by C. G. Cooper
Closing his eyes, Travis dropped the paper he was holding onto the conference room table. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What do you propose?”
Cal smiled. “I think Marge should be CEO.”
Chapter 9
Camp Spartan, Arrington, Tennessee
11:57 a.m., February 28th
No one said a word after Cal’s declaration, not even Marge “The Hammer” Haines. Cal looked around the room. “Can any of you give me a single reason that Marge can’t take over?”
“It’s not that easy, Cal,” said Travis.
“Why not? She’s way more qualified than me and she’s already cleared for everything I am.”
“She’s still considering the President’s invitation.”
“No offense, Trav, but letting one of our leaders go is one thing. Two is fucking crazy.”
“He does have a point, Travis,” offered Dr. Higgins, finger tapping his chin slowly, considering.
Travis turned to Haines. “What do you think?”
Haines took a moment to respond. “It is an intriguing offer…”
“See, I knew it!” exclaimed Cal.
“…but I already have a lot on my plate. I’m not sure it’s the best thing for the company. Do I need to remind you that I’m the only female employee at Stokes Security International? What will your teammates say?”
Cal laughed. “Are you kidding? They fucking love you. It’s not like you’re an outsider. You’re one of us.”
More than a few SSI operators had felt The Hammer’s raw skills on SSI’s training mats over the years. If that weren’t enough, she’d started training with the teams on the gun ranges and in the live fire complex. She’d even earned a well-deserved thumbs-up from Gaucho after a particularly brutal training exercise. “That’s one loca lady,” he’d said, a huge compliment coming from the Mexican badass.
“Look, we need to look at this thing for what it is, a business. If we were a traditional corporation, would the board vote for a former Marine without even a college degree, or an attorney, skilled in the art of courtroom battle and used to rubbing elbows with businessmen and politicians?”
The room digested Cal’s words. Travis finally looked up. “Well, Marge, what do you think?”
Haines shrugged, nonplussed. “If it’s unanimous, I’ll do it.”
The vote was unanimous with not a dissenter in the group.
“Cal, you want to tell me what I should tell the President?” asked Travis.
Cal shrugged. “That’s not my job. I’m not the boss.” A grin was already plastered on his face.
Travis lifted his hand, extending his middle finger. “Okay. If we’re gonna do this, you get to come visit the President with me.”
“But…”
“That was not a request, Cuz. It’s your idea, so you can help explain it to the president.”
Cal was trapped. Instead of stepping in one hole, he’d fallen the other way, right into the viper’s pit. “Fine, but you’re paying for us to fly first class.”
+++
The White House
President Brandon Zimmer shook the Japanese Prime Minister’s hand, bowing slightly. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
The prime minister left without a word, followed by his entourage. Zimmer walked to the fire. “Who’s next, Ellen?”
Ellen Hanson, the president’s secretary, was another holdover from the last president. She looked at the calendar in her hands. “You’ve got the next thirty minutes free for lunch, and then you have Secretary of State Dryburgh at two o’clock.”
Zimmer held back a groan. He and Dryburgh were roughly the same age, but something about the boisterous Secretary of State always annoyed him. Either way, he was stuck with the man for the foreseeable future. “What’s that meeting about?”
Ellen referenced the calendar. “Updates on Ukraine, Iraq and Syria.”
“Is General McMillan joining us?” He’d come to value the chairman of the Joint Chiefs’s input. The Marine general had a way of distilling intelligence and operations that was both practical and insightful. McMillan was an integral part of Zimmer’s team.
“No, sir. I believe the general is in Afghanistan.”
Another wrinkle. Since taking the oath of office, Zimmer had made sure there was always a neutral party in attendance when he met with the charismatic Secretary of State. Zimmer knew his head of international affairs had ambitions higher than his current post. He wasn’t the only one in Washington who wanted to be president, but no one else was as close to the throne as Dryburgh.
President Zimmer was finishing the last bite of his club sandwich when Secretary of State Geoffrey Dryburgh stepped into the Oval Office.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President. Ellen said you were ready for me.”
Zimmer wiped his mouth with a monogrammed napkin. “That’s okay, Geoff. I just finished.” He stood to greet his guest, somewhat perturbed by the fact that Dryburgh was tall enough to look down on him.
“I’m glad we finally get some time one-on-one, sir. Sometimes it’s nice to have a meeting without all those nosey staffers.” Dryburgh flashed his brilliant smile, shaking the President’s hand.
“I’ve been meaning to have a sit down with you, but as you can imagine, it’s been a bit of a zoo around here.”
