at the door of the White House.’ She looked across to where Chuck sat, arching her eyebrows and shipping him a withering stare. She turned to Stone. ‘May we continue?’

As the meeting was breaking up, Stone signalled to Chuck to stay behind.

‘That was unfair, and I apologise.’

‘It’s probably what I deserved,’ said Chuck. ‘It’s just that…’ He paused.

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve been reading the research. Miss Bergman doesn’t have the time, and I do. If there’s one thing the citizens of this country hate about sending sons and lovers to be killed overseas, it’s anyone who criticises our men for doing the killing of them. It’s number one, right up there with Enron fraud and the catastrophe in New Orleans.’

He paused, mentally checking that he was correct in what he was about to say. ‘Mr Stone, if our man goes down the road of chastising our soldiers for killing their own men, I don’t like to think what he might be letting himself in for.’

It was gone seven that evening when Miss Bergman came by Chuck Pavel’s desk in the corridor of the campaign headquarters.

‘Young man,’ she said, ‘I will not tolerate such interference. I have forgotten more about speech-writing than you will learn in a lifetime. As of tonight, you may as well pack your bags. Your time here is over.’

For Chuck, it was the nightmare ending to an unbelievable dream. This is it, he thought as he watched her retreating figure. I’m an apprentice, and apprentices don’t have opinions.

Jeff Stone was still at his desk. He looked up as Chuck tapped on the open door of his office.

‘Sorry, Mr Stone,’ said Chuck.

‘Sorry for what?’

‘Sorry for speaking up. Sorry for disturbing the peace.’

‘We’re not here to keep the peace, Pavel.’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘We’re here to get a good man into the White House, so that he can do some good things for our country.’

But Chuck knew he was defeated. Being consoled by his mentor was not good medicine just now. ‘Thanks for that. But I was out of order. I quit.’

‘Forget it,’ said Stone. Something in his tone stopped Chuck in his tracks. ‘See you here in the morning – and that’s an order.’

After Chuck had gone, Jeff Stone left his office and walked the short distance to where Connie Bergman was packing her briefcase for the evening.

‘Connie? You’re fired.’