Captive-in-Chief (21 page)

Clay woke with the greatest sense of unease he had experienced in a very long time. He hadn’t felt that way since… he shuddered, it was the day he didn’t talk about. The day he had sold his best friend in the world down the river for his own gain. If he wanted to be fair to himself, he had thought his best friend had died and he was merely rescuing himself from what would have been an embarrassing situation. He had never intended for things to transpire as they had, it had all gotten out of control. One lie had led to another and before he knew it, he was on a path where going anywhere other than forward was impossible. No matter how he sugar-coated it, he had destroyed his friend’s life.

The memories were ones he had spent many years suppressing, a time of his life he never wanted to revisit. He climbed quietly out of bed, careful not to wake Val, dressed, and made his way to the office. He needed to keep his mind busy and away from the past. Not that the present was any better, with his daughter kidnapped and another being threatened in his own house. How had they managed that? How could they have entered the private residence without alerting the Secret Service? Even if there were Secret Service members he couldn’t trust, there were security cameras. The system had been upgraded after the assassinations; it was, he was assured, never going to go down again.

He changed direction and walked towards the security offices, his security detail falling in behind dutifully.

“Good morning, Mr. President, where are you going?” asked Mike, his lead agent, appearing at his side as he entered an area of the White House he had never before ventured into.

“I want to check how the new video system’s working.”

Mike dismissed the rest of the detail and escorted the president himself.

“I’ll show you around,” said Mike eagerly.

Clay’s cell buzzed, he tried not to look. It buzzed again as he neared the doorway to the security center. Two buzzes in quick succession.

Clay took out his cell, stepping back from the doorway that Mike was about to open. He opened the messages, three in total, all photos. All looked like they were mistakes, three dark photos with little to see. It took Clay a few seconds to realize what they were. They would have meant nothing to anyone else in the world yet to Clay they meant the world to him. His family asleep in their beds. He recognized through the darkness the shapes and sleeping positions that he’d spent their lives looking in on.

Six feet in front of him stood a doorway that led into a room where somebody had just issued a threat to his entire family.

“Everything okay, Mr. President?” Mike’s concern at Clay’s reaction to the messages was clear.

Clay wanted to ask for Mike’s service weapon, storm into the room, and shoot whoever was in there. His reaction was somewhat more measured.

“Fine, everything’s fine. We need to get back to the Oval Office,” said Clay, using every ounce of acting ability he had to cover his fury. He turned as Mike’s facial reaction suggested that he didn’t believe for a second Clay was fine.

Two hours later and with his fury unspent, Clay paced his office. He wanted to wring their necks, snap their scrawny, treasonous spines. Ramona had taken one look at Clay’s face on arrival into Oval Office and cancelled a number of his engagements. A group of visiting Boy Scouts of America would be greeted by the first lady instead. Ramona knew they would be disappointed, though nowhere near as disappointed as they would be if they met Clay in the mood he was in.

She racked her brain for things she knew made him feel better. Ultimately, with everything going on in the world it was hardly surprising he wasn’t in the greatest of moods, but she had never seen him like that previously. His voice boomed from behind the closed door.

The latest victim exited the Oval Office, the uppity bitch from the FBI, the head of the National Security Branch, the one who had upset Ramona a few days earlier. She was hard-nosed and full of herself. She had swept in with a patronizing smile, supposedly genuine, though Ramona knew better, and the refreshment ban remained in place. However, even Ramona felt sorry for her on her exit, wiping a tear from her eye and shuffling past Ramona, a shadow of the confident woman that had entered. Ramona was surprised at herself, she thought she would have reveled in the bitch’s fall from her overinflated pedestal. Instead, she got up; it was time for a Ramona intervention. If he could do that to the hard-nosed bitch from the FBI, God knows what he’d do to anyone else.

Ramona knocked and walked into the Oval Office.

“You’ve got an hour until your next meeting. I suggest you get your shit together, Mr. President.” She wasn’t wagging her finger or swaying while she talked, yet the dressing down was as good as any grandmother had ever delivered. “Go for a walk, a run, or there’s a new pool man, take a swim even.” His mood changed in an instant.

The small business jet drew to a stop next to a fleet of vehicles consisting of four Suburbans and a stretch limo. Every one of the Suburban passenger doors was open. Twelve men stood on guard, their eyes scanning every potential threat, their hands at the ready to draw their weapons. The limo sat motionless, its doors firmly closed, its occupant safe behind the bullet proof glass, and his close protection detail.

Elsa stepped off the plane tentatively. She hadn’t expected a welcome and there was little chance that any welcome would be a warm one. The security detail followed her every move. Two stepped forward as she neared the limo. One held out his hand while the other placed his hand on the grip of his pistol. Both men towered over Elsa, tall imposing figures, groomed to perfection in bespoke suits. It was an impressive and imposing show.

