We Have Lost The President

by Paul Mathews

  ‘No later than seven o’clock,’ ordered Martha. ‘Earlier if you can.’ She turned to Freddie. ‘Not a word to anyone for twenty-four hours. Otherwise, I might start focusing some of my organisation’s resources at Mr Maxim’s wide range of business activities. And his wide network of associates. Understood?’

  Freddie sat back in his chair. ‘As a leading law enforcer, I would naturally welcome such a far-reaching investigation.’ He put his right index finger to his lips. ‘But I shall not be breathing a word to anyone for the next twenty-four hours. So there’ll be no need to launch any such enquiry.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Martha took a deep breath. ‘For everyone’s sake.’ Then she turned and strode from the restaurant.

  Freddie looked at Martha. Then he looked at Howie. Then Howie looked at the remains of the chocolate pudding.

  Freddie laughed. ‘Go on, finish it, my friend. I sense your need is greater than mine.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive. Be my guest.’

  Howie reached over, took Freddie’s plate and began scooping the pudding into his mouth.

  Freddie smiled. ‘I like you, Howie. I know I’ve only known you for a few minutes. But I have a natural instinct for people. You’re a good man. An honest man. Just like myself. And we honest men need to stick together in this dog-eat-dog world of ours.’

  Martha obviously had her doubts about Freddie. But Howie’s gut feeling was different. He was the kind of guy Howie could spend a couple of hours with at the Two Chairmen after work. He would go with his instincts. ‘Sounds good to me, Freddie,’ he spluttered, his mouth full of pudding.

  ‘Excellent. Now, I’d like to tap into your brilliant brain about vice-presidential appointments.’

  Howie nodded. He was really starting to like Freddie.

  ‘Am I right in thinking that presidents have the power to make such appointments from outside the party?’

  Howie finished his last mouthful and then answered. ‘The Democrats did it a couple of times. The Republicans haven’t yet. But there’s nothing to stop them. The president would need to demonstrate that the person had exceptional talent and skill. And it would have to be someone the president trusted, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ He leaned in to Howie. ‘Let me give you a hypothetical scenario. After the election, the president – whoever that may be – wants to reward a senior official for his outstanding contribution to his profession with a vice-presidential position.’ Freddie thought for a moment. ‘For example, for services to law enforcement.’

  ‘You mean someone like yourself?’

  Freddie’s eyes filled with surprise. ‘I wasn’t thinking of me. It doesn’t have to be me. But if it helps you to create a picture in your mind for the purposes of my hypothesis … yes. Let’s say it’s me.’ Freddie moved his chair a little nearer to Howie. ‘How would the appointment process work exactly?’

  Before Howie had a chance to reply, Freddie’s bleeper made an urgent noise from his top pocket. He fished it out and read his message. ‘Just one moment, my friend. It’s work.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Howie, imagining himself and Vice President Freddie English, lunching in the Two Chairmen and sharing anecdotes about the incompetence of the other vice presidents.

  Freddie stood up. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Howie, but I’m going to have to dash.’

  Howie stood up. ‘That’s a shame. It’s been good to meet you. Hope to see you again sometime.’

  ‘The feeling is mutual.’ Freddie handed Howie a small card. ‘That’s my personal bleeper number. I carry it everywhere. If you get into any bother, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

  ‘I will do. Thanks.’

  Freddie gave Howie one of the firmest handshakes he’d ever received. ‘It’s been a pleasure. You’re a man like me, Howie Pond. We’re men who get things done. Men destined for greater things.’ He smiled. ‘Men who love a good chocolate pudding.’

  Howie grinned. ‘We shared a pudding. We’re bonded for life.’

  ‘Good man. Goodnight, Howie. Stay safe. And happy hunting.’

  Howie waved goodbye. ‘See you, Freddie.’

  Howie watched Freddie walk up to a waiter, pay his bill in cash and then rush from the restaurant. Howie hoped he’d see him again soon.

  It was late now. Britt would be wondering where Howie was. It was time to go back to his pod and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be an important day. Perhaps the most important of his life.

