The Artemis Conspiracy

Copyright © 2021 Richard Haddock.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-2415-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-2416-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021911842

iUniverse rev. date:   06/17/2021

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

Epilogue

"In life, it’s important to know when to stop arguing

with people and simply let them be wrong."

Anonymous

Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.

Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

"My choices in life were to be a piano player in a whore house, or

a politician. And to tell the truth, there’s hardly any difference."

Harry S. Truman

Democrats have no ideas; Republicans only have bad ideas.

Will Rogers

It’s better to be kind than to be right.

Andy Rooney

"Ah, but I was so much older then,

I’m younger than that now."

Bob Dylan

To Marilyn

I still don’t know why you said yes all those years ago, but I say thanks every day that you did.

1

A PRIL, 1969. HELL, NO, WE won’t go!

The chant rose from the street below and broke into my

daydream. My mind, or what was left of it after three years of pursuing my law degree, was focused on what the hell I would do this June after graduation. Most of my George Washington University classmates had already lined up jobs, pending their passing the bar, but I, Gary Daniels, had not even begun to search.

As my class ended and the room slowly began to empty, I studied my fellow classmates. Most sported their blue or gray Brooks Brothers three piece suits, drab ties, and pontoon-sized dress shoes while the few women in the class were attired in similarly conservative pant-suits or plain dresses. The mandatory dress for success seminar we had all attended in the fall had been taken to heart by those preparing for the interview experience. I couldn’t afford such a wardrobe, but was comfortable in my jeans, sneakers and go Colonials tee shirt I had been given at a G.W.U. basketball game last winter.

I wondered how different my classmates’ journeys were from my own. Mine was surely unique. When my single mother in Savannah died my senior year in high school, I was suddenly adrift. If it hadn’t been for a local congressman who took me under his wing and arranged a scholarship to G.W., I couldn’t imagine where life would have taken me.

I have to admit that I was totally unprepared for the structure, rigor and discipline of college life. Without the firm hand of my mother to guide me I struggled mightily to establish a routine and focus, finally seeing the light somewhere around the end of my sophomore year. The G.W. library became my second home and I was frequently the last student to be asked to leave when it closed at midnight. My mother had worked hard to provide for me and I wanted to succeed at the gift her death had surprisingly led to. Through the ensuing years of undergraduate work here in D.C., then law school, I remained a hard worker, grateful for the opportunity that had literally fallen in my lap. But as this final semester began, my interest waned. Perhaps I was experiencing burnout, a condition many students developed after years of intense study. And my collegiate travails and law school had indeed been intense. Maybe I was disappointed in the messages of guest lecturers who focused on their own exalted positions and achievements of power rather than on the law itself. It could also be that, in a town ankle deep in lawyers, I would be just one more added to the pile. Indeed, the thought of being pigeon-holed into a corporate law firm hierarchy, forced to focus on some obscure area of specialization, had taken the shine off of a future in law. I just wasn’t sure I was ready for that sort of career any more.

As I emerged onto the street in front of the law school I took a deep breath, enjoying the warm spring day. Up the street, hundreds of students were protesting the Vietnam War. They were carrying their homemade signs, chanting and filling the street with the distinct aroma of pot. Hell no, we won’t go! the crowd continued to chant. Today I took advantage of the gathering, wading slowly through the throngs, inhaling as deeply as I could.

The campus police were out in force, making sure that the students didn’t copycat some of the other demonstrations that filled the evening news; breaking windows, setting fire to cars, throwing rocks and bottles at the cops. No, G.W. students were vocal but not violent, like a few of the coeds I had dated.

As someone who had, so far, been focused on academics, I had not stayed in tune with the developments in Southeast Asia these past few years. The war and my involvement there seemed as far removed from my thinking as Viet Nam itself. But then a classmate, Tony Williams, who sincerely believed he could make a difference, volunteered for the draft before getting his degree and had been sent directly to the war zone and killed.

When I attended Tony’s funeral at Arlington National Cemetery, gazing out across the sea of freshly installed white tombstones, the war hit me right in the gut. Convinced that what we were doing was wrong, I found time to protest between my classes and my job as a bartender at Barney’s, a popular campus watering hole. Despite this full agenda, my fear of soon being out of school and eligible for the draft was beginning to occupy more and more of my thoughts.

