Presidential Shift (7 page)

Enroute to Reagan National

11:42am, December 18
^th

A surly Secret Service agent had almost prevented their departure from the arena. “I can’t let you take these men with you, sir. My orders are to take yourself and Mr. Briggs. No one said a thing about the other two.”

Cal might normally sympathize with the agent’s predicament, but at the moment, covered in gore, head pounding and throat parched, the Marine was in no mood. “How about I get the president on the line and tell him you’re obstructing
his
investigation?”

The agent’s eyebrows raised. He’d been told by his superiors to give Stokes and Briggs every accommodation. That meant the order had originated from the president or one of his staff. Instead of fighting it, he ushered the four men onto the helicopter.

Less than ten minutes later, they touched down at Pensacola Naval Air Station, escorts in tow. A Gulfstream waited, and Cal didn’t waste a second saying thank you. Instead he hopped out and led the way to their next ride.

Once they’d secured the prisoner to one of the leather chairs in the front row, Cal pulled out his phone. “Sir, it’s Stokes. Yes, sir. We’re on our way. No, sir. I think they can take care of it. We’ll see you soon.” Cal ended the call.

“The president says the first lady’s fine. A little shaken, of course, but okay. You wanna tell me this guy’s story?” he asked, pointing at the bloody-faced detainee.

Daniel ran through the story of the chase, included Stricklin’s miraculous appearance.

“Fucking prick,” grumbled Cal, going to run his fingers through his hair, then stopping when he remembered the gore on his hands.

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt, but where the hell are we going?” asked Maynor, more curious than worried. “I left my bike back at the amphitheater.”

“D.C. We need to brief the president. You’re along for the ride now. Besides, I don’t want Stricklin getting his hands on you. I’ll deal with him.” By the look in Cal’s eyes, Maynor didn’t doubt it.

One thing nagged. “How can I help?” asked Maynor.

“You guys ever use the term Semper Gumby back in your day?”

Maynor nodded with a smile.

“Semper Gumby, Maynor. Semper Fucking Gumby.”

+++

They couldn’t pry much out of the man, whose name turned out to be William “Billy” Ingersol. Billy was a third generation moonshiner from outside Montgomery, Alabama. He and the exploding man, Michael “Mikey” Lincoln, had been friends since kindergarten.

“I swear I didn’t know nothin’,” pleaded Billy, tears punctuating his statement. “Mikey said he wanted to go to the show. I thought he was fucking crazy, but he paid for everything, even the place we stayed at.”

“You said he wasn’t feeling well this morning. Do you remember how long he’d been like that?” Cal questioned.

Billy shook his head. “We hadn’t hung out in a while. He got a job drivin’ semis a few months back. He called me a week ago about the concert and we drove down yesterday. Mikey started complainin’ this mornin’, I swear.”

Cal stared at the scared man. If the guy had anything to do with the attack, he didn’t give a hint. “Look. Your buddy Mikey blew himself up, killing a lot of people and almost killing the first lady. I won’t sugar coat it for you. Life’s gonna suck for all of us for the next few weeks.”

“Oh, God!” Billy’s head thumped forward as his chin hit his chest, heaving with sobs.

Cal motioned to the back of the plane. Daniel and Maynor followed.

“What do you, think?” Cal asked Daniel.

“Sounds like he’s telling the truth. You think someone surgically implanted a IED in his friend’s stomach?”

“No fucking way,” whispered Maynor.

Cal nodded. “Just like they’re doing in the Middle East. Animals. We need to find out who’s behind it. Let’s send what we’ve got to the Secret Service. CC Neil on it too, and have him start digging.”

+++

Stricklin woke to a splitting headache and a stray dog licking his face. Pushing himself up to his hands and knees, he tried to piece together what had happened. Blurry. His focus had been on the Marine with the blond hair when…the memory faded as his consciousness threatened to give way again. Instead, he convulsed, head flying forward, vomiting on the pavement, retching until all the contents from his stomach lay pooled on the ground.

Cold sweat sprouted on his face as he rose shakily to his feet, patting his pockets, looking for his cell phone. He finally found it, shattered, ten feet away.

Stumbling out of the alleyway, he made his way to the car he’d commandeered earlier.

+++

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The president asked his wife, who was on a flight back to D.C. aboard an MV-22 Osprey, part of VMM-263 out of MCAS New River, North Carolina, but who’d happened to have a contingent in Pensacola for training. They were about to drop the first lady and her security in Birmingham where a faster mode of transport sat waiting.

“For the last time, I’m fine. Please focus on the dead and wounded. Oh, God, if you could have seen…”

“Try not to think about it. We’ve got everyone working on it, Secret Service, FBI, NSA,” soothed the president. He could hear the first lady sniffling, wishing he could hold her, comfort her.

“Do you have any leads? Anything?” Her voice cracked as she asked.