  Chapter 20

  It was just before ten. Britt was wide awake in bed, waiting for Howie to come home. She had switched off all the pod’s light beams. Howie would assume Britt was asleep. That would make him more likely to start telling the cat about his day at work. To help things along, Britt had left a bottle of Howie’s favourite whisky and a jug of cola on the kitchen table. He would see them and find it hard to resist having a drink before bedtime. And he was always more chatty after a whisky and cola.

  Lying in the darkness, the reality of what she’d just done made her whole body tingle. She had set a trap for her own boyfriend. The man she loved. And who loved her. The man she trusted. And who trusted her. The man she wanted to marry. And who wanted to change the subject whenever she mentioned weddings. The guilt disappeared.

  The cat meowed from the kitchen. Britt had fed her thirty minutes ago, so she couldn’t be hungry. Howie must be back. She heard the pod’s front door slide shut, followed by the flick of a light-beam switch. Then Howie spoke. ‘Hello, pussycat. How’s your day been? Mine’s been pretty eventful.’

  This was a promising start. Britt jumped out of bed, crept up to the bedroom door and listened.

  ‘Mum’s fed you,’ continued Howie. ‘That’s good. And your Dad’s been fed, too. At The Savoy. Yeah. Then at the Strand Palace Hotel. Lucky old Dad, eh?’

  Howie had always had a healthy appetite. Sometimes too healthy. But even on his appetite’s healthiest days, he’d never visited two top restaurants in one evening. Britt’s thoughts were interrupted by the clink of glass. And the sound of a jug being poured. She clenched her right fist and mouthed ‘Yes!’ Her plan had worked.

  ‘Just a cheeky drink before bedtime. I know I shouldn’t. But it is my birthday.’

  Britt heard the cat meow again. Howie made a fuss of her. The cat purred. Then there was silence. He was probably enjoying his whisky and cola. Nothing to worry about. Any second now, he would start downloading all the details of his day into his four-legged friend. A minute passed. Then two. But all Britt heard were the sounds of running water and glass being placed on metal. Another pause. Then a cupboard closing. Followed by the final sound – the bedroom door sliding open.

  Before Britt had time to dive back under the duvet, Howie had switched on the light beam. He let out a cry of surprise when he saw her standing there. ‘Bloody hell! I thought you were asleep.’

  That was the idea. She would have to think of something. ‘I was,’ she yawned, rubbing her eyes and stretching. ‘But you woke me up with all that banging in the kitchen. Drinking before bedtime, were you? Don’t deny it.’

  Howie lowered his head. ‘Sorry, B.’

  ‘You look knackered. Busy day at the palace?’

  ‘Oh, erm … yeah,’ he mumbled. ‘Busy and boring.’

  Howie would have normally spent the next few minutes ranting about a dumb vice president, an uncooperative private secretary or a pain-in-the-arse journalist. His days were always busy. But they were never boring. She tried another question. ‘Have you had dinner?’

  Howie started to get undressed. ‘Yeah.’

  Britt got back into bed and waited for him to elaborate. Food was his favourite subject. He loved talking about it almost as much as eating it. But that was all he had to say. He just kept taking his clothes off. Britt was tempted to meow, to keep the conversation flowing, but she decided to stick with human communication for the moment. ‘What did you eat?’

  ‘I just grabbed a sandwich from the palace ca
nteen.’

  He was lying about dinner. He must have been at The Savoy and Strand Palace for a good reason. A work reason. A Code-Red-crisis reason. But he wasn’t going to reveal any more details. And he would be asleep in a couple of minutes. She made a split-second decision to drop a bombshell and see his reaction. She got back under the duvet and made herself comfortable. Then she dropped it. ‘I saw the president this afternoon.’

  Howie froze, just as his suit trousers fell to the floor. He looked shocked. Then he tried to hide his shock with an expression of mild interest. ‘Where was that?’

  Britt’s first instinct was to lie. Canary Wharf wasn’t the kind of place she went on a day off. Howie might get suspicious if she told him. But then she thought again. She would sound more convincing if she told him what she’d seen. ‘I took a trip to Canary Wharf. Just for something to do. And I saw the president. Not in his official car. But walking down the street. Like an ordinary citizen.’

  Howie’s forehead wrinkled. ‘You definitely saw the president?’