“Ma’am, your weapons please?” asked the guard with his hand outstretched, his manners impeccable.

“Really?” asked Elsa, looking around behind the guard to the limo. It remained cut off from the outside world, the darkened windows and reinforced doors closed.

Elsa handed over her pistol. The guard’s hand remained in place awaiting more. She pulled her back-up pistol from the inside of her ankle. His hand remained. Elsa pulled out a switchblade and added it to the pile in the guard’s oversized hand. It remained unmoving, clearly wanting more.

“What? I’ve got nothing…” Elsa said, her hands outstretched, palms facing upwards.

The guard’s gaze fell to her waistline.

Elsa followed his gaze. “Like what you see?”

The guard failed to respond with anything other than a calculating stare that had already deprived her of her small arsenal of weaponry.

“The throwing knives,” he said after an uncomfortable and awkward silence had fallen between them. She wasn’t, as he had hoped, going to give them up voluntarily.

With a huff she dug into her beltline and withdrew the four throwing knives, her favored weapons. With the four blades deposited on his hand, he stepped back out of the way. Elsa walked forward and with an all clear from every one of the twelve guards surrounding the area, the limo door swung open, an electric motor doing the work for the passenger sitting comfortably in the back. He was an older man in his eighties, dressed impeccably in one of the most perfectly tailored suits she had ever seen, emanating power and presence that beckoned Elsa forward.

“Elsa, my darling, come in,” greeted the man with a welcoming smile.

Elsa was not fooled by the warmth of the reception; it was the only look the man ever had. She had watched that same welcoming smile pull the trigger and kill three people.

“Daddy, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Elsa was the daughter her father had never wanted. A cold and calculating man, it was little surprise Elsa had turned out as she had. Her father had showed her little love or kindness throughout her life. She reminded him of her mother, a woman whom he had loathed to the extent that his role in her death, although ruled accidental, remained questionable. Their relationship was one of blood only. Neither enjoyed nor sought out the other’s company unless absolutely necessary.

Raised by staff, tolerated by her father, Elsa had led a lonely existence as a child in a household where there was little to do except learn to shoot and hunt. Her father’s guards had taken her under their wings and trained the young and eager to learn Elsa in everything they knew, which, given the requirements to obtain a job in her father’s entourage, were extensive. They were all ex-Special Forces from the world’s best units, and her training encompassed the very best the units had to offer. Her father reveled in her abilities and was the only time the young Elsa ever received anything other than a passing acknowledgement from her father. The recognition from her father had driven her on to be better and better, until she finally realized that whatever she did, she would only ever be the daughter he had never wanted.

The relief she felt that day had been like no other, when she finally realized she didn’t need him, just as he didn’t need her. They were too alike, kindred spirits. She was her father’s daughter. Cold, heartless, and utterly ruthless. It was the day she had joined the cause and taken her first life. The day she had found her true self and she had her father to thank for it.

“Where are we going?” she asked as the limo and its convoy began to move.

“I thought we’d have lunch at the Club. You and I. Father and daughter.”

“Any particular reason?”

He handed her his cell phone, the most recent sent message was open on the screen.

“
Our time is now.”

“It’s started. All thanks to you,” he added proudly for the first time in her life.

A tear welled in her eye, she wiped it away. “So Alabama wasn’t a disaster?”

“A slight setback, but everything else has turned out as well as we could have possibly expected, in fact, even more so.”

“This is way ahead of when we expected.”

The plan had always been fluid, the number of variables and possible outcomes of their actions were so numerous, computer programs had been developed to monitor every aspect of the plan. Even the most optimistic models had failed to anticipate how well the plan would work. America was changing quicker and the people adapting far more readily than any model predicted or anyone had dared hope for.

“Exactly. We need to adapt the plan. Things are moving so fast we need to make some changes.”

She shifted nervously. “Like what?”

“The governor. We need to try again.”

“Oh my God!” Val burst into the Oval Office. “Why didn’t anyone tell us, wake us up, anything!”

“Tell us what?” asked Clay, looking at Ramona for some idea of what was wrong.

“Eric! They tried to kill Eric!”

Ramona excused herself, realizing it was nothing new.

“He’s fine, I spoke to him last night. You were sound asleep and I didn’t want you to worry all night and not sleep.”

“Fine?
Fine
? Four men tried to kill him,” she blurted.

“And he dealt with them, Val. He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s a man.”

“They put a gun to Maria’s head! His pregnant wife!”

“And they won’t be doing it ever again.”

“Whatever, I’m inviting them here for the weekend,” she said, turning and exiting as quickly as she had burst in, not waiting for his approval or otherwise. It was a
fait accompli
.

