by Bob Blink
Cindy simply shook her head. "But won't you still win the states you did before? The country is pretty sharply divided between parties."
"There are the contested states which can easily make the difference, especially if my supporters stay home. Besides, the electorate is slowly but clearly changing. Every year there are thousands of new voters as the youth comes of age and immigrants become citizens, and fewer of the older voters as they die off. The younger generation tends to be more liberal in their ideas, even in the more conservative states. That also is generally true of immigrants who earn their citizenship. That works against me. Then, there is a migration of people, which is changing key states. Even my home state, Texas, which was once solidly Red, is now clearly Purple, and truthfully, very likely has the possibility of going Blue in the coming election. Joe's research says as much. Such a loss would all but seal the election."
"At least you have done a lot. If you lose, you can at least look on that positively."
Mark shook his head.
"Not so. Too many projects are in the preliminary stages, and can relatively easily be undone. You saw what Trump did to much of Obama's legacy. A Democratic win could see much of what I have accomplished weakened or completely reversed. They could do that out of spite as much as conviction. It might be harder than before, what with the changes to the courts the last couple of years have allowed us, but still a definite threat. I need another couple of years to get these key programs solidified so they will be difficult to change."
"And you think the people running are capable of doing that, and it bothers you?"
Mark smiled. "You are damn right! I haven't worked this hard to see it all disappear at the whim of the next president. I don't like my ideas being pushed aside by anyone. But, more to the point, which do you like? As an Independent, which of those you just listened to appeals to you the most?"
Cindy didn't even have to think long.
"Nancy Craig," she said with conviction.
"That's what a great many feel, and she's the one who is the problem. The others are trying out ideas, many far out but hopefully appealing to the idealistic. Craig has a solid platform, moderate in approach only slightly tilted to the left, even though history says she is more progressive than her campaign would lead one to believe. She appeals to the greater Democratic base, and many of the more progressive types can see what she is doing. The Independents seem to love her. Add to that she has some very solid and good ideas, that aren't beyond the realm of implementation. There is more than one thing she has suggested that I could support. Therein lies the problem. She is motivating a large number of voters, while those who have supported me in the past are overly complacent."
"So you think you could beat the others?" Cindy said.
"I have some work to do, but there is still time. Joe has wisely touched on the issues that I need to emphasize. The odds of winning against everyone but Craig are encouraging. But her, I don't see it happening."
"Something has to be done about her," Cindy said determinedly. "But what?"
Yeah, but what? Mark thought, unexpectedly circling back to the thoughts he'd had earlier. In the back of his mind, an idle thought was starting to become something more. It was an unheard of possibility, but he might be willing to take the risk. Cindy was not staying the night, so maybe after she was gone he could think it though more thoroughly. He'd have to be very careful though.
Chapter 3
"Mr. President," the youngish agent said formally when the President Pilcher opened the door to the White House residential quarters in response to his knock.
"Agent Campbell," the President said, a faint smile on his lips. "Please come in."
"I was told you wished to see me," the agent said with a hint of nervousness. "I was a bit surprised. Is something wrong?"
"Not at all agent," the President replied, stepping aside so the agent could step past him into the residence. Once the man was inside he quietly closed the door.
Out of public view, the President's demeanor changed considerably, his public face relaxing into a more personal one.
"How have you been CC?" he asked, shifting to the nickname Agent Chris Campbell had carried since he'd been in grade school, and the name by which the President had called him for a great many years back in Texas.
"Well enough," Mr. President the Secret Service agent replied, uncertain how he should react to the change in the President's demeanor.
"The situation hasn't been normal, and I wasn't certain if it was a good idea if your fellow agents realized we have a long history together. I was afraid I might make things a bit awkward for you so I have maintained a bit of distance," the President said. "But I have a something I want to have done, something the Secret service will want to oversee, and for a couple of reasons I have chosen you to take the point on it. For one thing, you know my background in this area, and will be able to explain how serious I am to those that will want to dissuade me of the activity."
As they talked, the President led the agent deeper into the private quarters.
"Anything you want, sir," Agent Campbell replied. "You are, after all, the boss."
"In here, in my private quarters, I'm Mark," the President said. "We've spent too many days on the trail, and working the rigs together, for it to be otherwise."
"How can I help?" CC asked, still uncomfortable with using the President's given name.
Mark Pilcher briefly examined the 29-year-old Secret service agent. He showed the effects of a combat tour in Afghanistan, and the rigors of passing the courses required to reach his current position. He was no longer the young teenager he'd saved from a rig explosion more than a dozen years earlier. Now, a fit six-foot-one, with close cropped blond hair and insightful grey eyes that examined everything with a bit of cynicism, he was someone who would be dangerous to cross.
"I want to have pistol shooting range installed here in the White House," Mark said finally. He could tell it was something that CC hadn't expected.
"A shooting range?"
