Presidential Shift (13 page)

The White House

5:15am, December 20
^th

The Secret Service agent knocked on the master bedroom door.

“Yes?” came the first lady’s voice from within.

“Ma’am, you requested we escort you down to the dining room. Is now a good time?”

“Yes, please come in.”

The agent looked around, extracted his service weapon, and stepped into the room.

+++

Cal’s eyes widened. Inside the interrogation room, Congressman Quailen, hands cuffed to the table, lay back, head flopped over his chair, obviously dead. Even worse, lying in a pile next to the table were three Secret Service agents, blood pooling dark red on the travertine floor.

“Jesus,” breathed Cal.

“Cal, the first lady,” said Daniel, already on his way to the door.

Shaken from his momentary stupor, Cal ran after him.

+++

“I think I’ll go up and see my wife. Might I suggest you gentlemen get some rest? I’m sure we can find you a spot if you need one,” the president said as he stood and stretched. “As for me, I think I could use a quick shower and shave.”

Zimmer, Maynor and Gaucho all rose and waited for the Commander in Chief to leave. “I think I’ll do the same. You guys can head down to the locker room with me if you’d like,” Zimmer offered, stifling a yawn.

Gaucho put a finger to his ear and blanched. His pistol whipped out a split second later as he bolted for the door. “The first lady!” he yelled to the stunned Secret Service agents as he ran through. Without a word, they took the lead, sprinting to the president’s quarters.

+++

Luckily, Cal and Daniel had quite literally run into three Secret Service agents, still in PT gear, just coming off duty. The look in Cal’s eyes and the drawn weapons said it all.

They reached the door leading into the first family’s residence. Cal let the agents take the lead. With practiced precision, the president’s protectors, who’d already alerted their cohorts, stacked up outside the entrance. The first man checked the door. Locked. “That’s a reinforced door. I need to call down for the keys,” he whispered.

“Can’t you shoot it?” asked Cal, worried that the first lady might already be dead.

The agent shook his head.

+++

“Mr. President, we have to get you to safety,” urged the detail commander.

“Goddammit, that’s my wife and kids up there!”

“I know that, sir, but…”

“Let’s go.” They were only steps behind Gaucho’s small band, who’d just passed them. The agent looked like he wanted to say something, but then remembered his own wife and kids.

“I’ll lead the way, sir.”

+++

By the time the keys got to the residence door, thirty agents waited, taut, ready to rush in.

“Go!” came the call. They swarmed in, all thoughts of their own safety deafened by the thought of a murdered first family on their watch.

They moved swiftly and methodically through the halls, sitting rooms and bedrooms. Screams told them they were getting closer. The troupe rushed forward, Cal and Daniel in their midst.

“Mommy!”

Turning a corner into the living area, Cal took in the scene. The president’s daughters clung to each other in a far corner. They screamed again at the site of the agents rushing in, training their weapons on the man, one of their own, arm wrapped tightly around the first lady’s throat, the other pressing a pistol to her ear.

“Jamison, put the weapon down!” ordered the first agent in the room. Cal and Daniel crept forward, affording themselves a better view.

“Fuck you! This bitch will die!”

“Then you’ll die too. Put the—.”

“I don’t give a shit. At least I’ll die happy knowing I took out
the whore
!”

The room went silent, except for the sniffling coming from the two girls.

“Put the weapon down, son.” The president muscled his way forward, much to the objection of his defenders.

Agent Jamison laughed maniacally. “Maybe I’ll make it a two for one,
sir
,” he said with a sneer, still smart enough to cover his body almost completely with his captive and a love seat.

“Please, tell me what you want. I promise—.”

“Promise! You know how much bullshit I’ve listened to in this place? This is the fucking White House! It was founded by great men. Great men who are rolling in their graves knowing a bitch whore sleeps in this house of honor. Lies! All lies! You people have no idea what it means to be American!”

The president put his arms up, stepping forward, shrugging off the hands of the closest agents. “Take me instead. Whatever you want, we can—.”

Two shots went off, and the first lady went down.

The White House

5:25am, December 20
^th

“Why?” asked the president, cradling his wife, tears running freely.

“There’s a time to talk and a time to shoot, Mr. President. This is what we do,” answered Cal, who’d taken the second shot a split second after Daniel.

The first round had taken the first lady in the arm, but more importantly, hit Jamison enough to move him into Cal’s shot, right in the face.

“I’m sorry we shot you, ma’am,” apologized Daniel, who was kneeling to help.

The first lady smiled weakly, blood drained from her face. “I understand. Thank you for having the courage to do it.” She lifted her good hand and stroked the side of her husband’s face. “I’ll be okay, honey. I’ve been through worse.”

The president grabbed her hands and pressed them against his face. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get these—.”

“Sir, the doctor’s here,” said one of the agents.

The White House physician kneeled down next to the small crowd, doing a quick examination of the first lady’s arm. “We won’t know for sure until we take an x-ray, but it looks clean. Through and through. Let’s get her down to the clinic and then to the hospital.”