  ‘He was trying to hide his face but I caught a flash of it. I’m certain it was him.’ She wouldn’t mention Cherry Blush. He might get suspicious.

  Howie kicked his trousers from his ankles and began undressing again. ‘What time?’

  ‘Late afternoon. A bit before half-four.’

  Howie took off his shirt. His stomach showed clear evidence of his recent restaurant trips. ‘Where exactly was this?’

  ‘Outside the American Fitness gym.’

  Howie nodded, deep in thought. Then his expression changed to one of realisation. Something had clicked in his brain. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he finished undressing and started putting on his pyjamas.

  Britt would have to try a new tactic. ‘I was thinking of giving the information to our Westminster gossip guy. “President spotted near gym acting suspiciously”. I thought I’d warn you in advance.’

  Howie almost fell over, as his left leg caught in his pyjama bottoms. ‘No, no. Don’t do that. I’m busy enough already.’

  ‘It’s my job, Howie.’

  He put his left hand on the wall and steadied himself. ‘But you’re off for the rest of this week, aren’t you?’

  ‘A journalist is never off duty. Just like police officers. And presidents.’

  Howie managed to squeeze into his pyjama bottoms. Then he put on his serious face. ‘Listen, B. I’ll tell you a secret.’

  This could be it. This could be Britt’s breakthrough moment. She sat up in bed and listened.

  Howie stood tall. His stomach still straining from the day’s intake. ‘The person you saw wasn’t the president.’

  His words didn’t make sense. ‘What do you mean? I saw his face.’

  ‘You saw a face identical to his. You saw his brother Oskar. He had a meeting over there.’

  Howie’s tone, and his semi-naked body language, suggested he wasn’t lying. And if Britt had seen the missing president, wouldn’t Howie be probing her? Yes, he would. He would be firing questions at her. Was there anyone with the president? Did he speak to anyone? Where was he heading? Then Howie would be sending urgent bleeps to senior people. Maybe even disappearing out the door to another restaurant. But he wasn’t. He was going to bed. So he must be telling the truth.

  Howie yawned. ‘Forget about that diary story, okay? It was just Oskar. And he always looks suspicious.’ He slipped on his pyjama top, switched off the bedroom light beam, got into bed and kissed her. ‘Goodnight. I’m up early tomorrow. I’ll try not to wake you.’

  Britt was in such a state of shock, she couldn’t reply. Her investigation was focused on the president. Not his brother. Of course, she knew Jan Polak had an identical twin. Everyone did. But she hadn’t even considered the possibility it could be Oskar.

  Questions ran through her mind. Why was Oskar meeting the president’s personal trainer? Cherry Blush was a beautiful woman and Oskar might have the president’s looks but, to put it bluntly, his personality was nowhere near as sparkling. Was he impersonating the president?

  Howie was already snoring. But Britt couldn’t sleep with all these thoughts running through her mind. Ten minutes passed. She still couldn’t believe it. Then she remembered Cherry’s parting words to Oskar in the park. ‘Ask her!’ she had shouted. But Britt realised now. She had misheard. Cherry, in her thick London accent, had probably been yelling ‘Oskar!’ So Cherry knew exactly who she was meeting. But what kind of meeting was it? A lovers’ liaison? Or something more sinister?

  If Britt’s brain had been a computer, it would have crashed and displayed one of those annoying error messages. She would need time to process all this data and make some kind of sense out of it.

  She settled her head on the pillow. Tomorrow would be her big day. The day when she had to secure and write her missing-president story. Britt closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She needed to sleep.

  Chapter 21

  It was 5.57am. Howie was still asleep. It was one of his deepest sleeps ever. And he was having a vivid dream.

  He was powering a speedboat towards an island in the middle of a faraway ocean. But this was no carefree holiday in the Caribbean. He was a man on a mission to save the world. Not just that. He was being hunted. And his hunters weren’t far behind. He looked back at the three identical boats pursuing him. They were only a hundred metres away now and getting closer every second. It was time for secret agent Howie Pond to show the bad guys who was boss.

