They made life bearable for the vice president. All the children and spouses received generous gifts because of their sacrifice. She never missed a birthday, anniversary or graduation concerning the families of those that served. The proceeds from the two books she’d written went to a scholarship fund for those children of agents who’d died in the line of duty.
Terry stood and stretched as he spotted the returning yacht. “You better look chipper if you’re thinking of fishing tomorrow.”
“I’m lots better. I feel like I could eat a horse.”
“Don’t let those animal activists hear you say that if you ever plan to run for president.” Terry grinned at the vice president as another agent rushed out with a phone. “What is it?”
The agent looked over at the vice president groaning as he pushed himself out of the chaise and meandered toward the railing to watch the yacht. He could see the vice president’s wife come on deck as the vice president waved to her.
Terry clicked off and tossed the phone back to the second agent. He grabbed the vice president by the arm and tugged. “You need to come inside, Sir.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“The president has been shot.” He tried to pull him, but the vice president was so stunned he froze.
“Peggy,” he whispered as both the men looked out to see the yacht idle the engines and begin its arrival.
“Mr. Vice President, we need…”
Before he could finish the order, an explosion rocked the air, forcing both men down onto the floor of the deck. Immediately, two more agents were at their side dragging them to safety.
Jumping to his feet Terry assisted the vice president only to feel him stagger backwards. Everyone watched the debris flutter down like an animated cartoon to where the yacht sailed seconds earlier. It was gone.
~~~
Amon turned slowly to eye the Speaker of the House. Sitting in a folding chair with a cup of coffee in hand, the congressman’s eyes took in his surroundings with contempt. The sneer he wore each time one of Amon’s men entered the room spoke volumes. Something told him even when Jim Gault became president nothing would change between Israel and the United States.
Too many Americans like the “kick ass” attitude the tiny nation demonstrated to the world. In their minds it was the land of Jesus, and you couldn’t turn your back on Jesus. The evangelical right seemed to think of the Egyptians as the people who drove Moses across the Red Sea only to have it collapse on the Pharaoh’s army. The liberal left saw it as political suicide to vote against Israel. A great many wealthy Israelis contributed to their campaigns.
Although relations eroded with the last president, the current administration appeared to be on good terms with the prime minister. He wondered if it had something to do with the prime minister’s brother being a leading security advisor to the president. Or perhaps the current political climate with Egypt was seen by many Americans as toxic.
Why send money for the military when the Pentagon had cut back on supporting their own troops around the world? Money that went for better education and health care for Egypt’s poor was viewed as outrageous considering the state of affairs with American students. Shoring up infrastructure between Alexandria and Lake Nasser when thousands of bridges in the U.S. needed to be replaced became fodder for conservative talk show hosts each night.
The fact that several Egyptians were involved in bringing down the Twin Towers on 9/11 stuck in American craws. Riots, protests and the beatings of Coptic Christians in the streets of Cairo left Americans resenting any involvement with a people that couldn’t appreciate democracy. Voting the Muslim Brotherhood into power then changing their minds a year later, brought Egypt to the brink of ruin once again. Tourism, the life blood of Egypt, had all but dried up. No longer safe to travel to the Pyramids of Giza or float the Nile to view the civilization that had given the world so much kept Americans home.
Sometimes Amon felt ashamed of his country’s inability to cooperate and make progress. Centuries taught them to be corrupt and honor strength through force to achieve success and control. The money, like the tourists, would soon dry up if Americans chose to put pressure on politicians in Washington.
This act of madness was another act of terrorism fashioned by the third most powerful man in the United States. No good would come of it. Was it too late to change course, or should he see it through and hope the speaker spoke the truth in his promises to protect Egypt?
“Why are you staring at me, Amon? Are you thinking about changing the plan?”
Amon poured a cup of hot water and began dunking a tea bag slowly into the liquid. He looked at the blue shark on the side of the cup and thought how poetic the words of “bite me” sounded for this particular situation.
“Why would you imagine such a thing, Mr. Speaker?” Amon turned to face the speaker. The cut on his face now looked invisible with the bandage. “Is it because you cannot trust a Muslim or an Egyptian?”
The speaker sat his cup down a little too quickly, spilling the dark liquid across the metal table. “It’s because you show more respect to those old men than you do to me. They’re trouble makers.”
Amon let a slow smile spread across his face as he took a sip of the tea. “I show them respect because they have been victims of the Israelis just like my people.” He sat the cup down gingerly on the small makeshift counter constructed of old lumber and two sawhorses. “They were once American warriors. Those warriors were forgotten and dishonored.”
“Why do you care about a ship everyone has forgotten except for them and now you?” The speaker stood and pretended to do a casual stretch of unconcern.
Amon thought of his grandfather who survived the El Arish slaughter by hiding. He never forgave himself for living when his fellow soldiers perished. “It is time the truth be told. That is all. And you? Why do you care? It was your idea to start the hearings, suggesting war crimes had been committed against Americans. All investigations were silenced. Even the men aboard that ship were bullied into silenced.”