The president hesitated. He didn’t want to give his wife false hope. “We have a team headed back here now. They may have a witness.”

“I want to be there.” Her intensity flared through the phone.

“Honey, I don’t think that’s—.”

“No. This was my concert. Those were
my
people.”

The president exhaled, knowing he was in a no-win situation. “I’ll see what I can do.”

+++

“I think that’s a really bad idea, sir.” Cal sat, eyes closed, shaking his head. “Yes, sir. We’ll see you soon.”

Cal slammed the phone down and cursed under his breath.

“What happened?” asked Daniel.

It took Cal a moment to answer. He didn’t want to snap at his friend. “The president
and
the first lady are meeting us at the airport. He says she wanted to be there when they question Billy.” He motioned to the front of the plane, where their prisoner slept fitfully. They’d finally had to sedate him for fear of him having a nervous breakdown, or worse. “I say we drop him off, then make our way back to the house in Arlington.” SSI kept a modest home, sort of a safe house, close to the capitol in case employees had to stay overnight. Mostly it was used by SSI staff taking their families sight-seeing in the nation’s capitol. Cal had already checked, and no one was using it.

“How about you? You gonna get cleaned up before we see the president?” Daniel asked, pointing at his boss’s blood-crusted clothing.

Cal looked down as if he’d forgotten his appearance. “I’m going like this. If they can’t take it…”

Maynor whistled. “You’ve got some balls, brother.”

Cal leveled him with a stare. The glare softened into a grin. “Semper Fi.”

+++

Escorted by what looked like half the Secret Service, and a hefty police contingent, the president rolled into Reagan National Airport, effectively shutting down all traffic. Minutes later, he met the first lady’s plane as it taxied to the secluded gate. He rushed up the stairs before his cadre of agents could react, and found his wife with a mascara-streaked face rising to deplane. Enveloping her in a tight embrace, he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Suddenly realizing the eyes around them, they parted and kissed chastely. “Is the witness here yet?” asked the first lady.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes. We’re meeting them inside.”

+++

Five minutes later, the Gulfstream touched down and taxied to the spot vacated by the First lady’s transport. Billy was still passed out, so Cal instructed the interrogation team sent by the Secret Service to carry him out. Cal’s team debarked, finding a platoon of black clad operators waiting on the tarmac.

More than one man stared at Cal, who looked like he’d just stepped out of a horror movie. Ignoring the looks, Cal followed the lead agents into the terminal outpost.

+++

“Jesus,” exclaimed the president as Cal walked in.

“I’m sorry for my appearance, sir, but—.”

The president waved the apology away. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I take it that the man they just carried in is the witness?”

Cal hesitated, looking around the small room where over twenty staffers and assorted agents stood listening. “Can we talk somewhere private, sir?”

The president nodded, motioning for one of the agents to lead the way. Once tucked safely into a small conference room down the hallway, Cal filled the president in on what they’d gleaned from the friend of the bomber.

“You don’t think he knows anything?” asked the president, obviously skeptical.

“I’m sure your guys can do a much better job interrogating him than I can, but he seemed genuinely surprised, and scared. Has the Secret Service or the FBI come up with anything?”

“No. They haven’t found…”

The first lady burst into the room, frantic. “Where is he? Where is the man they brought in?” Her gaze stopped on blood-soaked Cal.

“Honey, you remember Cal Stokes. He’s the Marine you met…”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she pressed. “Where is
that
man?”

Cal placed a hand on the president’s arm. “Ma’am, we had to sedate him on the way up here. They’re waiting for him to come out of it now.”

The first lady looked like she wanted to say something, but burst into tears instead. Her husband quickly wrapped her in his arms. He looked over his shoulder at Cal. “Whatever you need, Cal. Find out who did this.”

Cal nodded and left the room.

SSI Safe house, Arlington, VA

3:35pm, December 18
^th

After throwing his ruined clothes in the trashcan and taking a much needed shower, Cal carried a glass half full of Jack Daniels over to the kitchen table and sat down across from Daniel Briggs and Don Maynor. “Anyone else want one of these?” Cal asked, raising his glass.

Daniel shook his head.

“I’ll take one,” said Maynor.

Cal pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. “Help yourself. Mi casa es su casa.”

“You okay?” Daniel asked, concern etched in his expression, as their newest addition headed to the bar.

“I’ll be fine. Bad headache. Nothing one of these and some Vitamin M can’t handle.” Vitamin M was the term Marines affectionately use for Motrin.

“Have you talked to Neil yet?” asked Daniel.

“He texted me a minute ago. Nothing yet. Any ideas?”

“No.”

“I’m sure the feds will take care of it.” Just then, Cal’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. “It’s Senator Zimmer. He said I need to turn on a television.”