I made my way across campus to the apartment I shared with my best friend, Todd Samuelson. Our scholarship house was one of several owned by the University and was located conveniently just a few blocks from the law school. The dilapidated two story wooden structure had two apartments in the basement and first floor, and our suite on the top floor. Don’t be misled by the term suite, it only meant that we had two bedrooms rather than one and a shower stall as opposed to a bathtub. The house was scheduled for demolition this summer, to be replaced by a modern dormitory by this time next year.

My roommate Todd was unlike me in many ways. First, he was brilliant, the soon-to-be class valedictorian. He made learning seem easy, unlike my constant struggle to grasp the intricacies of the law. Second, his grades and ambition had already landed him a job with a prestigious law firm here in D.C. once he passed the bar. Third, he was a towering, handsome black guy whom I often pictured wooing a jury with his velvet smooth voice and captivating smile. And finally, he had a gorgeous white live-in girlfriend, Mona, who was his intellectual equal and, despite her upper class background, tough as nails. Just to complete Todd’s profile, the guy was hell on wheels in intramural basketball games, flashing effortless shooting and ball handling skills he had picked up being raised on the streets of Philadelphia.

As I climbed the stairs to our apartment I steeled myself for another lecture on my lack of interest in pursuing a law career and how my ass was going to wind up getting drafted if I didn’t get my shit together, a dilemma facing thousands of young men all over the country.

I let myself in to the apartment to find Todd and Mona ensconced on the couch watching television. Mona jumped up and greeted me with her full six foot body hug and a kiss on the lips. As usual, she was attired in a skimpy pair of white short shorts and a t-shirt that was cut several inches above her navel and held aloft by her magnificent bra-less breasts. Her blonde shoulder length hair framed a model’s face that featured prominent cheekbones, full pouty lips and robins-egg blue eyes. Hey, guys, I said, untangling myself from Mona’s embrace.

Todd looked up from the news he had been watching on T.V. Hey, he muttered, his close-cropped hair a vivid contrast to Jimmy Hendrix’s huge Afro on the poster behind him. I unconsciously ran a hand through my own shaggy brown mane.

Get you a beer, Gary? Mona asked eagerly, shifting from one foot to another like she had to go to the bathroom. This girl’s motor was always on.

Sure, I replied, watching her pivot and head for the kitchen, her long tanned legs covering the distance in just a few strides, her backside, as always, a work of art worthy of contemplation and admiration.

The three of us had lived together for nearly five years now, becoming inseparable friends. Mona and Todd were the only biracial couple on campus, at least the only one to be seen at local restaurants, bars and University gatherings. Ironically, it seemed socially acceptable for a white man to be with a black woman, just not the other way around.

I made my way to the couch and sat down opposite Todd. What’s happening? I asked.

Todd sighed, his eyes shooting towards the kitchen. Nothing much, man.

Same-o, same-o? I asked in a lowered voice.

Todd nodded. She’s wearing me out, Gary, he said under his breath. Having heard this complaint many times before I knew Todd was referring to Mona’s insatiable sexual appetite. I just don’t have a minute to myself when she’s not all over me, he lamented.

Yeah, you poor bastard, I offered sarcastically. Anytime you want a temporary stand in, just give me a call. My imagination unleashed one of the thousand scenarios involving Mona coming into my room and complaining that Todd was tired, and could I spare a few minutes to satisfy her needs? Are you shitting? I thought. Only a few minutes?

My roommates shared the larger of the two bedrooms in our apartment, big enough to accommodate, for obvious reasons, a king sized bed and enough closet space to house Mona’s extraordinary wardrobe. Beyond the adjacent bathroom and located at the end of the hallway, sat my modest bedroom. It had originally been a storage room but was just big enough for my single bed, a small wardrobe and a window that overlooked the campus. I appreciated the relative isolation, the bathroom often serving as a buffer from the activities going on up the hall, except of course, when my roommates decided to have sex in the shower. My imagination worked overtime to picture what was going on from the mixture of grunts, groans and giggles. But I digress.

Todd broke into my reverie with a heavy sigh. We’d planned on getting engaged after graduation, but her parents want us to wait until I’ve passed the bar, he said.

