No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2)

by Mark E Becker

  Scarlett sat silently for as long as she could. She was used to being talked at, having sat through endless hours of hearings and meetings during her Senate career. In private conversation, though, the words couldn’t stay bottled up for long. “I suppose that you’re going to have me make your State of the Union speech, too, and maybe wipe your butt for you?”

  Max ignored her, choosing instead to read over her shoulder, a habit that she found particularly annoying, especially when she wanted his focused attention. She was rapidly realizing that the president dreaded the political aspects of the office to which he had been elected three days earlier. “Since I’m going to be doing your job, what do you intend to do for the next four years, play golf while the country wallows in debt? I don’t mind if I’m going to be your mouthpiece, but if you think—” Max cut her off.

  “I don’t do golf. It moves too slowly for me. Not my idea of exercise.” He had enlisted her to be his running mate by a direct process of elimination: She possessed all of the traits of a leader that he lacked, and she resented that to her core. But still, she admired the way he could annoy and charm at the same moment, and the charm always won.

  “That story about the oil spill in the gulf has a big hole in it. If that isn’t espionage, I don’t know what is…” He continued reading over Scarlett’s shoulder while drying his head with an undersized hand towel. The effect was similar to sitting next to a drenched Labrador Retriever, and Max sprayed her proper clothing with vigor.

  “Max, stop it! You’re soaking me! If you mess up my hair, I’ll…”

  He was doing it on purpose, and she knew it.

  “Rich buffoons are better qualified to be president,” she added.

  “Yeah, probably,” he replied.

  “How? Why?”

  “Look. My Dad reared me to be president. I can think of about a thousand better jobs. He programmed me for a higher purpose. Higher than president.” Max paused for the effect he intended. Scarlett’s face told him what he needed to know. To her, there was no higher calling. Before she could properly express disagreement and launch into a debate on the subject, Max quickly changed the subject. He would never reveal to Scarlett his greater goals in life, and Scarlett would never understand. He may as well have been having a conversation with a mannequin.

  Max continued, but his voice was more subdued. “I remember when he was almost gone. He was in pain for a long time. I think that after awhile, it makes a person hallucinate, and then they become profound.” Scarlett realized that it was time to listen. “My dad died of a broken heart after my mom…when Adrianna… died.” He took a deep breath. “She was my teacher. She was his girlfriend…they killed her.” It hurt to look at his eyes, projecting the pain of his memories. For a brief moment, she felt sorry for him, but only for a moment. They had a country to run.

  “Are you going to sit there and have a pity party, or are you going to do something?” Scarlett was determined to get Max on task. Tough love.

  “What?”

  “You need to get out there and show that you are in charge. You don’t get a chance to think about the past. You need to build a future.” She was hard on him, but right. He needed to be president. “Aren’t you always yammering about how the image is more important than the candidate? You can’t lead if you’re stuck in reverse,” Dwelling on the past, in her mind, was the equivalent of worrying about the future. Both activities were a waste of time. Her determination was unshakeable. Before he could protest, Scarlett took the initiative.

  “Until you talked me into being your running-mate, and too soon before the election, I might add, I was your opponent.” She stood, and grabbed the wet towel from his hands. “I already knew about your strange ways, and your strange ideas, and I signed on for this voyage despite my strongest instinct to turn and run. Don’t you disappoint me, Max Masterson.” She deftly snapped the towel at his bare midriff. Decorum kept her from aiming lower.

  “Ow, that hurt!” Max retrieved the towel and prepared to retaliate, but Scarlett gave him a stern look that transformed his horseplay into seriousness. He had seen her employ it in several senate hearings he had viewed of her in action, and she was very adept at controlling an audience through nonverbal cues. That’s a talent that might come in handy. A politician who can get people to do something without saying a word. I wonder if she’ll teach me.

  “Max, are you listening to me? ”

  u

  CHAPTER 5

  T

  he report had riveted Scarlett’s attention. It linked a recent oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico to the previous Deepwater Horizon spill that placed the blame on BP and Transocean, the contractor that supplied the equipment and engineers to do the

  drilling. The report implicated three employees who had reported for duty two weeks before the oil platform explosion, and were listed as missing or dead when the explosion illuminated the night and eventually sank the oil platform. Their bodies were never found. According to the article, they were not found because they were not dead. The three oil workers left the oil platform by speedboat in the late hours before the natural gas blowing to the surface ignited in a massive ball of flame.

  The witnesses to their departure were two fishermen who had come to catch their limit of large grouper that were attracted to the lights of the structure. They had moved their boat away from the platform when huge gas bubbles began breaking on the surface, and became fearful when their shouts to the deck 90 feet overhead were disregarded. They were 200 yards away drifting in the darkness without their running lights on when the speedboat idled up to the platform and loaded three dark figures aboard.

  It was espionage, or “industrial terrorism” as the press would soon call it. Whatever words they chose, the terms didn’t describe the economic and environmental damage the perpetrators were capable of inflicting. They were a loose group of mercenaries funded by Chinese and North Korean interests, chosen for their ability to blend into the American work force without attracting attention. Their European ancestry and homegrown accents put them above suspicion on the oil platforms, where they were employed for weeks before the explosion. These men were trained to get in, place the charges in areas where nobody would find them, and get out long before detonation.