Maynor, finishing his copious whiskey pour, reached over and turned on the oversized television mounted to the wall next to the bar. A moment later, it flickered to life. It was already on the FoxNews Channel.

A message scrolled across the bottom marquis as the news anchor babbled on about the recent attack, images of the scene flashing behind him.

- President to address the nation in two minutes. -

Cal turned his chair to face the television, hoping the address wouldn’t add another bale of hay to the search for the elusive needle. The fact that Neil and his team also hadn’t found any crumbs in the investigation for the Air and Space attack made Cal nervous. Whoever was coordinating the attacks knew what they were doing. They also knew how to act completely off the grid. Worse still, they probably had help from inside the U.S. government.

+++

The president sat in the Oval office, face creased with intensity. More surprisingly, the First Lady stood behind him, mirroring her husband’s stern expression.

“Good afternoon, fellow Americans. As most of you know, earlier this morning, at a private concert in the quiet town of Orange Beach, Alabama, an explosion aimed at killing the first lady killed and wounded over two hundred civilians along with singing great Horace Moon. This attack, along with the vice president’s murder, is an act of war. I have instructed the directors of the FBI and NSA to pursue all leads. The guilty parties will be found and brought to justice.”

His face softened. “I would be remiss if I didn’t thank all those who have sent their well wishes to the first lady, and the families of the vice president and the federal agents lost in both attacks. Thank you. Your thoughts and prayers are not in vain.

“For one piece of good news, today I have officially appointed a new vice president to serve out the remaining three years of my term. I am proud to have a strong voice of reason on my side. He is a new friend, but a close one. Over the past year he’s become a welcome voice of reason in the nation’s capital. Just before going on air, under the auspices of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and with full support of a bi-partisan coalition from the Senate and House, Senator Brandon Zimmer was sworn in as the vice president of the United State of America.”

+++

“Holy shit,” muttered Cal, as the president signed off with, “God Bless America.”

“Did you know about this?” asked Daniel.

Cal shook his head. “Brandon didn’t say anything.”

“Wait,” said Maynor. “Do you guys know that Zimmer guy?”

“He’s a friend,” offered Daniel.

“You’re kidding, right?” laughed Maynor.

Cal spun up and out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. His cold eyes flashed at the elder Marine, who put his hand up in apology. “Whoa. I didn’t mean piss you off, kid.”

Daniel watched the scene calmly and said, “Like I said, he’s a good friend.”

Maynor nodded. “I’m sorry, Cal. Sometimes my mouth runs away.”

Cal’s body vibrated, like a coiled snake ready to strike. Three cleansing breaths later, he willed himself to calm. “It’s okay. I would’ve said the same thing a couple years ago. You and I might have more in common than I thought, big mouths and all. But don’t call me kid.”

“Sure thing. Just don’t call me gramps.”

The two men smiled, the argument resolved.

+++

“Who dropped this off?” growled Congressman Peter Quailen.

“It was a messenger, sir. No return address,” the hispanic housekeeper said, cowering slightly.

Quailen grunted and looked down at the package, wrapped in brown paper, simple block lettering with
Rep. P. Quailen
on the front. Quailen had let concerns of his own safety wain over the years. Cockiness replaced caution. His recent scandal put him more on edge. He’d made a lot enemies over the years. Any one of them could use the present situation as an excuse to have him killed.

“Juanita, bring a knife and open this package for me.”

The housekeeper did as told, sliding a red folder out of the wrapping.

“Open it,” ordered Quailen.

She did. Nothing happened. Quailen moved closer to inspect the contents. There was a note stuck to the inside of the folder. Quailen read it….and smiled.

+++

Congressman Joel Erling stared at the wall, the same way he had for the past three hours. Two empty vodka bottles, along with the remnants of the last stash of medical grade marijuana, lay nearby. His home phone had been ringing off the hook. He’d had to ask his brother, a petty crook with nowhere else to go, to answer the phones and keep people away from the house.

There’d been the televised video, the subsequent arrest and questioning, protesters at his massive front gate, and two attempted robberies. The cops had taken care of one. His brother had shot the other. Sometimes having a brother with criminal experience came in handy.

Erling didn’t know what to do. It was antsy idle time. Too much to think about. Depression. Regret. Anger. Suicide.

A banging at the office door shook him from his gloom. “Go away!”

“Joel, there’s someone on the phone for you.”

“I said I don’t want to talk to anyone unless it’s my lawyer.”

“The guy says he’s got your ticket out. Sounds legit. I think you should talk to him.”

Erling stood, wobbling. He tried to shake away the fog. He wanted to believe. “I’ll take it in here.”

“He’s on line three,” came the muffled voice from behind the door.

Erling took a deep breath, and looked up at the ceiling. It was the closest he’d come to saying a prayer in years. “Hello?” said Erling into the phone.

“Joel, it’s Pete Quailen. We need to talk.”