“It was their duty to take orders.” The speaker’s arrogance showed no sympathy. “They remained silent because they thought the truth would come out. Some believed the whole ordeal was being dealt with expeditiously. But as time marched on memories began to fade, recollections of the events became confused. Even politicians that helped cover it up got old and died.” The speaker smiled and threw his hands in the air. “I’m just doing my patriotic duty, Amon.”
“So why kill the president? He appears to be a reasonable man.”
“He’s one of those conservative-Christian-types that think Jesus is still walking around Jerusalem. His wife is a devout Catholic and sponsors several charities connected to Israel.”
Amon lifted his cup to his lips and took another sip as he became aware of the storm intensifying. The building seemed to be shaking. “Again. That is not uncommon for Christians to have great affection for Israel. It is in America’s DNA. You haven’t answered my question. Why kill the president?”
Jim narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “The truth is I don’t like him. He’s a self-righteous, pompous ass that walks around Washington like he’s John Wayne. Everyone just smiles when he slurs his speech or uses the wrong word like he’s some kind of beloved cowboy. He makes everyone believe he can change the world in four years; tough on crime, smack down terrorists with a heavy fist, better education for the poor, shoot to kill drug dealers or at least no second chances. The reforms in the tax code and banking will be our undoing.”
Amon started to chuckle as he sat his cup down.
“What’s so funny?” The speaker had worked himself up into frenzy.
“You are a jealous, petty man who can’t get over that he didn’t choose you to be his vice president.” Amon was aware the speaker had been in the running for the position.
Choosing Warren McCall for his experience as an ambassador and a two term senator made sense. He was an outdoorsman who advocated for c
leaner fuels while courting oil and coal companies to lead the revolution to energy independence. In one of his speeches he called them the new Sons of Liberty. Throwing their support behind Buck Austin and Warren McCall was a no brainer.
“I would’ve been a better leader than John Wayne or Jeremiah Johnson.” He rolled his neck to loosen up.
Amon took a sheet of paper from one of his men that entered cautiously. He read it twice. “I guess we will see, Mr. Speaker. You may get your chance. The president has been shot.”
“And the vice president?” The speaker sounded breathless with excitement.
“Yes. It appears that there has been an accident concerning the fishing boat.” Amon slowly lifted his eyes to meet the speakers. “Would you like for me to begin calling you Mr. President?”
Jim laughed robustly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Amon.” He walked over to the Egyptian and slapped him on the back. “What a night, Amon? What a night.”
Chapter 21
H urrying to the loading dock with another Secret Service agent, Chase hoped he’d be able to retrieve the president’s blood stored in the trunk of the Beast. The water now flowed like a raging river and swirled around the windows of the limo. Even if Chase made it out to the vehicle and managed to open the trunk the contents would be contaminated instantly. They probably already were.
The option of airlifting the president to Walter Reed Hospital wasn’t an option in this storm. He left the agent at the door for security as he made his way back to the kitchen. Other agents huddled around a prep table, going over the second escape route of the shooters.
The kitchen staff had all told similar stories about men with guns bursting through the door, threatening bodily harm and shooting the place up to make a point. They were ordered on the floor with the threat of death. With light extinguished there was little else they could tell them. Most of them cowered on the floor, praying help would be on the way. When gunfire erupted again, yellow muzzle flashes were all anyone remembered. No one saw Jake Wakefield leave with the remaining attackers. There appeared to be no way of knowing if he walked out on his own accord or needed help.
The question now was why did they take him? Clearly he had not attempted to shoot the president as everyone had believed he intended to do. Chase looked around the kitchen with only his eyes and flashlight.
What was missing in this picture?
He followed a trail of blood until it ended at a small service door. The only way to enter was if someone opened the door. That probably led the attackers to use the loading dock doors.
The two captured weren’t armatures or Egyptian. It was a reasonable assumption they were freelancers, ex-military bad boys that couldn’t follow the rules and got discharged. Another possibility could be paramilitary groups that hated a centralized government and wanted to intimidate any administration that threatened their lawless life styles. Anarchy became their mantra.
People willing to pay these kinds of agitators gave them confirmation their objective was sanctified by their philosophies of destruction. In Chase’s mind it was just another name for Taliban; renegades wanting all the power and doing whatever it took to obtain it.
The question still remained, where were the Egyptians in all of this?
Opening the service door, he saw what he thought might be blood, but the blowing rain, darkness and wind made closer inspection futile; too many contaminants in an alley. By the time a forensic team gathered evidence the hurricane would have carried vital information up the eastern seaboard. The water now swirled to the top of the step and it would soon be pushing under the door.
He saw something starting to float where the water began lapping over the edge. He picked it up with curious fascination before shoving it in his back pocket. Pulling his shirt tail out from his pants he let it drape to hide the bulge the object formed on his buttocks. Chase jerked the door shut against the storm and turned the deadbolt as he watched Zoric dragging a couple in their late teens to join the other servers.