  The terrorists performed their deadly tasks with precision and stealth, and were many miles away before the first charge soundlessly ignited the cloud of natural gas that enveloped the platform. The resulting explosions spread quickly, and when the heat of the fire ignited welding tanks stored on deck, the oil platform and many of its occupants were doomed. It was a miracle that more of the drilling team didn’t perish in the ninety-foot plunge to the gulf waters after the life boats ran out.

  The press was only able to report the accounts of eye-witnesses to the events surrounding the disaster. The investigation into the cause would proceed for many months after the spill had fouled the gulf, and their around the clock coverage had already shifted to the cleanup, with images of birds and aquatic life covered with oil. The official version of the disaster would come out long after the public’s attention had moved on, and it would never contain the true facts: Espionage directed at the platform was meant to drive up the price of oil.

  “This is turning into a bigger accident than anyone imagined,” commented Scarlett.

  “Well, it sure doesn’t sound like an accident to me,” exclaimed Max. “Who were those guys that were seen leaving just before the explosion, and who is behind this?”

  “You don’t expect us to do anything other than assume, do you? People are going to want to blame someone, and when they don’t have anyone, they will probably blame you.”

  “I was afraid of that,” replied Max. It’s the American way.

  CHAPTER 6

  I

  need to go down to the Gulf Coast and see what’s happening down there. People need to see my face and know that I’m still alive,” Max announced. I would like you to stay here with the transition team and get us ready t
o hit the ground running.

  I want our cabinet members and agency heads to fire everyone from the Blythe administration immediately and have a report of replacements ready by the time I get back. I don’t want anyone, and I mean anyone, that served under Blythe even to set foot in Washington, DC, again, unless they are elected to public office. We are going to replace them with acknowledged experts in each area of expertise, except for politics itself. That area is your baby, Madame Vice-President.”

  “But Max, you haven’t even taken the oath of office. You need to wait another month before you begin to—”

  “Scarlett, I never did anything like everyone else, and right now, this country is like a ship without a captain. These are the most dangerous times.”

  “But Max, the inauguration!”

  “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Swear me in,” he replied.

  “Swear you in?” Her shock at his breach of tradition was evident from her expression. “You need to have it done on Inauguration Day. You need to have the Chief Justice do it, I can’t—”

  “Oh yes you can. You’re a United States senator. It will be kind of like when people go to a Justice of the Peace to get married and then have the big church wedding for all of the relatives later. We can do it in the den in front of all of our transition team. There’s a Bible on the bookshelf in the den. Come on, it’ll be fun,” Max replied. He had that mischievous grin on his face. He knew she would do it.

  Max’s first oath of office took place in the den his father occupied continuously in the last days of his life, and Max had a pang of remorse that his father couldn’t be there, perched in the big leather recliner, listening with pride. Max retrieved the family Bible from its exalted place in the center of the shelf above the fireplace and repeated the words that Scarlett had memorized:

  “I, Maximum Masterson, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  CHAPTER 7

  E

  verything you know about anything is about to be thrown out the window,” announced Roger Sinclair to Max as he settled into the soft leather seat on Air Force One. It wasn’t his first journey with a new president, and it would likely be one of many

  he would take with Max. He had been the keeper of government secrets for many years, but due to his exceptional status outside of the public eye, nobody was quite sure how long he had been at it. He was a government official who survived presidential administrations to provide consistency, but his existence was an internal secret.

  If he had chosen to accept a public position, he would be out of a job when the transition between administrations occurred. He liked the permanency that being the nation’s unofficial Security Advisor provided, and his three children and two ex-wives enjoyed the benefit of his large, unofficial salary. Even his income was a government secret, and there was no record of him at the IRS.

  Sinclair was, in a word, invisible. It was his job to brief the president on matters of public importance, supplying details derived from restricted databases and confidential sources. He worked independently from the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security, but his access to the information compiled by those agencies allowed him to

  Roger Sinclair had unrestricted access to any information, and to Max, he was indispensable. Two things were certain: nobody could keep a secret from him, and he wouldn’t tell secrets to just anyone. That confidential information and access was reserved for high- ranking government officials, and Roger had sole discretion as to which members of this exclusive group were briefed.

  Before Sinclair made his presence known, the intended recipient of his briefings was extensively and discretely screened. Max was duly screened, and Roger had approved him. He hadn’t cleared the previous president, or his vice-president either. They served the previous four years in ignorant bliss, without the information that Roger was about to share. He didn’t trust them.

  Roger had one secret that that he would hold from Max and the rest of the world: he had no need to screen Scarlett for anything. He knew her better than anyone.

  CHAPTER 8

  S

  carlett had been silent for longer than usual. Max looked at her face, and he saw her blush. She was staring at Roger, and her body language revealed her attraction for him better than a neon sign. She was smitten. The temperature in the room seemed to rise,

  and Max couldn’t resist the opportunity to make his vice president feel as uncomfortable as possible. He caught her eye, and he turned quickly to see Roger winking.

