enemies of the state (10 page)

Ethan whistled, long and low. “Any credible threats or actionable intel? Anything specific?”

Jack shook his head. “Not according to the CIA, NSA, and DOD. It’s a big question mark right now, and that’s what scares everyone the most.”

“I get it.” Ethan snorted. “Had more than a few of those moments in the Army. The big question marks, where you don’t know what will happen.”

“I hear you there.” Jack snorted, and it was too easy to keep talking to him.

“You think everything is good, and then you’re clearing out a house during a cordon search, and all of a sudden, you’re face-to-face with a bunker buster rigged to blow. Or a BCIED.”

Jack’s smile turned brittle. “You were caught in a Building Contained IED?”

BCIEDs had taken out more soldiers than Ethan could count. Giant IEDs rigged inside houses or buildings, set in the path of US military units clearing and searching houses and neighborhoods. “I defused the ones we ran into. Never was unlucky enough to get caught in a blast. Had good spotters on my team, good guys who knew how to track wires through houses.”

Jack looked down, deep into his coffee. Long lines stretched from his tired eyes, reaching for his temples and his salt-and-pepper hair. “Leslie was caught in a BCIED,” he said softly, almost whispering. “Vaporized her unit.”

Was there never going to be a moment where he didn’t royally fuck up when talking to him? Maybe this was his punishment for even talking to Jack again. He was supposed to be distant, right? Instead, here he was, making an ass of himself, again. “Jesus,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, sir. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It was a long time ago, Ethan.” Jack rested a hand on his forearm, stilling his words. “I’m all right. I’m glad that you and your guys all came home.”

Ethan’s arm burned where Jack touched him, even through his suit. His gaze was glued to Jack’s hand, to his fingers, and he could barely think, let alone speak. His tongue was heavy, his thoughts dizzy, as if his mind was full of helium. “Sir, I really am sorry…” he whispered. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for anymore.

“Don’t be,” Jack breathed. A smile played over his lips, dimpling his cheeks. The moment stretched on, lingering as Ethan lost himself inside Jack’s eyes, lost in the fathoms of his watery depths, lost in the emotions that suddenly tore through Ethan, a chasm of sheer longing that struck him straight in the heart. Ethan inhaled sharply, just a bit, and caught Jack’s subtle pine scent. He nearly groaned, nearly whimpered as he physically held himself back from his yearning.
Focus, focus! What the fuck is wrong with you? This is the president, and he’s straight! He’s talking about his dead wife, for fuck’s sake
. His heart only burned hotter, trying to melt the glacial ice flows within Ethan’s veins.

Jack stepped away, pushing himself off the steel counter as he clutched his paper coffee cup. “I missed you in Turin. I don’t think I saw you at all over there.”

“Uhh, no, sir.” Ethan fumbled his own coffee, spilling it over the back of his hand. He cursed under his breath, shook the burn, and then grabbed a wad of napkins to wipe himself down. “I was running the backend of the trip. In the CP.”

Jack nodded. “You did a great job. I’m still alive.” He grinned. “Now that we’re back, we might be able to see more of each other again?” Jack’s voice rose, a question in his words. He swallowed, and Ethan’s eyes fixed on the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “Ready to kill me on the treadmill?”

I can’t escape this man even if I tried. And God help me, but I don’t want to try
. Ethan licked his lips. The stench of coffee clung to him, but he could still sense the lingering hint of pine and a deeper, warmer scent that was all Jack hanging in the air. His heart was pounding, almost beating out of his chest. Why this man, why this place, why now?
I can’t, good God, I can’t fucking do this.

“Sure, Mr. President. How about tomorrow? I can come by at our usual time?”

Beaming, Jack nodded. “Sounds great.” He headed back toward the Situation Room but paused at the doorway. “You know,” he said, turning back to Ethan. “You really can call me Jack.”

Ethan nodded. “Mr. President,” he said, smiling.

Jack shook his head and walked on.