Dryburgh laughed. “I can only imagine, Mr. President.” He threw in a wink for effect. “How about I give you a quick rundown and then we’ll chat?”
Zimmer tried to hide his surprise. Maybe he could have a working relationship with the man after all.
Exactly twenty minutes later, Dryburgh had concisely outlined the hot topics for the day, and answered the President’s immediate concerns with precision. It seemed that they were on the same page.
“I’ve gotta say, Geoff, I was a little concerned coming into this.”
“How so, sir?”
“To be honest, I thought you might be a bit less…assertive on the international stage.”
Instead of being offended, Dryburgh smiled. “I understand. You’ll have to remember that I serve at your discretion. Your predecessor, although a man of the people, could sometimes be…how to put it lightly…he could be a bit soft with foreign leaders. To his credit, he expected the best of people. As his Secretary of State, I was bound by his policy, not mine.”
Zimmer listened intently, wanting to get a full grasp of a possible new ally. “And now?”
Dryburgh went serious. “My family comes from a country that was subjugated for centuries under the guise of familial trust. In many ways, the United Kingdom still controls Scotland. I am a student of history, Mr. President. I know that for every well-meaning politician, there are five more jockeying for power behind the scenes. I had a good working relationship with your father, God rest his soul. He was a Democrat, but an American patriot, just like me. He knew the importance of a strong international stance. I had assumed, rightly I hope, that you were the same.”
“I’ll admit, a couple years ago I was a little more naive than I would have liked, but I’ve since come to have a better grasp of the truth.”
A smile returned to Dryburgh’s slightly freckled features. “Then I’d say we’re on the right path, Mr. President.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I’m glad to say it, sir. Maybe if you really learn to trust me, one day you can tell me how it felt that day you fell into the presidency.” This time Dryburgh’s wink made Zimmer laugh.
Chapter 10
Washington, D.C.
3:14 p.m., February 28th
Senator Southgate sat tapping his index finger on his knee, mimicking the ticks of his great-grandfather’s clock, one of the few pieces the family had saved when Union cavalry ransacked their pastoral home in southern Kentucky. He hadn’t moved in almost an hour. It was what he did: carefully weigh the pros and cons, ins and outs of an important move.
He was slowly digesting the news he’d received from his contact in the Department of Homeland Security. It didn’
t look good. He hadn’t found a smoking gun, but initial signs seemed to corroborate Congressman McKnight’s accusations.
Southgate had to tread lightly. Although the ascendance of the new President had at first shocked Americans, Zimmer’s poll numbers were climbing. His voting record, while short in comparison to the veterans in town, spoke of a new type of Democrat, a man who could reach across the political aisle. His handpicked team had done a masterful job at scheduling well-orchestrated events, further painting the young president into a modern day JFK.
Doubt crept in. The good of his party and the American people were at the heart of Southgate’s concerns. He didn’t have the slightest ambition to be president, but he did crave order. McKnight’s revelations had the potential of destroying much of what Southgate had worked to build over the last quarter of his political career. It didn’t help that he couldn’t get the former president on the phone, or the fact that Zimmer seemed less decisive than Southgate would have thought. While he didn’t have anything concrete, now might be a perfect time to capitalize on the President’s weakness, even if the help came from a Republican congressman.
Meetings cancelled due to the record-breaking snowstorm, Southgate stared into the fire, ticking time, weighing his options and the fate of the new President.
+++
After a lingering kiss, McKnight rolled off of the naked intern with a grunt. “Why don’t you get cleaned up.”
The intern licked her lips beneath pouty eyes. “You sure you don’t want to go again?”
“I’ve got work to do, honey. Maybe later, okay?”
The petite blonde took the hint and made her way to the bathroom while McKnight sat naked, checking his email. He was waiting for something, anything from Southgate. Not that he really needed the old man’s help, but it would make his job easier. It would also keep McKnight out of the spotlight for the time being.
He didn’t want the attention just yet.
A second later his phone registered a new message. Anyone tracking his account would think it was just another message from a fan, but it wasn’t. Utilizing the coded script he’d devised, McKnight smiled. He’d soon have enough proof to incriminate the President and give the Democrats a whopping black eye. Then, in the middle of the mayhem, a new leader could rise; a man seeking to give tired Americans, who were overwhelmingly skeptical of the jobs politicians were doing in Washington, something different.
It wouldn’t happen instantaneously, but McKnight was a patient man. Politics was a marathon, not a sprint. McKnight had his running shoes on and was ready to make his way to the front of the pack.