Mona’s parents were old money Bostonians and Todd had yet to clear any of the parental hurdles necessary to garner approval to marry their only child, including the most obvious. At first I had thought that Mona’s relationship with Todd had more to do with thwarting her parent’s stringent plans for her future than anything genuinely romantic, but over time I saw her often defiant love for my best friend. One night at Barney’s, after a heckler spewed racist slurs at Todd, Mona decked the asshole with a roundhouse right, breaking his nose and covering him in blood. She was quickly on top of him and would probably have inflicted more serious damage had Todd and I not pulled her off of the creep. Despite her movie star looks, Mona could be a street fighter when she needed to be.

I could only imagine the parental furor if Mona had chosen someone like me as her potential mate. I often delighted in verbally exploring this impossibility for Todd so as to make my roommate’s situation trivial by comparison to someone like me and my southern poor white trash background being unleashed on Boston’s upper crust.

Todd sighed again. I’m convinced that this ploy to pass the bar first is kind of a pre-nup; let’s make sure the clown is legit before we grudgingly let him into our family.

You really think they’re that shallow?

One inch deep, Gary, he said, holding his thumb and forefinger that distance apart. In all of the discussions about Todd’s battle to be accepted by Mona’s parents, he had never once raised the color of his skin as an issue, preferring to believe that his ability to provide for Mona was their only concern. That’s just one of the reasons I admired the guy; he refused to use his blackness as a crutch or obstacle in living his life the way he wanted.

Mona appeared in the kitchen doorway, two bottles of beer in hand. I can only imagine what you’re describing with your fingers, she said with a giggle, referring to Todd’s inch deep gesture.

He’s describing my chances of getting a job like his, I said, accepting one of the beers.

Well, first you actually have to pass the bar, sweetie, then you’ll land on your feet, won’t he, Todd? she said, wiggling herself into position between the two of us on the tiny couch. The smell of her perfume was subtle, yet overwhelming, and her bare leg up against me was like touching a hot stove. I tried to move away but the three of us were wedged tightly together, so I just relaxed and enjoyed the moment.

Mona took a sip of beer and handed her bottle to Todd, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Oh, Jeez, I’ve got a couple of interviews in twenty minutes, she exclaimed. You guys want to join me afterwards? Mona had graduated with a degree in journalism several years ago, just as Todd and I entered law school. She had been a feature reporter for the school newspaper and established quite a reputation for her no-holds-barred style of writing. This caught the attention of several management types at the Washington Post and she was offered a job as a part-time reporter. It also helped that her father played golf with the editor on occasion, but you don’t just get a job at the Post because of that; you have to have quite a bit of talent. Mona wrote a weekly column that was mostly gossip, but she had proved adept at uncovering various political scandals and learned her way around the D.C. movers-and-shakers. She had become a woman to be feared, gossip having an overpowering influence on politics in our nation’s capital.

Todd shook his head. Going to do some more bar exam prep with Gary, babe.

Yeah, I said, and I’m due at Barney’s at six, so thanks for the invite, but not tonight.

Mona somehow managed to free herself from her position between us and stood up. Well, I’ll leave you two to your studies. She moved into the bedroom she shared with Todd, leaving the door wide open. From my end of the couch she was clearly visible through the mirror on Todd’s dresser. She wiggled out of her short shorts and into a pair of skin-tight jeans, then pulled her t-shirt over her head. She paused, her reflection staring directly at me and smiling, proud of her twin assets. It was like one of those old 3-D movies. Having burned my retinas, she turned her broad, naked back to me as she rummaged in the closet. A minute later she stood before us, hair combed, makeup applied, a clinging light blue sweater accentuating her nipples, purse strap over her shoulder, and white tennis shoes. How do I look? she asked, turning slowly like a model on the runway.

You look great, babe, Todd said.

I gave a silent thumbs up gesture trying unsuccessfully to look away.

Well, you guys don’t study too hard, she said with a wagging finger. And I’ll be back in a couple of hours, she added, shooting Todd a wink. She blew us both a kiss and whooshed out the door into the spring afternoon.

We sat silently for a minute, like a tornado had passed through our apartment and left our ears ringing. So, what are you going to do? I asked finally.

What would you do? Todd answered in typical lawyer-like deflection.

I shrugged. Oh, I don’t know; marry the horribly disfigured damsel, eek out a meager career defending the rich and famous, and kiss her parent’s ass every chance I got.

You’re no damned help, Todd moaned.