  He pressed a red button on the console. Smoke spewed from the boat’s rear, filling the air with a temporary fog. It was followed by the sound of motors spluttering to a halt and men shouting urgently in foreign languages. Howie accelerated towards the shore. Thirty seconds later, the speedboat mounted the beach and he expertly skidded it to a halt across the virgin sand. He jumped out, adjusted his sunglasses and glanced seawards. The trio of boats were already emerging from the fog. They would be here in less than a minute. No time for a seafood snack. He had to get moving.

  Howie sprinted across the narrow beach. On the other side he found a path. It was surrounded by dense undergrowth. But he sensed it led somewhere, so took a chance and followed it. After a few hundred metres, it ended in a rocky cliff face which stretched into the distance on both sides. Howie took a moment to assess his options. He didn’t have many. Then he heard the faint shouts of his pursuers behind him. They were already on the path. That meant he only had one choice. He had to go up.

  Moments later, he was clambering up the rocks with all the skill of an alpine goat. As he neared the summit, he could hear gunfire beneath him. Bullets were ricocheting around him. But they weren’t going to hit him. Because he was Howie Pond. And no one killed Howie Pond.

  He reached the top in what seemed like seconds and scrambled to his feet. Was that some kind of low-level entrance in the rocks up ahead? It looked man-made. As he approached, he could see that it was. He crouched down and made his way inside. After a few seconds, the darkness gave way to bright light. He gasped at what he saw. A huge complex spread out below him. An incredible network of walkways, ladders, control rooms and storage units. All guarded by an army of foot soldiers dressed in identical bright orange, bad-guy uniforms. Then Howie realised that immediately below him was a large nuclear warhead. A man was tied to the huge missile. Was it? Yes, it was. The British President Jan Polak. Unconscious but alive. And there was another man, in a white suit, standing nearby. He was waving a gun around. It must be an evil genius, thought Howie. This is his secret island. That’s his nuclear warhead. And he’ll shortly be pointing it at a major metropolis. I’ve got to stop him.

  The man in the white suit became aware of Howie’s presence. He looked up at Howie and screamed in a Russian accent. ‘Mr Pond! I’ve been expecting you! What took you so long?’

  ‘My apologies,’ called Howie. ‘The road here was a little rocky.’

  ‘I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humour, Mr Pond,’ shouted the man. ‘Even
if you have lost your president.’ He pointed the gun at Jan Polak’s head. ‘Now climb down here or I put a bullet through his skull right now.’

  Howie descended using a metal ladder attached to the internal rock face, being careful not to take his eye off the man. As he reached the bottom, he dusted himself down and addressed his adversary. ‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’

  ‘I am Maxim. Viktor Maxim.’

  Howie offered his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Maxim.’

  Maxim declined the offer of a handshake. ‘Forgive me, Mr Pond. But I reserve such gestures for social occasions.’

  ‘We can grab some lunch, if you like. I’m starving.’

  ‘I am hungry only for power,’ sneered Maxim.

  ‘Suit yourself. Now you and I need to have a little chat about why you’re doing all this.’

  Maxim laughed in the way that evil geniuses always do. ‘I will tell you … before I kill you!’ He walked up to the president and pointed at him. ‘I will replace him, and all your other world leaders, with my people. Then I will rule the world!’

  ‘What about the nuclear warhead?’

  ‘Ah, yes. I will show the world my power by launching it at a major metropolis.’ Maxim cackled with pleasure. ‘And your British president will be attached to it!’

  Before Howie could react to this news, the e-alarm in his bedroom went off. He slapped it with his hand to try and stop it bleeping. It didn’t. He tried again. It bleeped even louder. He swore at it. That didn’t work either. So he staggered to his feet and turned on the bedroom light beam. Britt half-woke up and grumbled at him. He ignored her complaints and located the e-alarm’s power cable. Then he yanked it from the wall. And it finally stopped bleeping. Britt three-quarters woke up, swore at him and put her head under the pillow.

  Howie sat on the edge of the bed and assessed his physical state. His body ached – especially the ankle he’d twisted yesterday. He felt bloated from Tuesday’s big lunch and double dinner engagements. And his back was aching from all that bending down in the security camera control room. He felt like he was eighty-two years old, not forty-two. But he had to get up, grab a quick water-spray, check the newspapers, have breakfast and get to the palace. So he gathered some clean clothes, turned off the light beam and headed for the bathroom.