by Raine Miller
That went well. At least she didn’t pull a gun.
CHAPTER 13
“Hello, Julia.” The redhead, Alana, strutted into the press secretary’s office early Monday morning, moving across the room as if walking down a Paris runway wearing the latest haute couture. She sat in the chair in front of Julia’s desk without an invitation. With one hand, she swooped her wavy, red hair around her neck and over one shoulder, so the strands fell well below one breast. Julia admired confident women, but not reckless ones, and Alana was one she had to keep an eye on.
Alana rarely wore her hair up, unusual for most women working in the West Wing. Proper business fashion didn’t seem to occur to her. “I got the message it was urgent.” A wicked smile curved her glossy lips, and her sea-green eyes had that wild look, making Julia think, Serial killer.
Mrs. Bryson insisted that Alana was the best at her particular skills. Of all the members of the First Lady’s Club, Alana MacKenna scared Julia. She was a brilliant, beautiful, charismatic attorney and much too arrogant. Alana’s no-fear attitude was a risk to the secret organization, and to Alana. One day they all might suffer for it.
“You’re scheduled for a presentation tomorrow.” Julia glanced down at her notes, avoiding Alana’s eyes and prepared for the objection. Julia could tolerate her role in the FLC when she had plenty of time to prepare.
“Tomorrow? Oh. I thought you were going to tell me tonight. Not so urgent then.” She sounded disappointed.
Julia let it drop and continued, “President Turi Aleid from Chad has agreed to your established limits: no needles, no knives, no fire play, no permanent scars. He does want Prime Minister Miron Gerard present. Our intel says they’re lovers. Let me know now if you have a problem with that or any other hard limits.”
“No problem.” Alana casually picked up the crystal, water globe paperweight sitting on Julia’s desk and shook it, then held it up to the sunlight coming in through the large window. She watched the bits of colored crystal drift down around the tiny Earth. “I have a high threshold of pain and don’t mind seeing small amounts of my blood as long as my partners are skilled and I trust them. Generally, I wouldn’t be opposed to knife play, but with these monsters, I don’t want some amateur slicing my arteries by mistake, or for the fun of it. Secret Service can’t move fast enough to stop a knife. And if I’m bound, I won’t be able to stop it, either.”
“You won’t be bound. He will. He wants to play the submissive. I’m not sure what role his prime minister will be playing.”
“Interesting.” Alana grinned, the evil side emerging. “We’ll work it out. Not unusual for a submissive to be their preference.”
Julia didn’t quite understand. “I suppose. They get a break from making huge decisions, enormous responsibility. As a sub, they can let someone else take control. Can you imagine the stress these leaders go through?”
Alana snorted. “Oh, I feel so sorry for them, all right, considering how they treat civilians, especially women. From what I hear, President Aleid doesn’t give a hoot about his people, only his own ass.” Alana crossed her legs and swung her red-heeled foot.
Julia didn’t agree or disagree. That point wasn’t relevant. “Melissa will be in the room, Secret Service outside the door.” Julia paused. “I should tell you, our sources believe he murdered his wife.”
Alana shook the globe again, not blinking an eye. “Motivation for my presentation, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. I like your enthusiasm. He’s been called a sadist.” Alana’s calmness chilled her. She had to make FLC members aware of the dangers.
Alana laughed low in her throat. “That won’t be an issue since he’ll be bound.”
“Our intel said he’s a masochist as well.”
“That is interesting,” Alana said. “He likes giving and receiving pain. I’ll be sure to work him over good and keep sharp, shiny objects out of his reach.” A smile spread across her beautiful face. She looked manic, as if she was getting turned on by the prospect.
Could a masochist also be a sadist? Julia rubbed her forehead. She never got this whole scene.
“Headache, Julia? You should try a flogging. It’ll take your mind off the pain in your head.”
“No, thanks. I prefer a couple acetaminophen.”
“Anything else?” Alana asked. “I should get a few items together and make a plan for my session with Mr. Aleid.”
