03 - The First Amendment by Ashley McConnell - (ebook by Undead) Page B

squeaked as he shifted his weight to place
the snifter on an end table.
    “What would it take to convince you, boy?”
    “Convince me of what, sir?” He still called his father sir, even when he was
on the verge of walking out on him. Old habits were hard to break.
    “That some doors need to be shut—” The old man’s jaws clamped hard on
the cigar, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Well,” he resumed after a
moment, “I don’t suppose it’s worth fighting about. You had a pretty rough time
on that last assignment, didn’t you?”
    “Tough enough.” Frank sat back warily. This was the first time his father had
voluntarily given up a fight, beaten or not, and they hadn’t even reached the
shouting stage yet.
    “Got anything else lined up just now?”
    He shook his head. “I’m thinking of just taking it easy for a while.”
    Senator Kinsey chortled. “Another one of your unpaid vacations, eh? Well, I
had an idea.”
    Alarm bells rang in the back of the journalist’s head. “What kind of idea?”
    “Now don’t get your back hair up, boy. I was just talking the other day to
the editor of the Washington Observer, and he mentioned he wanted some
kind of article about NORAD. You know about NORAD, don’t you?”
    “Yeah. I’ve heard of it.” He tried hard to keep the suspicion out of his
voice.
    “Well, it’s based out there in Colorado, in the mountains. Good air. Relaxing
place. I said I thought I might be able to talk you into doing a little
something for him on your break. I know some of those folks out there, y’know.”
The Senator grinned complacently and set the stub of his cigar aside in an
ashtray. A thin line of smoke continued to rise from it, as if from a tube of
incense. “Seems that Dale Terwilliger, that’s the editor, he was downright
impressed that a ‘writer of your stature’—that’s what he called it,
‘stature’. When did you get yourself stature, boy?—might be willing to do
a few words for him on Space Defense.”
    The Observer paid a decent word rate, as he recalled. It also reached
an audience that was more aligned with his own philosophy than his father’s. He
wondered just how his father had come to have this conversation with
Terwilliger.
    “How does he want it slanted?” he asked cynically.
    “Why, he didn’t say a thing about that. I think he just wants your view of
the place. Your mother thinks it’s a fine idea—I can even get you inside.
Hardly anybody gets inside that mountain anymore, you know.”
    His father knew all his buttons. But still—maybe it would be
interesting. He doubted it, but a paid vacation was always better than an unpaid
one. “I’ll call him and see what he wants. I’m not in the business of doing
party propaganda for you, Dad.”
    “Wouldn’t dream of asking you to, boy. I just think, well, now, my boy’s a
good investigative reporter. Everybody says so. So why not have him look at NORAD? It’s a nice change of pace.
Besides, you never know what you might find there.”
    “Most of that stuff’s classified.”
    “I thought you believed in the people’s right to know.”
    Or maybe it was the people’s right to be bored. Terwilliger was enthusiastic
about a study of NORAD. Dad had made arrangements. So here he was, still feeling
thoroughly manipulated and not at all sure why. Of course, his mother had been
delighted that he’d finally allowed his father to “help” him. The fact that he’d
probably have been able to swing this article all by himself never occurred to
her. Or if it did, she didn’t let that bother her.
    Frank Kinsey sat back in the contoured chair and looked openly around at the
room and its other occupants. The Visitors Center of the Cheyenne Mountain
Complex was a small building outside the barbed wire fence, with a circular
driveway in front of a polished white portico. The front lobby was filled with
models and pictures, and opposite the entrance were two doors leading into