Clay watched the door slam behind Val.
Time for a walk
, he thought. All he could think about during the interaction with Val was meeting Joe. He had to take precautions, he needed to make it casual, not raise suspicions from anyone around him. At least he had an idea of how they were keeping tabs on him—the security cameras. His anger earlier had exposed some of how they were watching him. He placed his cell on his desk and called out to Ramona.

“I’m going for a stroll, clear my head.”

Clay walked out of the Oval Office and into the grounds, his Secret Service detail following.

“Guys, I’ll keep in the treeline and not go further than the tennis courts, just give me some breathing space, please,” he said firmly.

The four agents hung back, keeping a respectful distance as instructed. Clay kept it as casual as he could. His heart was racing as he walked beyond the swimming pool, keeping it out of sight. He continued on towards the tennis courts and took a seat in the children’s garden. It was a beautiful morning. He closed his eyes and looked towards the sun, the heat radiating through him. The four agents kept their distance. The garden was secure, one way in and out. At least for people, that was. A dog appeared by Clay’s side, pulling itself through the bushes, its tail wagging and its tongue hanging, excited to meet Clay. It wasn’t often people were excited to meet him. They were excited to meet the President of the United States, not plain old Clay Caldwell, a normal guy.

“Hello, buddy.” Clay patted the dog, his voice eliciting a response from his agents.

“Are you okay, Mr. President?” asked an agent appearing from behind the bushes.

“I’m fine, simply talking to a dog!” he said impatiently.

The agent ignored the president’s irritation and immediately requested through his mic information on the dog and if anyone knew where it had come from.

A few seconds later, he shared his findings, despite the fact the president hadn’t asked.

“It’s the pool guy’s dog, should I take it away?”

Clay remained as calm as he could on the outside, he had to remain casual. No sign of recognition could be given. Joe was his only hope.

“Seriously, son? A lovely, friendly dog comes over to say hi to me and you want to get rid of it?”

The dog looked at the agent with as much disdain as his president. He turned and left them alone.

“So you are Joe’s,” Clay whispered into Sandy’s ear while rubbing her chin.

“Sandy! Sandy!” Joe shouted.

Sandy left Clay without a second thought and raced towards the sound of Joe’s voice, providing more evidence that his presidential status meant little in the animal world. Clay rose and followed Sandy to where Joe was being held back by agents. Sandy rushed to his side.

“It’s okay, guys, its just a man looking for his dog,” Clay said calmly, his heart pounding at the sight of Joe.
He looks rough,
was his first thought.

“Mr. President, my apologies, did Sandy annoy you?” asked Joe, trying to act surprised at meeting the president as if for the first time.

Clay walked towards them both, reaching down to Sandy and petting her on the head. “Not at all, she’s beautiful.”

“She’s a service dog, I was told that was okay,” Joe said. The Secret Service Agents remained close to the president, watching Joe’s every move.

“Absolutely,” Clay turned to his agents. “Guys, really, you can relax!”

“Your name, Sir?” asked the agent leading the president’s detail, ignoring Clay. They had their orders and would disobey the president whenever necessary to protect his life.

“Joe Kelly.”

After a few seconds of toing and froing with the security office through his mic, the lead agent nodded and they stepped back. Joe was cleared.

“So, Joe what do you and…?” Clay looked down at Sandy.

“Sandy, Mr. President.”

“Sandy. So what do you guys do?”

“We look after the swimming pool, Mr. President.”

Clay motioned to his security team. He was going to the pool area. Joe led the way, Clay by his side.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Clay whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“It’s good to see you,” Joe whispered in response.

“I’m so sorry for what I—”

“You thought I was dead. Don’t worry about it.”

Over twenty-five years had passed since they had last seen each other and those few stolen sentences meant the world to both of them.

“We don’t have much time, they watch me everywhere. I have a few leads.”

“I’ve already got one,” Joe said.

Clay had to stop himself reacting visually. “Who?”

Joe had thought about Clara all morning. How had anyone known who she was?

“Only four people knew about Clara. Clara herself, me, you and Maddy. I didn’t tell anyone, you didn’t, and Maddy wouldn’t have, which leaves Clara, the only person in the world she would have told. Her husband.”

Clay nodded, trying to keep their whispering to a minimum. “We won’t have much chance to talk, do you remember our old code?”

Joe nodded.

“We’ll leave messages in the towel bucket. I’ll swim before you come in each day. The less we meet the better for you.” Louder, he said, “Well it was nice to meet you, Joe, and your lovely Sandy.” He bent down and received an uplifted chin to scratch for his efforts.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Joe said as Clay walked away with his guards in tow.

Joe’s emotions were going wild. Laughter, crying, anger—he had no idea how to feel. He had dreamt many times about their meeting. In many, his reaction was to throw a punch, only one. In others, it was many more, pummeling the man who had destroyed his career and as a result, his life. In reality he had just wanted to hug him. Clay was the best, and only, friend he had ever had. Joe stood helpless as Clay walked back into danger without looking back.