Presidential Shift (6 page)

Orange Beach, Alabama

6:03am, December 18
^th

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be fine. Yes, Jerry says everything’s taken care of.” The first lady paused to listen to her husband’s third protest and nodded to the head of her protection detail. “I told you, I’m not going to let these murderers stop me from helping the American people. Aren’t you the one always saying that we should continue living our lives despite attacks?” She smiled at the president’s reply.

“I love you too. Don’t worry, I’ll get you and the girls a couple autographs. We’ll call after the event. Bye, honey.”

The first lady put down the secure phone and looked up at her security detail. There were four male and one female Secret Service agents waiting patiently.

“Everything okay, ma’am?” Jerry Laskin, the head of her detail, asked. He’d been with her for three years and they’d developed a good working relationship.

“Just fine, Jerry. You know the president, always worried about me.”

“I think this time he has reason to be worried,” said Jerry, pointing down at the hot pink bandage on the first lady’s leg.

“For the last time, I’m fine.” The slightest hint of annoyance crossed her face, but was instantaneously covered by her signature smile. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve got the extra teams doing another sweep and the supplemental x-ray machines just arrived. I’m about to run over and take a look at them.”

“What about the crowd? Is there a line yet?”

“Around the block. The local PD has the sidewalks roped off.”

“Good. I don’t want anyone getting run over. Please do everything you can to ensure the event runs smoothly.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

The first lady walked back into the hotel bedroom to finish getting ready.

“You two stay here,” Laskin said to the bald male agent and the gruff female agent. “I’ll be back before she leaves.” He pointed to where the first lady had disappeared.

As the eighteen-year Secret Service veteran left the room, he said a silent prayer that the concert go off without a hitch. He’d been off-duty the day of the attack at the Air and Space Museum. He wasn’t going to be farther than ten feet from the first lady anytime she stepped in public for as long as he was in charge.

+++

6:00am

Cal and Daniel left the hotel in a cab, not wanting to have the hassle of finding parking. Worst case they could walk back. It was something they’d done plenty of times in the Corps.

The driver dropped them off two blocks from the amphitheater. Four minutes later they checked in with the Secret Service agent manning a side gate. It didn’t hurt that they were on the list. After putting on their lanyards holding their all-access security badges, the two Marines entered the venue and began their inspection.

+++

6:51am

“You ready, Mikey?” The man in a fluorescent blue tank top with a sailfish on the front asked his companion.

“Yeah.” The other man, wearing a pair of board shorts and a white t-shirt that said, ‘Redneck & Proud,’ rubbed his stomach like it was bothering him. “Let me take another shit before we start walkin’.”

“Fuck. That’s yer third one this mornin’. What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t know. I’ll be right back.”

After a fair bit of groaning, and another flush, Mikey emerged.

“You light a match?”

“Shut up. Let’s go.” The man’s face was drawn and pale. Sweat beaded heavily on his brow.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I said shut up.”

The sick man’s cohort grunted and led the way out.

+++

8:00am

The amphitheater opened its doors to the swarm of patrons. A steady stream of concert-goers passed through one of many metal detectors or x-ray machines. Some were chosen at random for more invasive searches. Most were somber and respectful, aware of the heightened presence of security personnel after the attack that injured the first lady and killed the vice president.

Much of the crowd looked to be from out of town, which wasn’t uncommon for the occasion. The typical fans for the artists performing were more left-leaning than right. The citizenry of Orange Beach was comprised of mostly southern conservatives, a group not known for their adoration of the first lady and her Hollywood friends.

There were, of course, exceptions. Some came merely to see the first lady and her entourage of celebrities. Others came because of curiosity. It helped that the event was heavily subsidized and most tickets could be purchased for as little as fifteen dollars.

Cal and Daniel watched the mass as they meandered in and found their seats. They’d talked to most of the security team and agreed that the location was as secure as it was going to get. There was always added danger in an open air event, but the prior attack in D.C. proved that it could happen anywhere.

“You getting that tingly vibe of yours?” asked Cal.

Daniel had a sixth sense for danger. He could sniff it out like he had a direct line to a higher power. It often elicited a friendly ribbing from the other SSI operators because they all knew of his quiet, yet strong, religious faith.

