No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) (13 page)

She ran thoughts through her head in the early morning as she had done all of her life. She greeted each day with optimism and joy, a quality they shared. But while Max rose at 5:00 AM each day, exercised before breakfast, and followed these with coffee and planning, she relished her sleep. He was usually long gone by the time she got up. There was never time to procrastinate, and less time to doubt or worry.

She recalled what he had told her about the reports of his dalliances with other women, and it gave her comfort. They had been at a beach late in the day, watching the dolphins play as the sun set in a spectacular display of purple and orange. The

NO CORNER TO HIDE

water was smooth as glass and took on a green sheen that made it look like it was suspended in time. She couldn’t imagine a more romantic moment. He had held her hands in front of him and looked into her eyes with a gaze so intense that she felt that he had gained access to her soul. Her excitement rose, her heartbeat made her breasts heave with anticipation. He had stared for the longest time, but she didn’t dare interrupt the moment for fear of breaking the spell. In his low, calm voice, he had explained his state of mind clearly and concisely.

“When you truly love someone, there is no room in your heart for anyone else.”
She loved him desperately. He was the ruggedly handsome object of feminine desire, who epitomized success in every way. Max had been at the top of everything he had attempted, and that aspect of her man was incredibly sexy and intimidating at the same time. She was not so naive to think that she was more special than any other woman who sought his love, but still, she realized that he had neither the time nor the inclination to do any of the things that the press had tried to pass off as fact. If she believed a fraction of the gossip and innuendo, she was doomed to a life of self-doubt, and she wasn’t made that way.
Max didn’t pay any attention to the press, seemingly insulated from the constant focus. He was driven to accomplish much and worry little, and she could see the genuine affection he had for her. He was open in his displays of affection for her, and that gave her a bubble of confidence that no other woman could pierce. She took consolation in the stories that were impossible to be true; when they reported that he was out with the starlet of the week, he was with her. All of it was created by publicists who had been hired to boost the career of beautiful women by linking them to Max. It worked, too, but Rachel had to consider the source. It was all fluff.
Through with reflection, she retreated to the bedroom to shower as Max made his typical breakfast of fruit and poached eggs on toast. She dried her hair and quickly pulled on her flight uniform, not bothering to apply makeup. She was in a hurry. It was Wednesday, time for her to head over to Andrews Air Force Base for another lesson in flying Air Force One.

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edundancy
, he thought.
If the president won’t let me do my job in the way I have been trained, I will find a way to do it his way. He’s going to make me gray in no time if I keep reacting

instead of strategizing.

The challenge for Justin Armstrong was in thinking like Max, anticipating his every move. The Secret Service head had had free reign since the fall of the previous administration, and he was amazed at the sudden gap in security when they departed. Protecting the president had become his sole purpose in life, but he had forsaken everything to rise to the top.

He had never been much of a husband to his first wife or his second, and his daughter from his first marriage had to beg for him to take time off from his obsession to be a part of her life. At sixteen, Jessica spent more time with her boyfriend than either of her parents, but once these years had passed, he could never get them back. All he had from her first years of life were pictures of birthday parties he had missed, the empty chair at the table with a cardboard sign labeled in a child’s hand in magic marker: Daddy.

Armstrong rationalized that his wife and daughter had accepted his role as a highly-decorated Navy SEAL, and later, as an upwardly mobile member of the Secret Service. His constant absence from the family for months at a time had taken its toll in loneliness and longing, and he couldn’t blame his wife for taking up with a horny insurance agent while he was off doing black ops in the mountains of Pakistan. He couldn’t share his triumphs with family; SEALs took a solemn, life-long oath to remain loyal to all of their members, and family fell outside of that circle. There would never be a tell-all book from a SEAL, or a reality show. He was, and would always be, a SEAL first and a spouse and parent second. It had to be that way.

Armstrong could have been the nation’s darling hero if he had disclosed that he was a part of the team that had killed Osama Bin Laden. But that would have ended his career as a SEAL, and that thought, to him, was unthinkable. After all, what would he do in the civilian world? He was SEAL trained and duty-bound. He was where he wanted to be, despite the regret. There would be days tied to a desk. The mere thought of doing busywork made him nauseous, but it had to be done.

He busied himself with the duties of the job, creating codenames for the president and those in his inner circle for use by his Secret Service detail. It was tradition, and he took delight in the choosing. He wanted the words to have a connection to their personality. He knew with silent pride that his choices would become a part of history. The codename he chose for Max was Wizard, for his habit of disappearing and evading security.

Before becoming the most guarded person in the country, Max had mastered the cheap thrill of keeping the press guessing, emerging from places they never suspected. When it came time to leave, which seemed to happen less than a minute after the press had found him, he would disappear without warning. While other candidates would spend hours quoting statistics and droning on and on about the issue of the day, Max had made his comments short and to the point, and then he was gone. Rachel’s codename was Flygirl, and aviation was so much a part of her that no other words would suffice. He knew that his subordinates would refer to her by other names in private, as men do, but if he heard any of them using those words in his presence, it would be misconduct that would get them reassigned. They knew it, and in their daily briefings, he reinforced his rule.

When it came to Vice President Conroy, Armstrong became more judicious in his choice of words. Previous codenames had little connection to the person, and in his research of the history on the subject, he was disappointed that his predecessors were so lacking in imagination. Obama was Renegade. Clinton was Eagle. Poor Gerald Ford was Passkey. Scarlett Conroy’s code name would be Hairbrush, he decided, for her penchant for combing her hair before every speech.
History will support my decisions
, he reflected.

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here are two ways to take back our country. One is by overwhelming force, and that would involve a coup. We would need to convince the American people that Masterson is intent on ruining our country, and we would need to take control

of the combined force of our military.” Adam Pryor sat passively on the deck of his mansion in the Hamptons, casually discussing the overthrow of the United States government and the demise of his nemesis, Max Masterson.