“Yes, this man is living in one of the most volatile countries in the world. His friends and neighbors are terrorists, arms dealers and white-slave traffickers. Be careful. Don’t let your confidence get in the way of common sense. Don’t turn your back on him or let your guard down for a second.”
***
Zoe stood in line in the small cafeteria, waiting for her second cup of coffee. Her lids were drooping from her lousy night’s sleep. Jason had tried calling and texting her for days, and she’d refused to answer. At first, she was surprised he hadn’t shown up at her office, but the first lady was busy with speaking events, and he was traveling with her. Zoe hadn’t handed in her resignation yet, hadn’t decided what to do. The idea of quitting, failing another mission, was making her physically ill.
Jason had set her up in this insane program. What gave him the idea she’d be interested in that perverted plan? And the nerve of him not asking her first. These thoughts racked through her head over and over, a barricade that blocked a peaceful night’s sleep.
“Hey, girl,” Melissa said from behind her. “You look like hell. Must’ve been a great weekend. Hot date? I’m jealous.”
“No, just didn’t sleep well.” Zoe got her coffee and decided to drink it black this time. She never drank it without loads of cream and a sugar substitute. Sitting at a small table, she curved her hands around the cup and sipped while she watched CNN news.
Melissa sat beside her. “So you hung out at home all weekend?” Melissa didn’t make eye contact, but she did keep checking the news.
“I did some work at home.” Which was a lie. She couldn’t bring her work home. In the background, Zoe heard the words “breaking news,” followed by: “The White House has just released news that Turi Aleid of Chad has returned to his country, but not before signing the UN peace agreement. Chad has been one of the key countries in this long, drawn-out effort for…” Other employees stood around the television screen watching, giving cheers.
“He signed?” Zoe exclaimed. “How the hell did that happen? When?”
“Julia had a press meeting a few minutes ago,” Melissa said. “I just came from there.”
“But Chad was set against this treaty.”
Melissa frowned. “Did you and Jason talk this weekend?”
“Yes.” Zoe opened her eyes wide as if the caffeine had sent a jolt through her system. She lowered her voice and glanced at the television then back at Melissa. “Was that you?”
“How do you mean?” A satisfied smile slowly quivered at the corners of her mouth.
“That room,” Zoe whispered. “You made it happen. The signing.”
“Now you see the importance of this operation.” Melissa leaned close and whispered, “So you’re ready for your first presentation?”
“Hell no.” Zoe shoved her coffee away. “I told him I wasn’t interested.” There. It was out.
“What?”
“I’m not into that crap, and I’d do a lousy job faking it.”
Melissa flattened her hands on the table. “National security, the world’s security for that matter, depends on this program. You can’t say no.”
“I already did. I told Jason. I just haven’t given my notice yet.”
Melissa shook her head. “You don’t give notice, or resign from the FLC.” Her eyes held fear.
“I’m happy to work in another aspect of the program, not the sex-game part.”
“Why? It’s just a role. You could be saving thousands of lives.” Melissa smacked her hands on the table, drawing the attention of a few people at neighbor
ing tables. She ignored them, and they politely turned away. Obviously, she had expected Zoe to be thrilled to be part of this warped secret society.
“Lots of reasons. For one, I don’t think I’d do a good job since I’m not familiar with that lifestyle.” And dark, dangerous sex destroyed my love life once before. I don’t want to risk it again. Zoe stood and tossed her cup away. “I need to get to my office.”
CHAPTER 14
At eight p.m., the West Wing looked deserted. Rather odd for so early. Zoe’s footsteps echoed more loudly than usual without the muffled voices on the main level. Hours ago, a few people had come down the stairs briefly, but returned after about a half hour.
Zoe closed the third folder of the day when her phone buzzed with a text, Twitter or Facebook update. Normally, she’d ignore it while at work, but her brother being in Iran made her nervous. Her blood pressure maxed out every time she heard the phone now.