Daniel shook his head. “I can’t believe the president is letting her do this. They’re just asking for trouble.”

Cal shrugged. He’d tried to dissuade the president as recently as the night before, but it wasn’t to be. Despite his reservations, the president had deferred to his wife and her security team. “She’s in good hands, Cal,” he’d said. “Besides, won’t you be looking out for her too?”

It wasn’t Cal’s job to look out for the first lady, but like any good Marine, he took his marching orders with a dutiful, “Yes, sir.”

As was their manner, the Marines silently observed the growing throng, ready for anything.

+++

9:10am

Mikey had perked up during the walk to the concert, likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol consumed from the tiny bottles of liquor his partner had stashed in every conceivable place on his person.

Both men were sporting soothing buzzes as they passed through the metal detectors. The shot-sized bottles of booze had all been consumed and thrown away prior to hitting the checkpoint. Neither man set off the alarm and the agents inspecting didn’t see the need for additional screening.

+++

9:28am

The Secret Service suburban pulled up to the curb. Agents arranged themselves around the vehicle and along the path leading into the amphitheater’s holding area. The first lady, looking elegant yet modern in a form-fitting knee length linen periwinkle dress, stepped out the SUV and smiled at the large agent offering her his hand.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she smiled warmly, gingerly lowering herself onto the pavement. Her recent wounds were still raw, but the painkillers had helped.

“Right this way, ma’am.” The first lady followed, encircled by her detail.

+++

9:31am

Daniel nudged Cal. “Here she comes.”

They watched as the first lady took in the open air arena, pointing and waving to fans as she moved slowly across the stage.

+++

9:32am

Mikey watched as the first lady made her pre-event rounds. He even waved and forced a smile despite the aching pain in his stomach.

+++

10:00am

The crowd roared as the first lady stepped out with four of the country’s biggest stars, who smiled and waved, deferring to their host as she stepped up to the microphone.

“Good morning, everyone!” The masses roared back in glee. “I’m so glad you could make it today. As you can see,” the hostess pointed to her leg with a wince, “I’m on the mend, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Another excited roar. “In case you don’t recognize my friends here, let me introduce you to…”

+++

10:04am

Special Agent Stricklin finagled a last minute entrance to the event by flashing his FBI badge and threatening a lowly security guard with an investigation. He’d somehow made it to the far side of the venue, wanting to get a clear view of the place.

Stokes wasn’t making any attempt to stay hidden. He was clearly visible from Stricklin’s position. “What is he up to?” Stricklin asked.

“What’s that?” a scantily clad coed yelled back to him, batting her eyes.

Scowling, Stricklin pulled out his badge and shoved it in the poor girl’s face. She paled and turned to get closer to the stage.

+++

10:07am

The first act, a popular soul singer, was just winding up on stage. Soothing melodies wafted over the crowd, hushing their cheers and enducing a hypnotic swaying.

Cal ignored the singer. His eyes continued to scan the crowd, looking for anything unusual.

“See anything?”

“No.” The sniper’s eyes swept the throng with practiced precision. If anyone could find an attacker, it was Daniel.

“Keep looking.”

+++

10:10am

Mikey did his best to move with the crowd. They’d been inching closer and closer to stage. Most people let them pass, but scowled disapprovingly when they saw who was moving through.

The nausea returned and Mikey grabbed his friend’s arm to steady himself.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just got bumped is all.”

“I still can’t believe you wanted to come to this thing. You in love with the president’s wife or something?”

Mikey flashed a weak grin. “Naw. Just wanted to see if you were turning into a liberal Nancy.”

His friend laughed and turned back to the stage. Mikey grimaced and and fell forward.

+++

10:12am

Burly security guards hopped over the short barricade and moved to the man lying on the ground. “Are you okay, sir?” one of the guards yelled over the music.

Mikey was writhing on the ground, his friend kneeling down to see what he could do.

“Go get my medicine,” Mikey said so only his companion could hear.

“Right now? Where is it?”

“Back in our room,” he motioned for his buddy to come closer. “Stay there until after.” Mikey’s eyes burned with intensity. His friend nodded and backed away, turning to the guards, who were having a hard time holding the curious crowd back. “I, uh, have to run and get his medicine.”