"Why not?' Mark responded. "Some people play tennis, others like to golf. You know as well as anyone I've always been a shooter. We blasted many a prairie dog together. I haven't had time to practice since coming to this place, and I've decided it's time to change that. I need a means to unwind. I might even start carrying again."
"That wouldn't go over well with the Director," CC noted. "Politically, I'm not sure how that would be received either."
"As you said, I'm the boss. Anyway, I just ordered a pair of custom 1911's from Wilson, and by the time they get here I want a functional range in the basement. I've chosen you to be my interface with the Secret Service people and to oversee the construction necessary to make it happen. You are to bring any concerns directly to me."
Agent Campbell nodded, although the uncertainty was clear on his face. "I know where the range might go, but it's beyond my pay grade to approve it and get anything started. I'll have to speak with the Director and whoever is responsible for the care of the buildings here."
"I understand, but make sure that they understand I am very serious about this, and any objections are to be brought to me immediately. I want this done quickly, and will not take kindly to anyone who attempts to stand in the way. They also must understand I have chosen you to be my liaison in this."
Focused on the discussion, CC hadn't really realized they had been slowly moving through the residence during the conversation, and had come to the master bedroom and were now standing just outside the double doors that led inside.
"Is that all?" CC asked, assuming the President was finished and intended on going into the room after dismissing him.
The President shook his head and pointed into the room, his intention clear. He wanted CC to go into the room ahead of him. Uncertain, and a bit uncomfortable, CC complied. The President followed, shutting the study door to the room behind him.
"The whole of the living quarters are supposed to be free on monitoring device
s, camera, microphones, etc.", the President said. "I even have a special device made by the people that make such gear for the Secret Service and other intelligence agencies, and make periodic scans to verify that nothing has been installed. There are a surprising number of people that have access to these quarters when I'm not here. I believe the quarters are free from monitoring, but this room, more than any other I made exceptionally clear I would not tolerate any form on monitoring of my activities. It is the one place I feel mostly comfortable in. You have no idea the extent of the intrusions on a Presidents freedom that are in place."
CC nodded as if he understood, then said, "Is there a reason that matters at the moment?"
"The President nodded, and sat on a bench seat arranged along the back edge of the large king-sized bed, currently unmade.
"There is something else I need you to do for me," he said. "This is something that you are to tell no one about. Not your boss in the Secret Service, not your best friend, not your girlfriend. Understand?"
CC shook his head. "Not really."
The President grimaced.
"There is some business I need to take care of, but because of my situation, where my every move is monitored, my calls tracked, and I'm certain listened in on, I can't do it myself."
He pulled an envelope out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it across to CC.
"I need you to personally take that and hand it to your father. I want him to have a look at what I want done, and for him to reply 'yes' or 'no' whether he can and is willing to take the lead in this effort for me. No one can know of this, and you are not to open and examine that document."
"So this meeting isn't really about the shooting range you suggested earlier?" CC asked.
"That is a subterfuge, yes," the President agreed, but I want it followed through on. "I would like to get in some practice, and it provides a reason for us to meet periodically when communication needs to be passed between your father and myself."
"My father is in Texas," CC reminded the President. "I can't easily just hand this off to him."
"You can take a couple of days leave, for family reasons," the President noted.
He handed CC a credit card.
"That is a company card for a small firm I own that no one can trace back to me. Use it to rent a small charter jet to take you there and back. Do it quietly, this weekend, and get that letter to your father, then bring me back his reply."
CC turned over the card and thought about the task he was being given. Renting a jet to take him to Texas and back wasn't a minor expense. The President was rich, but still. Whatever this was, clearly it was very important to him.
"Can I ask what this is about?" he said.
"You can ask, but I'm not inclined to discuss it right now, in part for security reasons. If your father thinks it wise for you to know the details, he will tell you in the security of his ranch, but given your position with the Secret Service, it might be best you operate as a go-between without knowledge of what I need taken care of."
"So, I tell you his answer after I return from the weekend?" CC asked.
The President nodded.
"By then you should also have had time to work the range issue with the relevant people, and it will appear natural for you to report those results to me. The answer from your father will be a simple yes or no, without any context from which others might be able to draw any conclusions."
"This is all very strange," CC remarked.
"Can I count on you to handle this as I have asked?" the President inquired, examining the young agent as he spoke.
"Absolutely," CC replied. "For one thing, you are the President, and ultimately my boss, and a long time friend of the family to boot. Even more, I owe you a debt that I can never really repay. This is a bit odd, but it will be done exactly as you ask."
The President smiled. He'd know he could count on Earl's boy.
Chapter 4
Camp David, Maryland
Blam! Blam! The double barreled 12 gauge slammed solidly against his shoulder underscoring the sound of the shots. The first of the clay pigeons burst into dusty fragments, but the second remained stubbornly invulnerable with not even a wobble or small fragment breaking away to indicate a close miss from a stray pellet or two. The undamaged clay traveled into the distance, arching through the sky then falling to the ground where it broke against the ground upon impact. That meant three he had missed so far this round, and they were just over halfway through the run.