“Found her and another kid cuffed in the laundry area. Only one way in or out. “Zoric tried to contain his satanic grin when he looked from the girl to his boss. “She’s scared someone named Melanie is going to blame her for this.” Chase looked a little confused at first then remembered the code name he’d given Tessa a year earlier. “I think our little girl scout in there with the president has morphed into an Enigma agent.”
Chase frowned as his hand went to touch his nose then left eye. His head felt like a hammer pounding inside. “Any word on Carter?”
“Probably a concussion, but he’s with the president. Looks like a mash unit in there. The director is being patched through as soon as tech support can get a good connection.” The two men fanned their flashlights across the floor and moved toward the safe room for the president. “The paramedics that tagged along tonight seem to have President Austin stabilized for now.” He nodded as they opened the door to see the president still on the floor. “There’s more, Chase.” The captain stopped shortly and looked down at his partner. “The vice president’s wife has been killed. He should’ve been on the boat instead of her. Freak luck, if you can call it that.”
“Has the situation been secured?” The tone in Chase’s voice sounded more concerned than irritated. “We need to make sure the Secret Service has Speaker Gault under lock and key. If anything happens to the president and the VP then he’ll have to step up to bat.”
A Secret Service agent brought Chase a tablet. Vernon’s face appeared. “Boss, the director is here with me. I’m turning it over to him. Connections are tricky tonight so keep it short and sweet.”
Nodding to his tech man Director Clark appeared on screen. “Chase, it’s not good news. The speaker’s detail tucked him in tonight and left one guy across the street on watch. That agent was found dead about ten minutes ago. Agents managed to get inside the speaker’s house and found a bloody rag in the sink. Muddy tracks and a note were left behind. Looks like the speaker slipped one over on whoever grabbed him. The lab can do an analysis of the mud, foot prints and so on, but with the storm flooding so many streets, any evidence that matches up will be washed away and moved to another area. The blood matches what we have on record for the speaker. The only unknown fingerprints found were upstairs in the bedroom.”
“Have you identified those?”
“Nothing in the system. Agents said a woman visited him a couple of times. The speaker bragged to them that she was a hand full, if you get my drift.”
Tessa timidly pushed up alongside Chase and cleared her throat. “I might be able to help with that.”
The director frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? Mrs. Scott, I would ask you how you could possibly know such information, but I have reason to believe you’d just give me some lame excuse like divine intervention.” Tessa nodded in agreement but remained silent. Then suddenly the director yelled. “Who is it? I don’t have all day.”
“I don’t know her name,” she jumped. “But there was a flight attendant the other day that came on pretty strong to the speaker when I flew in.” Her voice cracked so she tried clearing her throat once, but no more words came out until she coughed. “The speaker sat next to me. Complained he wasn’t used to flying back with the peasants.”
“That sounds about right,” the director quipped. Tessa gave him a quick description and mentioned he’d given the flight attendant a card. She suggested Dr. Ervin may have been more observant than her. “His orders were eyes on you, no one else. Your description will have to do.”
“The paramedics on scene say the president has lost too much blood.” Chase failed to hide his uneasiness. “He’ll never make it to morning if he doesn’t get a transfusion. The blood in the Beast is contaminated or least we think so. The car is mostly under water.”
“I’m having Vernon patch Dr. Kelley in to assess the situation. She’s the best. Stand by.”
The screen began looking like fuzzy snow as Vernon tried
to work his magic on the other end. Chase observed Tessa staring at the president as she hugged the suit coat around her shoulders. The six inch heels were gone now and she appeared to be flexing her toes as if they were cold against the tiled floor. Two hours ago she looked like a goddess in that dress. The obstinate tilt of her head and temper she turned on like a faucet had vanished. The blond curls she tried to tame into remaining on top of her head now fell down around her bare shoulders. The soiled dress, although splattered with blood, still evoked a sexiness Chase found disturbing. The little pout on her lips drove him a little crazy as he let his mind drift back to holding her in his arms the night before.
This madness must stop, he reasoned. The ache over his heart punched him without warning, making him flinch, but he covered the reaction by shifting his weight and touching the found object in his back pocket.
Lowering his head slightly, he could watch Zoric move next to Tessa and mumble something in her ear. She nodded without looking up at the dark Serbian. A year ago Tessa would have tried to escape any close proximity to the ghoulish agent. Now as Zoric gently placed his long fingers on the back of her neck and drew her closer to his moving lips, Tessa remained unaffected with downcast eyes, listening. He ended with what looked like a gentle kiss on her ear before turning away to attend to other matters. Chase realized that even though some people have angels guarding them, others may have demons. Tessa had both.
He wondered if Zoric tried to make amends. Tessa’s optimistic attitude and wholesomeness became the catalyst for Zoric’s resurgence into the art world. Something about her gave the assassin focus on calmer, less lethal pursuits. His work transformed from the nightmarish Salvador Dali to romantic Mary Cassatt.
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