The head guard reached down to start moving the sick man. “We’ll take him to the first aid station. You can pick him up there.”

Mikey’s friend moved off to find the nearest exit. His friend looked bad. He hoped the medicine would help.

+++

10:15am

Cal had watched the scene from afar. It looked like someone had had too much to drink. The troop of security guards had finally loaded the prostrate man onto a yellow stretcher and were easing their way through the crowd. He’d seen the friend leave moments earlier and had ordered a reluctant Daniel to follow him.

Now alone, Cal watched as the guards moved, keeping his eyes glued to the passage.

+++

10:16am

“Shit.” The man observing the medical extraction from half a mile away put down his telescopic lens and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. The redneck had passed out early. A number flashed onto the screen. He pressed DIAL.

Three seconds later, a
BOOM
sounded from the arena. The man calmly palmed the phone, threw it into the waterway below, made his way to the ground floor of the rented home and slid into the waiting car.

Orange Beach, Alabama

10:18am, December 18
^th

The semi-retiree looked up from his newspaper. The man with a neatly trimmed grey hair and goatee sat nursing a coffee and mild hangover looking forward to a day of cruising the deserted coast on his black 2002 Fatboy Harley Davidson. He’d polished his baby up the night before.

The explosion was close. He knew the area well. He’d lived in Orange Beach for years and had either ridden or stumbled through most of its roadways and byways. The amphitheater was ten blocks from his one bedroom condo.

He’d heard about the first lady’s visit, as had anyone who read or watched the news in the off-season beach town. Not that he cared other than to grumble about the increased traffic on the normally barren streets. A familiar prickle flitted up his neck. It had never failed to warn him of danger.

More curious than concerned, Maynor slipped on his black leather riding vest with Leathernecks U.S.M.C and an eagle, globe and anchor emblazened in Marine Corps red and yellow on the back, pocketed his Colt 1911 and slipped the sheathed Kabar into the back of his waistband.

A minute later, his motorcycle rumbled to life, and Maynor headed toward the mayhem.

+++

Cal was lucky to have been on the opposite side of the stage. Still, he was thrown back by the force of the explosion. Ears ringing, heart pounding, the Marine moved toward the chaos. Blood and body parts littered the stage. He’d seen it before, but the absolute devastation of human life sickened him. However, unlike most people, it angered him to action.

He pushed past three of the four Hollywood heavyweights who stood with gore-splattered faces, staring down at their companion, the soul singer, whose head sat split in half by a piece of debris. Cal jumped off the stage nearly slipping on what looked like a woman’s bloody stump of a hand.

The epicenter of the blast was clear. Screaming and moaning concert-goers crawled in no general direction. Cal was joined by two Secret Service agents, who were similarly deafened by the blast.

“Is the first lady safe?” Cal bellowed.

Both of the agents nodded like robots, their normally stoic faces wide-eyed. It had happened on their watch, again. Cal could read the implications in their look.

“Where is she?” Cal asked.

One of the suited agents pointed over his shoulder. “They took her away in the helo.”

Good
, thought Cal. One less thing to worry about.

“Hey!” Cal had to yell again to get their attention. Their heads snapped around. “Start triaging the wounded, I’ll…” Just then he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone. It was Daniel.

“Yeah?” he answered.

He couldn’t hear a damn thing, so instead he said, “Text it to me, Briggs. My ears are shit right now.”

Turning back to the agents, Cal moved to help a woman who’d lost both arms and was silently screaming in pain. “Dammit,” mumbled Cal.

+++

Daniel couldn’t text. He was on the heels of the guy he’d followed from the arena, and who had jammed into a sprint after the explosion. At least Cal was safe. He trusted his boss and instead focused on running faster. The guy had a good lead. Daniel, as was his fashion, said a silent prayer that his abilities not fail.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Daniel’s prayer was answered. A motorcycle roared around the corner and a smile spread across Daniel’s face at the sight of the Marine emblem on the rider’s jacket.

“Marine!” he yelled at the rider, who quickly caught up to Daniel.

“Need a ride?” said the rider, as he pulled up alongside the sprinting sniper.

Daniel nodded and jumped onto the back of the Harley, shaking his head.
Send in the Marines
, he thought, saying thanks to the Almighty once again.