The text was from Jason. Her pulse quickened. The ache for him was deep, just when she’d thought they were meant to be together. But after what happened over the weekend, what chance did they have? Work had always gotten in the way of their relationship.
Meet me in the Red Tape Room now. Door is open. Please. We need to talk.
She stared at the message for a while and considered ignoring it, sending a message saying, Forget it, or telling him to come to her office. But maybe what he had to say was black ops again and that room was more secure than her office.
Whatever his reason, she wanted this over with. Maybe he had a suggestion on how to avoid a resignation. Fine. She’d meet him.
Marching directly to the Red Tape Room door, she tensed. Jason was excellent at problem solving, but she knew there wouldn’t be an easy solution. There must be something she could do to help without wielding a whip.
The door was ajar. A sliver of light showed through the crack. Slowly, she opened it and stepped inside. Jason stood at the far corner by the St. Andrew’s Cross with a serious expression. Seated in a medieval-looking chair with elaborately carved wood and leather cushions was a woman. She was turned away from Zoe, her head down as she studied the clipboard in her hand.
“What’s going on, Jason?” Zoe asked, ignoring the woman for the moment.
He stood straighter and gave a slight nod toward the seated woman.
“Have a seat, Zoe.” Facing her, the first lady pointed at the leather bed beside the chair.
A rush of air left Zoe’s lungs as if someone had hit her in the chest with a sledgehammer. Sweat broke out all over her body, and she felt cold and hot at the same time. “Mrs. Bryson. I’m sorry to disturb you. Please excuse me.” Zoe turned for the door.
“Have a seat, Zoe. I’m the one who asked you here. I told Jason to set it up.”
Zoe sat on the bed, where Jason and she had made love. The bed with restraining straps and pulleys. And she was here, about to have a conversation with the first lady. “Yes, ma’am.” She folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight.
“I understand there’s a problem.”
“Problem, ma’am?” Hot chills raced through her again. She hadn’t been working for the White House for more than a couple of weeks, and already she was screwing up.
“Do the duties of the FLC disgust you?” Mrs. Bryson was calm, straightforward, not judgmental. A simple inquiry.
“It’s not that, ma’am. I don’t feel I’m…qualified to perform.” Zoe cleared her throat. “To be effectively convincing. If I don’t fool these dignitaries, the consequences—”
“Could be horrific,” Mrs. Bryson agreed. “Call me Faith.”
“Yes, ma’am. Faith.”
“Consider this your intelligence briefing,” Faith said, taking a deep breath. “The FLC, or First Lady’s Club, is a secret program initiated only during desperate times, and the world has been going through very desperate times, especially since 9/11. Hardline opposition, economic sanctions, military pressure, bargaining, and other foreign policy tactics become useless against foreign leaders who are convinced that their ways and beliefs, no matter how violent or detrimental to their own people and culture, are the only way. They’re so resolute in their thinking that they’d rather kill thousands or even die themselves than change.” She paused for a moment, as if letting that sink in. “Sometimes they mean well, but mostly they’re interested only in personal gains of power, wealth, resources.”
“I don’t understand how sex tapes can manipulate these men,” Zoe said.
Faith smiled. “Men from different cultures, religious backgrounds, in a variety of locations, have been fighting the same war for centuries. Men start wars because they want more power and control than their neighbor. With all their differences, there are a few things these leaders have in common. Basically, men are aggressive creatures. They’re competitive and have strong sex drives.” Both women glanced at Jason, and he gave a wry smirk.
“Can’t argue,” he said.
“Perception, honor and trust are very important for a successful career and also for a man’s self-worth. Even among terrorists. They have their own strong sense of honor and trust among their followers. If honor and trust are compromised, the leader will lose respect, control, and he’ll not just be forced to resign, but he may lose his life or be maimed to set an example. In some countries, even today, a thief will have his hand cut off.”
“I understand that,” Zoe said.