Best I could come up with. All I know is you’ve got an absolutely dreadful future and should consider the French Foreign Legion. Or, I continued, you could join the Army, go to Viet Nam and become a national treasure defending the horrendous advance of communism in Southeast Asia.

Hmmm, Todd offered in his best non-committal manner.

We sipped our beers, staring off across the room at the Peace Now poster above the television.

So, are you still going to be an asshole about taking the bar? Todd asked, turning to look at me.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. No, I’ll probably take it, but I’m still not sure I’m lawyer material even if I pass.

Bullshit. You’re as smart and knowledgeable as anyone in our class. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked and that’s going to pay off big time for you. His eyes widened as he stared at me. But you’ve gotta be careful, man. The draft board is sniffing around every college campus in this country looking for guys who have flunked out or whose future jobs are not considered important enough to get a deferment.

I knew that I was in danger of having my growing indifference penalize me in a manner I might long regret, but I just couldn’t summon up the motivation to do something about it. I assume Cummings & Kraft will get you a deferment? I asked, referring to Todd’s future employer.

Yeah, my job is classified as essential for national security so I’m 2-A.

If you pass the bar.

I’m really not all that worried about that because when I’m not fending Mona off, I’ve really been hitting the books. You, on the other hand, don’t appear to give a shit about studying lately, so I’m concerned for you, buddy. I don’t think you’d look good in dog tags.

I stood up. You’re the one with the full plate, my friend. I’ll be O.K. Now, before we start studying, you want another beer?

But I knew I was not O.K. Although there were worse things than to die for my country, I just wasn’t ready to believe that was my lot in life at this moment. But what was? Although I tried mightily not to admit it, I felt guilty about my indifference towards my fate. My mother had raised me to fight hard for the things I wanted and her selfless efforts as a maid felt wasted by my current malaise. I wanted to honor her memory by accomplishing something no one in our family had ever achieved, but I couldn’t deny my feelings of disinterest in becoming a lawyer. Surely there was some other path in life that would please both of our objectives, but no options appeared on the horizon. I clearly didn’t want to waste my educational investment, and I certainly didn’t believe being drafted was in my best interest or worthy of my mother’s struggle to raise me. Time to fish or cut bait.

2

M AY CAME AND WENT WITH both Todd and I graduating, Todd at the top of the class, me in the respectful top ten. The bar exam in June was another story. As expected, Todd passed with flying colors. I, nursing a killer headache and disinterest that had reached its highest level ever, just barely passed. Despite clearing this necessary hurdle, my desire to apply for a job with the host of law firms in town was still dormant. One month later I received my dreaded letter from the selective service system informing me that I was now classified 1-A and should report for my pre-induction physical in two weeks. Assuming I failed that physical (rumors had it that if I claimed to be queer, a conscientious objector, or somehow produced a letter from a doctor claiming a psychological or physical malady,) I would be precluded from military service. I would not claim any such exemptions, choosing to let fate determine the next phase of my life. My draft notice also advised me to put all my affairs in order.

So what the hell does that mean? I asked, waving the letter back and forth.

Well, Todd said with a smart-ass expression and tone, you should arrange to put your yacht in dry dock, close up your beach house and put your stock portfolio in a blind trust. Making out a will wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

I shook my head. Am I going to get a bill for that sterling advice?

Todd smiled. No, but I might charge you for what I’m about to tell you.

Never eat yellow snow?

No, that one’s free, but sit the hell down and listen.

The free use of our scholarship house would expire at the end of the month so we had spent much of our time since the bar exam sorting through our belongings and discarding most; Todd because he would be moving into a townhouse in fashionable Georgetown with Mona, me because my ass was about to head off to serve Uncle Sam’s desire for control of my body and what was left of my mind.

Rather than let your worthless indifferent ass decide your fate, Todd began, I’ve done some digging for you.

At Arlington Cemetery? Aren’t you being a tad pessimistic?

No, dumb ass, I’ve found a job for you that will get you the same 2-A classification I have.

That shut me up and got my attention.

Have you ever heard of Senator Wayne Peabody from Utah? Todd asked.

I chuckled. Is that a real person?

Todd ignored the question. Well, there’s an opening in his office staff, sort of a paralegal position.

Paralegal? And this position will get me a deferment?

Todd nodded enthusiastically. Yep.