The longtime Director of Homeland Security had officially retired on election day, announcing to the public that he was returning home to take a position with a think tank named the National Security Foundation. In his reality, Pryor was leaving before he was forcibly removed. For more than thirty years, he controlled the security of the United States, or perpetuated the illusion that the country was secure from terrorism. He used this position to ensure his personal wealth and the wealth of those who placed him in that position of power and control.

Pryor owed no allegiance to his country, and he had no stake in the prosperity of the nation. He recited this chant on a daily basis, and perverted the meaning to suit his selfish agenda: “To thine own self be true.” To his way of thinking, that meant he would sacrifice the lives of other Americans to accomplish his personal goals, and over the years, his mania made the needless sacrifice of lives a goal rather than a consequence.

Adam Pryor was warped by hate. In his mind, discrediting the new administration by launching a massive terrorist attack on the United States would vindicate him. During his time as the head of the Department of Homeland Security, Pryor had no supervision and no peer. He was free to do whatever he chose, while creating a branch of government that failed to exist before September 11, 2001. The first large-scale terrorist attack within the borders of the United States spawned Homeland Security, and for the following decade, Pryor had a free ride.

Along with the ephemeral duty of protecting America from the unknown came a great deal of power. Pryor used that power to control and eliminate his political enemies, and he was ruthless in creating the path to their devastation. The word in Congress was that if you messed with Homeland Security, your days in politics were numbered, and ignoring that adage had ended the promising career of a large number of politicians.

They had suddenly found themselves defending scandals that sprung up following their efforts to question the functions and funding of Pryor’s department. It didn’t matter that the allegations would prove to be false after the firestorm of titillating controversy died down. By that time, public interest was turned elsewhere, and the powerless politician was left floating in a sea of mistrust and hostility.

He had been publicly humiliated by Max’s father, John Masterson, during Senate hearings long before Max was born, and that hate had never subsided. It was merely transferred from father to son. Max Masterson and his presidency had inherited an anger that could only be quenched by the humiliation of Max and everything he stood for, in the most public way possible.

His audience was composed of two members: a man known as “Darkhorse” and another known only as “Bob.” This meeting was their first in person. All previous communications were made by secure wireless contacts at remote locations. Nobody would suspect that the Director of Homeland Security would be involved in a plot to destroy the presidency and install a dictatorship in its place, he was confident of that. Pryor had instituted the same policies that he was in the process of circumventing. If anyone was capable of using security to cause mayhem, Pryor was an expert.

“I need you to move fast. At precisely noon eastern standard time on Inauguration Day, January 18, we will detonate the first and smallest of those devices in Washington. It is designed to disrupt anything with electronics. All vehicles with electronics and all communication devices, we will make useless. We are going to spoil a celebration of patriotism.” He smiled in a wicked leer.

“At a time I choose, the larger plan will begin. We will place EMP bombs in high-rise penthouse condos that we own in six major metropolitan areas. They are to be on the top floor of the tallest buildings we could find. They are designed to knock out all geostationary communication satellites and power stations in each city with one blast,” declared Pryor.

“You are going to kill a lot of people,” responded Darkhorse. “How will it feel for you to be hated worse than Hitler?”
Pryor ignored him. “I don’t intend for you, or I, or anyone who is involved in this mission to be revealed to the public. We are going to shift the blame to Masterson and gain the support of the U.S. military in ensuring the continued existence of our way of life. You, Darkhorse, will be my minister of mayhem, and I expect you to maximize that mayhem at every opportunity.” Pryor’s voice took a sinister tone, and privately, the two mercenaries harbored doubts as to his mental stability. “These bombs are not designed to kill people. The electromagnetic pulse emitted from these explosions will be focused on eliminating satellite communications, the grid, and all electronics within the blast area. We will knock out all electronics in large metropolitan areas and bring down the power grid that supplies all of the comforts of society. They won’t be able to talk on the phone, watch TV, cook their food, or even keep warm.”
“But why?” said Bob.
“Survival of the fittest, that’s why.” Pryor was beginning to show outrage at the insolence, his face reddening with anger. He would not tolerate the questioning of his commands from a subordinate, and he considered everyone a subordinate.
“You are being paid an outrageous amount of money to carry out my commands without question,” he rose from his Adirondack chair and pointed his index finger inches from Bob’s face. The swift motion was unexpected, and Bob backed off.
“The city dwellers are weak. They are like sheep being led to slaughter. I don’t need to kill them. When I turn off technology and they lose the comforts to which they have become so dependent, they will die from the struggle or kill themselves to end their discomfort. America will become a nation where only the strong will persevere, and we will become stronger than any time in our history as a nation,” Pryor proclaimed in his most self-righteous voice. “The American people are like sheep. As long as they have full bellies and a shelter over their heads, I can make these wage slaves do anything I want. You think Lincoln freed the slaves? I’ll tell you this. The only difference between this country in 1855 and today is it is no longer a matter of race.. They’re all slaves, and they’re still living hand to mouth. If I can control the money and the basic necessities of their lives, I can control whether they live or die,” proclaimed Pryor.
He’s truly deranged
, thought Darkhorse.
Once this job is over, I’m going to disappear for good. That crazy son of a bitch has used and abused me for the last time.

Bob was oblivious to the implications of Pryor’s plan. He was good at taking orders from people with the money to hire him, and in his tiny niche of technology, he was an expert. The years he spent in Pakistan defusing nuclear devices had prepared him to do the work that the former Director of Homeland Security required, but this time, he was arming nuclear devices, not disarming them. He heard the discussion, but his involvement in decision-making ended with which route to take to get to the destination and the proper wrenches needed to install the devices at the locations he was given.