There was a rush of activity as the agents followed the doctor’s instructions, loading the first lady onto a wheeled gurney. A minute later, the bandaged patient rolled toward the nearest elevator, the president walking alongside. The body of the deceased agent rolled out the opposite way.

“You’ve got some guts, kid,” said Maynor, clapping Cal on the back.

“I didn’t know you were up here.”

“Saw the whole thing.”

Cal grunted. “Can you still keep your mouth shut?”

Maynor laughed. “You think I’m stupid enough to piss
you
off?”

SSI Safe House, Arlington, VA

12:17pm, December 20
^th

Cal dozed on the couch, barely watching the news on the television. It was the tenth replay of the story coming out of the White House. According to the anchors, an unsuccessful attempt by a crazed former White House employee had been thwarted before anyone in the White House could be harmed.

It never ceased to amaze Cal how gullible the media could be. If it came from the White House, it must be true. He wondered what the Secret Service would tell Agent Jamison’s family, or the families of the other deceased agents. His thoughts wandered to the men he’d lost over the years. He knew the depth of pain and second-guessing the president’s detail was going through. There would be a full-scale investigation. People would be allowed to hand in their resignations, all for the greater good. It was bullshit and Cal knew it.

That thought followed Cal as he drifted to sleep.

+++

“How are the kids?” the first lady asked.

“They’re fine. The nanny has them. I told her to spoil them, give them anything they want,” said the president, who hadn’t left his wife’s side except to see to the children.

“Have they found out what Jamison wanted? He was always so kind to the girls.”

“They’re looking into it. Lou said they should have something soon. Jamison was the missing piece. He wasn’t alone.”

The first lady blinked slowly, fighting the sleep that would soon claim her. “When you find out who it was, tell me. I want the world to know.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—.”

The First Lady’s eyes hardened. “Don’t give me your line about secrecy. I was almost killed. Our children were traumatized.
You
were in danger. We need to stand and tell our enemies that we will not be put down.”

The president nodded weakly. It wasn’t an argument he was prepared to have at the moment. He’d save the discussion for later. She would see reason once she’d had time to think on it.

United State Naval Observatory
U.S. Vice President’s Residence

6:20pm, December 20
^th

Vice President Zimmer had invited the entire SSI team to his new home. He wasn’t married, and he didn’t want to eat alone. Too many things had happened in the past week to be by himself. For the third time that night, he shook his head thinking about the company he now kept. Before meeting Cal, he never would have imagined having friends like these. He’d changed. He’d changed a lot.

“I’ve got a club soda and a whiskey. Whose is whose?” he asked walking back into the spacious living area. Two of the operators raised their hands, and Zimmer delivered their drinks.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right? We’re big boys,” said Cal, sipping on his own hefty pour.

“Let’s just say that we owe you guys. Besides, I’ve got staff wiping my ass after I go to the bathroom now. I need to stay humble somehow.”

Cal shrugged. “Your choice, but if you keep serving Gaucho like that he’s liable to think you’re part of
his
staff now.”

Gaucho flipped Cal the finger and grabbed his crotch. “This is the only staff I need, jarhead.”

Zimmer laughed along with the men, all of whom came from a very different world than the new vice president. A tinkling bell sounded from some unseen source.

“That means dinner’s ready,” Zimmer said, rolling his eyes at the throwback to royal service.

The warriors didn’t need to be told twice. Drinks in hand, they followed the vice president to the dining room.

+++

“Sir, we’ve tracked down two of Jamison’s accomplices. Looks like they were going to make another try at the first lady’s brunch this morning,” informed the Secret Service agent.

“Do you have them in custody yet?”

“We have teams deployed, sir. Should be in our hands soon.”

“Any word on who they are?”

“Yes, sir. We believe the mastermind is a gentlemen named Evans Carlisle. He’s suspected to be the head of a white brotherhood network, sort of a connector. The other suspect is his right hand. We don’t have all his information yet.”

“Motive?”

The agent looked uncomfortable. “Our guys think it’s in line with what Jamison said to you.”

“So it’s all because of race?”

The agent shrugged.

“Okay. Thanks, Lou. Tell me when you have the suspects in custody.”

“Yes, sir.”

The president sat back in his chair and sighed, wondering if the issue of race would ever be resolved. He’d changed. His views had shifted along with his focus as president. Why couldn’t others do the same?

+++

Two Secret Service Emergency Response Teams (ERTs) descended on the wooded complex nestled in the modest Vienna, VA suburb. Multiple K9 units accompanied the raid, as well as members of the Counter Sniper Unit. They weren’t taking any chances. Local law enforcement was not informed.

Minutes after entering the two-story residence, agents positively identified the bodies of Evans Carlisle and Nicholas Rindle. The bodies were tested and death had been estimated six to eight hours earlier. In addition to the bodies, files and maps were discovered detailing the entire scheme, along with additional event details gleaned from the first lady’s schedule, allegedly supplied by Special Agent Jamison.