"Unfortunate," Arturo said, but the President sensed the grin hiding behind the statement. Arturo hadn't missed any yet this round, and had taken the last run by two shots.
"Been away from shooting far too long," Mark said, partial excuse and partial truth, as he opened the action and allowed the extractors to pull the spent hulls from the chambers. His mind was on other things today, which was as much a factor in his marginal performance as his lack of practice. He'd been able to beat his personal cook most of the time when they'd held such contests back in Texas some years ago. He couldn't recall ever losing two rounds in a row, and never as badly as it appeared he was about to lose today.
But at the moment they weren't back at the ranch, and the desert scenery gave way to much more lush vistas here at Camp David. He really loved this place, the rustic grounds and old-fashioned cabins, at least so they appeared from the outside. Camp David was a place he'd come to enjoy visiting whenever he could, although the trips had become more infrequent than he would have liked. He actually preferred the name Roosevelt had given the resort, Shangri-La, but he couldn't see people accepting a change back after so many years.
"Si" Arturo agreed amicably, bringing the President's thoughts back to the moment, the cook's two golden teeth flashing in the bright sunlight. Mark had offered to have the two old-fashioned teeth replaced with more modern dentistry, but the old cook liked the look the old style crowns gave him, and had declined. "You never practice any more," he said.
"Neither do you," Mark noted.
Arturo shrugged.
"For some of us, it is a natural thing. Once the skill is acquired, it is a part of who one is."
Mark knew that Arturo only had two guns of his own, both of which were back in Texas somewhere. The Secret service could be touchy about weapons in the White House, even in the hands of someone the President considered an old and dear friend; in this case, someone he'd been with for well over two decades. The guns, an old side by side stagecoach style shotgun, and an equally old 1892 lever action Winchester were silver bright as a result of the worn bluing, gone decades ago, but with tight actions and well cared for internals despite the impression given by the exterior cosmetics.
"Perhaps you will be cooking the dinner for us," the cook laughed. It was something that had happened before, the contest settling who prepared the meals, but that had been back in Texas with ranch hands or oil rig workers.
"Not today," the President countered seriously. "I need you to work up one of you miracles for the group I have coming in later." He planned a cookout by the pool behind Aspen Lodge later in the afternoon after their meetings. The lodge was his residence while here at the Camp. Arturo had already planned the dinner, and all the fixings he required had come with him the previous evening when he'd flown in on Marine One with the President.
"Important people," Arturo agreed. "When do they arrive?"
"The Vice President and her husband are due on Marine Two just before lunch," Mark explained. "The others all elected to drive in. It's only a little over an hour from Washington, and they will probably start showing up about the same time."
From his own party, Ted Banning, the Majority Leader of the Senate, and John Williamson and Jane Marshal, the Speaker of the House and the Majority Leader of the House, would be coming. More importantly in some ways, Scott Hunter and William Samson, the Minority Leaders of the Senate and House respectively, would be present. They were the real reason for the gathering. Toshiko was ready to move ahead
with Phase Two of the Universal Medical Care Act, which would require additional funding to be approved by both houses, something that was very unlikely to happen at the moment. The opposition held enough votes in the House to prevent passage, something that couldn't happen in the Senate now that Majority Leader Banning had done away with the sixty-vote majority requirement. But being stalled in the House would be enough. It was that the opposition disliked the plan, although there were areas they wished for more giveaways, but the real reason would be to deny the President and his party any "wins" at this critical time before the coming election. Pure politics! Swamp games! He and Toshiko would be making a pitch to try and sway the two party leaders, even though they both agreed the odds were almost non-existent that would happen.
After the dinner, most of the dignitaries would be heading back to the Capital, with the exception of Toshiko, Jane Marshall, and his Chief of Staff who had also flown in with him on Marine One. They would stay over for a brainstorming session with the President the following morning, seeing how to spin whatever came from the Democrats at the meeting. And then Joe and the President would sit down privately and work through the most recent data on the coming election. Joe had some ideas to put forth, and Mark hoped he might be able to quietly borrow and put into place a couple of ideas the opposition was fronting in their campaigns that he kind of liked. If he could have something in place before the election, it might take some of the winds out of the sails of those he was running against.
Cindy wasn't here this trip. She'd come several times, but he had learned that he had to judge how her presence might affect the goals of his offsites here. Washington was a strange place and, yet with all the infidelity that was practiced by the various members of the Congress, they were sometimes a bit too vocal about his situation. Some clearly didn't like the openness of their relationship, several going so far as to question his bringing a mistress into the White House. Two of those were in the group that were coming today, one from his party and the other the opposition. His missteps seemed to be one of the few things they were able to agree on.