Heaving a gasp, Ethan collapsed backward against the steel coffee counter, barely setting down his cup before his hands flew to steady himself against the railing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
! He was in such deep shit. What was his problem? This was more than just lust. He wasn’t dumb enough to deny that. But how? And why? He’d closed the door on this kind of thing years ago. He didn’t have the heart for love. He wasn’t that man. So why was he falling head over heels for Jack?

A sandy-colored head of hair poked into the Mess. The young detail agent looked Ethan over with wide eyes. He swallowed, hesitated, and opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“Agent,” Ethan growled, straightening himself up to his full height. He towered over most people. “What is your post and duty?”

The younger agent’s eyes went wide. “I traded my shift with Keifer and took his overnight. I was supposed to be standing post in the Residence, but then the president went down to the Situation Room. I…” he hesitated again. “I fell asleep, sir. Have you…seen the president?”

Ethan closed his eyes and counted to ten, breathing deeply. If he murdered this young agent, he wouldn’t ever get to see Jack again. “The president headed back to the Situation Room, agent,” he growled. “When your shift is over, and you’ve stayed awake for the remainder of it, come see me in Horsepower.”

Chapter Five

Russians Flex Military Might in European-Held Lands over Refugee Arms Crisis; Russian Military on the Move to Syria

When news broke last week of a cargo hauler carrying freight containers filled with weapons bound for the refugee resettlement zones in Germany, Austria, and France, panic tore through Western Europe. Western European leaders questioned the NATO-led Mediterranean Sea inspection fleet, asking how many other shipping containers of weapons had made it through to the mainland. Others on the right, in both Europe and America, loudly questioned why weapons would be sent to refugees and pointed to recurrent intelligence assessments claiming that many of the refugees who have swarmed into Europe over the past decade have in fact been trained Islamic Caliphate fighters, waiting for a chance to strike. In response to the crisis, Russia issued a condemnation of the NATO-led Mediterranean inspection fleet and declared that their occupied lands—Ukraine, Moldova, Romania, and Estonia—would be guaranteed safety from any terror attacks thanks to the security of the Russian military and the Kremlin. Additionally, Russia announced that they were deploying military units to Syria, though whether they were operating in support of the Syrian Provisional Government or operating independently was anyone’s guess.

European leaders from Germany, Austria, France, and England will gather with the President of the United States in Camp David at the end of this week in an emergency summit arranged to address the continuing security concerns within Europe and the increasing number of terror attacks within European cities. Also on the agenda are Russia’s military movements, both in Europe and in the Middle East. When asked for a comment on Russia’s activities, England’s Prime Minister said this: “While it is admirable that Russia wants to participate on the world stage as a world player, their efforts would be more supported and welcomed if they contributed to the success and safety of the world, instead of invading sovereign nations and helping to prop up thuggish regimes with despicable human rights records. One wonders what Russia’s end game is, and if they truly want to be known as the world’s worst enablers.”

* * * * *

The next time Ethan and Jack headed up to Camp David, over two thousand people accompanied them, and it wasn’t for a weekend vacation. The prime minister of England, the president of France, and the chancellor of Germany were all crammed into Marine One, along with their protective details, the president, the vice president, Ethan, Daniels, and Collard. Inada had left the day before, taking a caravan of Secret Service agents up to Camp David and prepping for the emergency summit with the Navy and the Marines.

Ethan, Daniels, and Collard sat in the back of Marine One, alongside the personal detail leads from the other world leaders on the chopper. France’s detail lead spent the flight shooting dark, heavy glares at the German detail lead, who pretended to ignore the Frenchman while tossing snide, dismissive snorts back his way. The British detail lead spread out the Times across his face and went to sleep. His snores filled the rear cabin.

In the front cabin, Ethan could see Jack sitting near the British prime minister, talking fast and gesturing with his hands. They talked over each other at times, heated discussions rising and falling. Laughter floated toward the back every now and then. He relaxed into his leather recliner, but kept his eyes on the front cabin while Daniels and Collard played Hearts.

Halfway through the flight, Jack looked up, meeting Ethan’s gaze through the propped-open door to the rear cabin. He smiled, and it went right through Ethan, lancing him in a way he’d come to both agonize and adore. He smiled back, even though his heart was aching and his palms were sweating, and he hated himself just a little bit more every single time this happened.

