Nathaniel's Chorus. Gary Lightfoot

not familiar with. I know they can hear me.”

      The accused now leaning in to where his lips are barely missing the mike and proclaims, “My name is Nathaniel Foot.”

      Φ Π Ψ

      Life for the Foot brothers had been a series of historic events. Born at the end of the “baby-boomer” generation, they had a unique perspective on life. They grew up watching “Bonanza” as well as “Laugh-In” on television. They had sat with their parents and watched as man stepped onto the moon for the first time. They had watched their father cry exactly three times, once when President Kennedy was assassinated and twice when the two older brothers joined the military. They knew how to dance the “shag” as well as disco line dance. Two of the brothers could play instruments, one the saxophone the other the guitar. Two of the brothers had the same high school sweetheart; one was still married to her. All three shared their father’s passion for cars; instead of family pictures being taken in front of a fireplace, theirs were posed in front of cars that became members of the family, including giving them names. Most of their stories would start with the name of car that was involved. They could easily take over a room and then in the next minute blend into the background and disappear, a trick their father had taught them. All three had attended military school as kids, one started when he was only 3½ years old. Their parents enrolled the three brothers into a public high school the summer the oldest was about to be a senior, one of them adapted very well while the other two never did. One of the brothers was fluent in Spanish, one had developed an encrypted language for computers, and one just loved to talk.

      Nathaniel was the youngest of the 3 brothers, Nathan, Neil and Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s oldest brother, Nathan, was named after their father and possessed their father’s ability to easily make friends and inherited their father’s ability to memorize names and numbers. To avoid confusing the boys when calling Nathaniel or Nathan, their parents gave Nathan his nickname, “Junior”. The only time the two younger brothers called Junior by his given name was when they were either scared or when they were mad at him. The middle brother’s name was Neil; he was the romantic of the group. Growing up, Neil fell “in love” just about every other week with a different girl. No matter how many times he had his heart broken, Neil kept looking for true love; he found it once during college. Neil possessed the gift of photographic memory and was able to sketch out scenes in perfect detail. Growing up, Junior and Neil would entertain their baby brother Nathaniel while traveling with their parents on summer vacations. Neil would sketch a scene from their past and Junior would quiz Nathaniel on what the person’s name was or what the date was. Nathaniel, the baby brother, was the “angel” of the family. Nathaniel was born premature and had to stay at the hospital until his lungs were strong enough to breath on their own. The boys’ parents told Nathan and Neil that they would need to help take care of their “angel” Nathaniel; a job they took very serious. Nathan and Neil insisted that Nathaniel’s bed be put between theirs so that they could take turns watching him sleep. As a result, the two older brothers knew everything about Nathaniel. It was only after the two brothers enlisted in the service that Nathaniel was able to have a private life and do something that no one else knew about.

      Nathaniel was the natural politician of the three brothers. He was never intimidated by his opponents and spoke with a quiet confidence that only someone without fear could. Nathaniel knew that his two older brothers would never allow anyone to hurt him. While in high school, history was made when Nathaniel won a dancing contest the night after he was elected president of their high school student body. The two events would not have been particularly epic had Nathaniel not been a freshman while Neil was a junior and Nathan a senior. It was the brothers first year in a public school and Nathaniel already knew everyone in the school on a first name basis. The two older brothers were so proud of their baby brother that they started to introduce themselves as Nathaniel’s bodyguards. More than once Neil and Nathan stood between Nathaniel and bullies of all sizes and ages. Once when the high school Latin teacher picked on Nathaniel; Neil and Nathan disassembled and then reassembled the teacher’s VW bug inside the school cafeteria. The two older brothers told no one, including Nathaniel, who had been Nathaniel’s arms of justice.

      While in high school, the three brothers formed a secret society they named, the Phi Pi Psi. It didn’t mean anything, but sounded cool and looked good when written in Greek (Φ Π Ψ). The society started as a very few, just the Foot brothers and their closest high school friends, but would grow, unknowingly to the brothers, into a multi-national group of diverse individuals drawing from all strata of life. Soon the Foot brothers would come to rely on the society for not only their own lives, but for the welfare of a nation. Today though, was not that day; for today, the Phi Pi Psi threatened to cause the downfall of a very promising political career and cost the lives of his two older brothers.

      Φ Π Ψ

      The Chairman rustles in his chair to compose himself, strikes his gavel to the desk and says, “Sir, I’m glad that you finally find this auspicious occasion the appropriate locale to introduce yourself to the American people, and may I add that I am the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch and I too am no one that you would want to test!”

      Nathaniel sits motionless as Jeff writes something on his pad then slides it over in front of Nathaniel. Nathaniel glances down at the pad and says, “No thanks, I’ve already ordered.”

      “What’s that?” growled Reverend Branch.

      “My attorney asked me if I wanted something to drink, I told him that I had already ordered.”

      “This is not a restaurant Senator Foot, now if you would listen carefully as I recount for the record the purpose for this here, investigation.”

      Jeff grins back at the Chairman for correctly stating that it is an investigation and not a trial, at least not yet.

      Φ Π Ψ

      In the clubhouse of a private golf club just outside Guadalajara in the state of Jalisco in Mexico, a man sits at the bar and watches on TV UNAM, the television of the National Autonomous University of Mexico, as the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch begins his list of accusations. With each new charge, the man becomes more fixed on the screen and less aware of his surroundings until he is snapped back to reality when his drink slips out of his hand and crashes to the floor.

      The barkeeper runs around the bar to help the man, “¿Señor Pie, está usted bien?”

      The man stands up from the bar stool, his 6’1” muscular frame, tanned from hundreds of rounds of golf. His wavy dirty blond hair showing slight graying on the temples hints to his Caucasian heritage but his perfect Spanish hides his nationality. The man puts his arm around the barkeeper while pointing at the television behind the bar and asks, “¿Podría usted vuelta subir la televisión? Ése es mi pequeño hermano.”

      Another man dressed in a black suit and sitting at a table near the front door, notices the commotion and walks over behind the man, who is now kneeling to pick up the broken glass, “Did I hear you say that the man on the TV is your brother? If so, that would make you, Foot, Neil Foot; is that correct sir?”

      Without looking up, the kneeling man says, “Ah nuts.” Then in one fluid movement, thrust his elbow into the inner part of the black suited man’s right knee. As the man lifts his right leg in pain, Neil shifts his weight and springs forward and away from him while grabbing the man’s left leg causing the stranger to flip over backwards hitting his head on the bar as he falls.

      Neil rolls forward coming onto his feet in a “ready position” and quickly scans the clubhouse. Another black suited man is now knelt next to the first who is unconscious on the floor. As the second stranger reaches inside his suit the barkeeper, assuming the man is reaching for a gun, hits the man over the head with a bottle of Quince Brandy.

      “Ah Pedro, not the Quince.”

      “Shoot Neil, I thought he was pulling a rrroscoe!”

      “That’s funny Pedro, a roscoe, you mean a gun? I thought he was some girl’s husband!”

      “They’re no one’s husbands. Maan it’s 110 outside and these gringos are wearing black suits? Shoot Neil, some-ting’s