  “Is there something I don’t know?” The arbitrariness of the question left it wide-open for interpretation. It was his way of finding out what was on their minds. Sometimes it worked, depending on their response.

  “No,” they said in unison.

  Then, he knew.

  Max was not one to let Scarlett conceal her secret love life, and

  he was tempted to prolong her discomfort by sitting and smiling impishly until she couldn’t stand it any longer. But in a kind way, he was relieved. For years, the rumors and speculation about Scarlett’s sexuality had ranged from non-sexual ice queen to closet lesbian with a masochistic bent. He knew that she had rejected his advances during their brief time together in their teens, but he had assumed that his vice-president wasn’t ready. Even at the age of 17, Max knew that a man can have sex without emotional attachment, but a woman needed to feel love for the male she desired. It wasn’t sport for her.

  The press had been ruthless in the pursuit of her private life, and for that reason alone he knew the wall that she had created in her mind. It was a survival technique for her that he knew too well. Public figures who reveal too much soon live to regret, and his mystique had been the impetus for more intense scrutiny than anyone. It was a time for sharing, not teasing.

  “I want you both to know that your secret is safe to me, and you don’t know how good it feels to finally disbelieve all of that gossip about you, Madam Vice-President. I think I’ll stop watching that mini-series they did about you and just give you a big hug.” He launched himself in her direction, knowing that his attempt at causing her one last bit of embarrassment would produce his intended result.

  “Stop it, Max,” she squealed as he entered her zone of privacy, restrained from backing away by the thick carpet that held her chair in place. One kiss on the cheek and a look toward Roger for approval, and he was done with their shared moment of privacy.

  “I’d give you a hug, too, Roger, but I’m not that kind of president,” Max said. “I have to reserve myself for kissing babies and shaking hands, you know, and I don’t want to wear myself out.”

  “I fully understand, Max. And if you keep our secret, I’ll keep yours, whatever they may be,” Sinclair replied.

  “I don’t have many secrets to keep. My life until now has been an open book.”

  “Nobody serves in the Oval Office without picking up a few secrets over time.” Roger stood and turned toward the door, and Max took the nonverbal signal. It was time to leave.

  “Scarlett, hold down the fort while we’re gone. Are you sure you don’t want to ride down to the coast with us? I’m sure Roger won’t mind if you sit on his lap…”

  “Shut up, Mr. President,” she replied.

  CHAPTER 9

  T

  he first time aboard Air Force One Max immediately realized that he wouldn’t be having a relaxing trip. To avoid down time, the president’s jet is a command center, boardroom, and office, equipped with state of the art technology. He had not

  been officially sworn into office, but the outgoing president was in rehab, and Blythe wouldn’t be needing the jet for the remaining weeks of his term in office. Besides, there were two identical jets, and Blythe could have the other one for his personal use if he suddenly decided to leave Washington behind.

  Two helicopters containing the bulk of the Secret Service security d
etail had flown in advance to New Orleans for Max’s visit to the oil spill. To save time, he was also accompanied by a person assigned to brief him. The only person who possessed the full body of knowledge necessary to brief the president was Roger Sinclair, and due to the extreme secrecy of the matters to be discussed, his travel companion would not be seen exiting Air Force One.

  “You’re about to hear some things that I never shared with your predecessor,” Sinclair offered. “He never bothered to ask any questions. Bright guy, but corrupt. Rotten to the core.” Sinclair munched casually on a Braeburn apple, as if a meeting with the incoming president was just part of his typical day. “I checked him out before he got into the White House, but he got in anyway.” Sinclair had a tendency to ramble, but he didn’t mince words. “His running mate wasn’t worth a bucket of spit. I lost a lot of sleep during those four years, thinking he was one heart attack away from the presidency.” He tossed the half-eaten apple into a metal wastebasket, where it landed with a satisfying thud. He stood with irreverent casualness, confident that his audience would hang on every word. Everyone loves a secret, and the bigger the secret, the more focus it generated.

  “First of all, this talk about UFO’s, it’s all true. There are UFO’s, one crashed in Area 51, we recovered bodies of aliens in the wreckage, and we have been using that technology to fly top-secret flying machines for the past fifty years while denying that they are among us. That’s always the first question everyone asks me. We’re thick with them. We should stop being so arrogant as to think that they wouldn’t exist. I’ve told that story so many times, it’s a relief to get it out of the way. Now for the important stuff.” Max looked at him with amazement, while Scarlett stared at him without betraying her thoughts.

  “You think that our country is run by people who have been elected by voters, who have the omniscience to pick the right one every time. The truth is, the average voter doesn’t know shit about who to vote for. They don’t even remember who they voted for in the last election. The government is run by a group of powerful people whom politicians answer to. Your election took them by surprise, and you make them very, very nervous. They don’t like a politician whose strings they can’t pull anytime they want. Hell, Max, you’re not even a politician. You’re the X factor. They don’t know how to deal with you.”