The White House

8:40am, December 21
^st

“Thanks for stopping by, Cal. I know you’ve got a flight this morning.”

“Not a problem, Mr. President. I’ve got time. How’s the family?”

“They’re coping.”

“And the first lady?”

“She’s tough. A few scrapes won’t keep her down. Hell, sometimes I think she’s tougher that me.”

“It sounds like the Secret Service has things wrapped up,” said Cal, preferring to talk business.

“Looks like it. They think this Carlisle guy,” the president waved a folder, “and his pal took their own lives when they knew they couldn’t get away. Same thing happened up in Minnesota. Tracked the guys down only to find him with a gun in his mouth. He pulled the trigger just as the police busted in.”

“That’s too bad. I hope you get the whole story before this is over.”

The president nodded. He looked tired. Not tired — weary. Weary of the weight on his shoulders. Cal swore the man looked grayer than he had a day before.

“Anything I can do for you before we leave, sir?” Cal asked, shaking the president from his thoughts.

“You’ve done more than I could’ve asked. Please thank your men for me. Maybe I’ll stop by the next time I’m in Nashville.”

Cal couldn’t believe himself, and yet he said, “I think they’d like that, sir.”

“And you?” the president asked, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting used to you politicians.”

Both men shared a laugh, each considering the unlikely alliance between stubborn Marine and a Democrat president.

“Well, I should be going.”

“Yes, do you need a ride?”

“I’ll take a cab, sir. More inconspicuous.”

They said their goodbyes and the president led Cal to the gate, agents flowing around silently. Cal slipped into the taxi cab and waved as they headed to Reagan International.

+++

“Hey, I’m on my way to the airport.”

“Cal.” Neil, hesitated, something he never did.

“What is it?”

“I found out where the calls were coming from. It wasn’t Jamison.”

“Tell me.”

+++

The president took a hitched breath and opened the master bedroom door. Cal and Dr. Higgins followed.

The first lady, wearing a pearl silk nightgown, arm strapped in a sling, sat at her vanity, applying makeup. She scowled slightly when she noticed the extra guests.

“Is everything okay, honey?” she asked sweetly, suddenly unperturbed by the company. Awkwardly, she continued with her eyeliner.

“Why did you do it?” asked the president, quietly.

“Do what?”

The president shook his head. “All those people. Our children. You put them in danger.”

The first lady slowly put her eyeliner pencil on the table and turned to face her husband. She rose to her feet, scowling.

“What do you think you know?”

“We know it was you behind the attacks. Why? Why would you do something like this?” the president’s words came out haltingly.

Her face morphed, angry, sinister. “Who told you? Was it him? Was it Cal the fucking Marine? You’d believe him over me?”

The president’s head snapped up at the hate in his wife’s voice. “That’s enough. We have all the proof we need. Cut the show and tell me why.”

The first lady smiled smugly. “You think you’re the smart one in this family? You think you know how to run a country? Ha! You’d be nothing without me! Do you know how many things I did to get you in office, to keep you in office?”

The president’s face paled.

“Oh, don’t looked so shocked,
honey
. While you were off on your hope and change kick, looking good for the cameras, I was in the background, doing the deals you’ve always said you were too good for. You have no fucking idea!”

Shaking his head, trying to understand the stranger standing in front of him, the president asked, “How did you do it? Why would a man like Carlisle—.”

“Why would he do it? Are you kidding? He’s the worst kind of racist. All I had to do was some digging and find out who hated me the most. There are whole websites dedicated to seeing my head cut off, so I used it. I used my enemy as my ally. He never knew I was behind it, and neither did Jamison. I bet you didn’t know about his past, did you?”

“How did you?”

“Let’s just say I used my assets. Even a racist can’t say no to the president’s wife,” she said lasciviously.

“I…I don’t know you anymore.” The president looked like he was about to fall over. Cal gave an arm to steady him. The president took it, his head hanging.

“Oh, please. I did this for us, for you. Do you know where our poll numbers will go when news of white supremacists trying to kill the black first lady gets out? They’ll change the Constitution, give you a third term, in a landslide!”

The president’s head rose slowly. He looked back at Cal, the pain causing his eyes to look like marbles in a deep pit. “We’ll take care of it, sir. You don’t need to be here,” said Cal, truly sad for the president.

The leader of the free world, now brought to his knees, nodded and stumbled to the door.

“What are you going to do, kill me?”

“No, ma’am.” Cal closed the gap as the first lady raised her good arm protectively. The Marine grabbed her wrist, forcing the arm down, using his other hand to get a grip on the first lady’s neck. “Doc.”

Dr. Higgins, portly and normally congenial, extracted a syringe from his tweed coat pocket, taking off the safety cap. “Hold her still, Calvin.”

The first lady’s eyes bulged. “What are you doing?! NO! NO!”

In the hallway, the president went to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.