The first lady continued before she had a chance to add more. “If we can’t negotiate with them through peace talks and the United Nations’ influence, how can we discredit them among their followers? We destroy that honor and trust on a basic level so their followers stop following or take them out of their position. The FLC creates scandal with our tapes.”
“Can’t these dignitaries claim these tapes are fake?” Zoe asked.
“A photo can be faked. Several high-definition videos cannot. At least easily. Experts can examine the recordings and see they haven’t been tampered with.”
“You’ve found the FLC to be effective?” Zoe didn’t want to question the first lady, but she wanted to know.
She smiled with pride. “Very. We’ve managed to get treaties signed, recovered hostages, and ended wars.”
Zoe sat up straighter. “End wars. You mean, more than one? Which ones?”
Faith studied her for a while and glanced at Jason, who stood at his straight Secret Service attention again.
Zoe glanced back and forth between the two. What did Jason know that he hadn’t told her yet?
“What wars?” Zoe said softly.
Faith raised her chin, extremely serious now. She paused for a moment. “For one, the Civil War.”
Zoe jumped up. “What?” She pressed her hands to her mouth, glancing at all the equipment in the room. The furnishings and sex toys were not very old.
“This room has been updated since then, of course, and they used photography, not video,” the first lady said. “There’s a cave in Kentucky that houses some very old files, including letters from Mary Todd Lincoln to her Pinkerton agents, who helped her arrange meetings with key officials. There’s also an outfit she wore, sealed in a container to preserve it.”
Zoe huffed and made a face. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Lincoln? Really? That’s ridiculous.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them, because Mrs. Bryson slowly stood, narrowed her eyes and pinched her mouth together.
“Sit down, Ms. Summers. This is not a joke.”
Zoe complied.
“Mary Todd Lincoln did a heroic deed, and she’ll never be honored for it. When thirty thousand British soldiers were perched on the border of Canada, awaiting orders to invade the United States, her husband feared he’d have to fight a war on two fronts. If that happened, Lincoln would’ve lost the war. Out of desperation, Mary stepped in. Foreseeing this future outcome and the consequences, she had shopped in New York City well before the war got out of hand and organized the Pinkerton agents to investigate Lincoln’s enemies, trying
to protect him.
“The Pinkerton agents helped Mary set up the Red Tape Room and arrange a rendezvous. She called it Mary’s Parlor for Tea, where she wore an outfit that looked like a cross between a saloon moll and a dominatrix. She wielded a riding crop and wore a black mask and riding boots. Behind a privacy screen, photographers had cameras set up. After the British prime minister’s assistant was photographed in a compromising position, Mary threatened to send copies of the photos throughout Europe. The British are a very formal and proper people, and political positions are handed down through generations. Perception, honor, and trust are severely guarded. One photograph is worth a thousand words. An indiscretion like that could have destroyed the reputation of a whole family and a country. British soldiers were pulled out, and the prime minister’s assistant quietly resigned, claiming an illness contracted while preforming his duties in the United States. The invasion never happened, and Lincoln could focus on ending the war between the North and the South.”
“The FLC has been going on since then?”
“Yes. Not all first ladies have initiated its functions or taken part directly. Sometimes they appoint someone. I chose to take part.”
“I understand the importance of this program,” Zoe said. “But wouldn’t it be best to have someone familiar with the BDSM lifestyle? I don’t think I could fake it and be convincing enough. I’m sure there must be someone else better qualified.”
Faith nodded, and for a moment Zoe thought she’d say, Okay, fine, forget we asked. You can go back to your job at Langley.
Faith stood and paced to the middle of the room. Zoe stood, too, out of respect.
“Sit, Ms. Summers.”
Zoe sat and crossed her hands in her lap again.
Faith tapped a finger to her lips, as if thinking. “Consider this. Would you have slept with Hitler if it could’ve prevented the Holocaust?”
Zoe’s mouth dropped opened. What do you say to that?
“How about Bin Laden? Would you have played his Domme or his slave for one night if you knew that videotape would’ve prevented 9/11?”