Jack went back to arguing with the German chancellor, and Ethan purposely stared out the window for the rest of the flight. His ears picked out Jack’s voice, and though he couldn’t make out the words over the din of the rotors, he still closed his eyes around the sounds of his voice and the warmth of his laugh.

When they arrived, Inada had already coordinated three full detail teams assigned to the German, French, and British envoys. The first few hours were a mess of moving people and personnel into place—the German chancellor and her team took one of the south guesthouses, the British prime minister and her team took over the guesthouse the Secret Service normally used, and the French president and his detail moved to the northern guesthouse. Golf carts zipped around Camp David, ferrying men in suits with radios and Marines with M-4s across the property.

Ethan helped Gottschalk rearrange the lodge’s great room and dining room, pushing together the tables to the center of the room and dragging the couches to the far wall. Gottschalk’s staff scurried in next, dropping binders and bound reports and classified folders stamped with “NATO EYES ONLY” next to each seat.

Gottschalk motioned for Ethan to join him in the kitchen. They pulled bottles of water from the fridge and downed one each in silence, eyeing the spread laid out for the envoys’ dinner later that evening.

“Agent Reichenbach, right?” Gottschalk said, wiping down his forehead. His hair was cut short, trimmed into a neat high and tight, and his hazel eyes were sharp as they stared at Ethan. He had his battered Army backpack slung over one shoulder, his version of a briefcase.

Ethan nodded, swiping a cookie from the nearest tray. He broke it in half and offered a piece to Gottschalk.

Gottschalk raised one eyebrow. He didn’t take the cookie. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with the president. Is there something I need to know about? Any security concerns?”

Ethan shoved both halves of the cookie in his mouth, taking his time with his chewing. Gottschalk was the president’s right hand, his chief of staff, and someone Ethan had successfully managed to avoid, until now. There hadn’t been an administration yet where the Secret Service and the chief of staff didn’t come to verbal blows. Usually it was around the midterms, or around the reelection. Six months into the administration, though, was early.

“Nope,” he finally said, swallowing the cookie. “The president is fully secured.”

Gottschalk frowned. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “So why are you spending so much time with the president?”

Ethan would take shit shoveled by Collard, and he was starting to take shit from Daniels, too. Those guys were his friends. He’d also take all the shit he could shovel on himself, all of his own self-loathing and castigation.

But he’d be damned if he was going to take a single ounce of bullshit from Gottschalk.

“He asked for a workout buddy,” Ethan shrugged. “He needed a spotter.” Straightening, Ethan angled his shoulders just so, showing off his barrel chest and his broad, thick shoulders. He looked like a linebacker. “You may not know this, but physical fitness is an important stress relief for presidents in office.”

Gottschalk surprised him. He laughed, the first time Ethan had ever seen him crack so much as a smile. He looked away, out the kitchen windows. “Well, you are a good choice for that.”

Ethan suddenly realized what the emotion on Gottschalk’s face was, an emotion that the chief of staff was trying to hide.
Jesus, he’s jealous.
He cleared his throat, brushing cookie crumbs from his suit jacket, suddenly feeling like an ass. “I’m sure if you said you were interested, he’d enjoy working out with you, too.” It hurt to say, to offer from of his sacred time with Jack to another. But it was the right thing to do, for so many reasons.

Gottschalk smiled, but it was faint on the edges. “Thanks, Agent Reichenbach. I’m sure he sees enough of my face as it is.” He slapped Ethan on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of him. I’m glad you’re there. He needs it.”

Ethan’s smile was hollow as Gottschalk moved away. He was on thin ice, and it was only getting thinner.

* * * * *

The first evening of the emergency summit went long. Jack, the German chancellor, British prime minster, and French president were joined in the great room by the chairmen and vice chairmen of the Joint Chiefs, the national security advisor, CIA director, and the chiefs of staff from each leader’s administration. Gottschalk sat next to Jack, scribbling notes and leaning back to whisper in his aide’s ear every ten minutes. His aide would furiously type out messages on his laptop, and somewhere down the table, someone else would check their tablet.