+++

Steve Stricklin saw Cal’s friend sneak out of the concert. On a hunch, he followed at a safe distance. Minutes later, the explosion had rocked the surrounding area. Stricklin looked back, contemplating going to help, but thought better of it. He didn’t want anything to do with another attack. Too much mess. Too much paperwork. Stricklin didn’t have the strongest stomach. He’d once wretched at the sight of two decapitated Iraqi soldiers after a particularly brutal battle.

No. Maybe Cal’s buddy knew something. Maybe he, Special Agent Steve Stricklin, could intercept the culprit. Visions of glory followed him as he commandeered a vehicle to shadow the two men on the motorcycle.

+++

Daniel and the motorcycle driver caught up to the running man quickly. As if it was something he’d practiced before, the biker extracted his pistol, revved up next to the runner, and delivered a vicious blow to the man’s neck. The momentum of the swing and the motorcycle sent the man sprawling.

Daniel hopped off and drew his own weapon, taking a bead on the man struggling to rise. “Stay down!” ordered Daniel.

“You need help, kid?” asked the Harley rider, who was even now stepping up next to Daniel, his weapon also aimed at the struggling suspect.

“Yeah. Thanks for the help. Marine?”

“Former Lance Corporal Don Maynor at your service.”

Daniel didn’t have time to respond because another voice sounded from behind them. “Drop your weapons and get on the ground!”

+++

Stricklin couldn’t believe his luck. Not only had he caught up to the Cal’s pal, he’d also caught the man and his new companion unaware.

“I said, drop your weapons and get on the ground!” he yelled, a bit louder.

“I can’t do that, sir,” said Daniel. “This man is a suspect in the attack.”

Stricklin inched closer, wary of the two men with pistols extended. He noticed the Marine logo on the motorcycle rider’s back and scowled. It looked to him like a bit of a redneck gathering. Maybe he could bust all three.

“I am an FBI agent,” Stricklin started.

“Let me guess, Johnny Utah?” Maynor asked, lacing his voice with sufficient sarcasm to make Daniel smile.

“Excuse me? No,
I am
Special Agent Stricklin…”

The voice and the named clicked for Daniel. “Sir, we met last night. My name is Briggs. I’m a friend of…”

“I know who you are,
Marine
.” He said Marine like he was saying a word that disgusted him, stepping the final feet to stand behind Briggs and Maynor. “For the last time, drop your…”

Before he could utter another syllable, Maynor swung around and swept the butt of his pistol across Stricklin’s temple. The cocky agent hit the pavement, unconscious.

Daniel barely moved. “I guess I should say you shouldn’t have done that, but…”

“But the guy’s an asshole, I know,” finished Maynor. “Come on. We better get this other guy loaded and get the hell out of here. I don’t wanna be around when Special Agent Utah wakes up. He might try to throw more
Point Break
lines at us.”

The Marine sniper chuckled and moved to secure their prisoner. Maynor checked to see that Stricklin was still breathing. He was, although he’d have a nasty headache for a day or two. Maynor didn’t care. He had a feeling the kid with the blond ponytail would take care of any hassles the prick agent might concoct.

+++

Sirens and blaring lights welcomed them back to the arena as Maynor pulled the overloaded Harley up to the curb. The smell of carnage and destruction led them inside. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you can’t come in here,” said a portly local cop.

Daniel flashed his ID badge and stepped around the barricade, dragging his suspect along by the wrists. It wasn’t hard to find Cal, although his appearance made Daniel hesitate. His hair plastered his head in sweat, and his shirt and trousers were covered in darkening blood. Cal waved them over.

“Who are these guys?” asked Cal, pointing.

“Prisoner and Marine,” answered Daniel. Cal looked the two up and down.

“You know how to keep your mouth shut, Marine?” Cal asked, scowling.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” replied Maynor, meeting Cal’s stare with equal intensity.

Despite the situation, Cal grinned. “Okay. We’ve got a Secret Service helo picking us up in ten, then Trav has a plane waiting at the airport. I think you better come along, Mister…”

“Maynor. Don Maynor.”

Cal nodded. “Welcome to the clusterfuck, Maynor.”