Forgotten Witness by Rebecca Forster

a beautiful woman who wasn’t afraid to slap their wrists. Ambrose, as Lydia’s husband, took great delight in their delight. For Lydia, after all, belonged to him.
    Then Ambrose’s eyes fell on Eugene. The boy – for that was how he always thought of Eugene Weller – had not enjoyed Lydia’s interruption. Pity. Eugene would do well to hook his horse to a woman. At least then he would have someone to concentrate on besides Ambrose and somewhere to release his nervous energy. Tonight he seemed even more preoccupied than usual and his intensity was wearing. Perhaps it was because he had come late to the meeting; his normally unflappable demeanor had been disturbed by the breach in his scheduling. Annoyed, Ambrose finished his drink, and set aside the glass, missing the marble coaster and landing it hard on the fine wood.
    “Better watch it, Ambrose. Lydia is going to have your head tomorrow if she sees a water ring on that wood,” Jerry laughed.
    “Lydia’s displeasure is a thing to be feared, Jerry,” Ambrose agreed as Eugene swooped toward the glass.
    Ambrose waved him away and rectified the situation himself. His impatience with the boy was starting to feel like the pangs of old age, a speculation he would keep to himself. Age was going to be an issue in the coming election, and it was up to Ambrose and his team to minimize it. His next thought was that his response to Eugene was something else altogether. It might be the itch of familiarity; the feeling a man who has risen to a certain status gets when he looks at the wife who had been his rock but has become his millstone. Perhaps his disappointment was simply a reflection of his belief that the greatest sin was to be reactive. The world was filled with Eugenes waiting to clear up messes and when they finally got the chance, their actions were out of proportion to the need. Case in point, the simple act of misplacing a glass required only that it be put onto the coaster. There was no need for Eugene to lunge for it as if he were saving Ambrose from an assassin’s bullet.
    Ambrose wiped the watermark slowly as he considered that small men with myopic vision populated the world. His observation was not an arrogant one; it was objective. The three men in this room – four if one counted Eugene, which no one did in this context – were different. They were Ambrose Patriota’s peers of a sort. If not visionaries, they were powerful men of patience who could accomplish things quietly and effectively.
    Woodrow Calister, Chairman of the Armed Services committee, was by far the most like-minded in this very private caucus. He understood the global implication of Ambrose’s ambitions. He was a patriot at heart and possessed a marvelously analytical mind. He believed all things were possible; he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the things he wanted were probable.
    Jerry Norn, a member of the subcommittee on Intelligence was a close second on Ambrose’s list of those he admired. What Jerry lacked in patriotism – for he was an opportunist by nature – he more than made up for in enjoying the challenge of keeping the wheels turning. He truly believed that there was no better governing or economic system than that of the United States.
    Mark Hyashi, a Senator of Japanese/American decent, had joined them only a few months ago after more than a year of careful investigation on the part of the other three senators. He sat on the Homeland and Government Affairs committee. Such an appointment was coveted and that the seat went to a freshman senator was a testament to Mark’s intelligence and passion. Hyashi’s insight into the ability of the Japanese political social and military culture to mesh and create a complete and selfless consciousness provided Ambrose a counsel that was invaluable.
    Mark drew parallels between the Japanese people willing to die in the service of their god-emperor and the more contemporary mindset of terrorists. If only, he had been heard to