Chapter 11
Reagan National Airport
8:25 a.m., March 4th
The Secret Service escort waved them down as soon as they walked out of the jetway. Travis led the way.
“Good flight, Mr. Haden?” asked the smaller of the two agents.
“Please, call me Travis. We’re in the same line of work, remember?”
The agent smiled. “Of course.” He turned to Cal and Daniel. “Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Cal offered his hand. “How they hangin’, Brett?”
Brett Stayer, a fifteen year veteran, and now head of the president’s security detail, grinned. “Can’t complain.” He turned and shook Daniel’s hand, offering only a nod. “We’ve got a Suburban waiting out front. Let’s grab your bags and head out.”
The three man team from SSI had at first declined the Secret Service escort. That was until Stayer had insisted, wanting to repay the debt his agency owed the two Marines from their role in uncovering (and keeping quiet about) the involvement of one of the former president’s agents who’d plotted to kill the first lady.
After collecting their bags, the group stepped out into the cold.
President Zimmer looked up from The Washington Times and stood when the three men entered the presidential residence.
“It’s great to see you guys.” He shook everyone’s hand.
“Will that be all, sir?” asked Stayer.
“Thanks for picking them up at the airport, Brett. Did we get identification for these guys?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have them waiting in the Oval Office.”
“Great. See you in a few minutes.”
Stayer left. The others took a seat around the dining room table. A butler appeared as if out of thin air. “Gentlemen, can I get you anything for breakfast?”
Zimmer spoke up first. “I’ll have three eggs, over easy, with a sliced avocado on the side.”
“Yes, Mr. President. And you gentlemen?”
Travis, Cal and Daniel put in their orders. The butler nodded without writing down a thing, an abrupt about face taking him back to the kitchen.
“He turned like a Marine,” Cal observed.
Zimmer chuckled. “Good eye. Lester’s fairly new around here. I’m his third boss. Before that, he retired from the Marine Corps as a Master Sergeant.”
They made small talk, Travis explaining the transition going on at SSI.
“I won’t say that I’m not disappointed about Miss Haines not helping me here, but I can see why you chose her to take over as CEO. Smart gal.”
The butler returned pushing a cart laden with dome-covered plates. He served the president first, then Cal. “Thanks, Top.”
Lester’s eyebrow rose. “Marine?”
“Staff Sergeant Calvin Stokes, Master Sergeant. Sitting next to me is Sergeant Daniel Briggs. We won’t talk about my cousin over there. He was just a SEAL.”
The butler shook Cal’s hand. “Master Sergeant Lester Miles, Mr. Stokes.” He looked at the President. “I thought I told you to be careful about hanging out with Marines, Mr. President.”
Zimmer laughed.
While serving the remaining guests, former MSgt Lester Miles explained that he’d been a machine gunner after graduating from Parris Island, only to be lat-moved to culinary services after someone found out that he’d grown up in a restaurant business, earning the title of head chef at the age of eighteen.
“You ever run into a Master Sergeant Trent?” Travis asked, knowing it was a long shot.
Miles looked up in surprise. “Master Sergeant Willy Trent?”
“Yeah.”
“Willy was my NCOIC when they lat-moved me. Made the transition a lot easier. Good man. How do you gentlemen know him?”
“He’s works with us,” said Cal. “Keeps us fat and happy while kicking our asses in the gym.”
Miles laughed. “That sounds like Willy. You tell him I said hello, okay?”
“Will do.”
The butler nodded to the President and disappeared again.
Zimmer shook his head as he cut into his first egg. “Do all Marines know each other?”
It was Cal who answered. “Only the good ones, Mr. President.”
After finishing their meal, the four men headed down to the Oval Office, shadowed discreetly by the President’s security detail.
Stepping in after Zimmer, Cal immediately recognized the three men waiting.
“General McMillan, Secretary Dryburgh, Senator Southgate, I’d like to introduce you to my new Chief of Staff, Travis Haden, and his colleagues, my friends, Cal Stokes and Daniel Briggs.”
General McMillan stepped forward first. “I know you’re a SEAL, Mr. Haden, but I hope you don’t mind if I give my fellow Marines here an oorah.”
“No, sir. I’m used to it.”
McMillan shook Cal’s hand and then stepped in front of Daniel, who felt suddenly out of place. Almost reverently, the Senior Officer of the United States Armed Forces offered his hand to Daniel. When Daniel took it, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs pulled Briggs closer, whispering something in his ear. Daniel nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Do you two know each other, General?” asked Dryburgh.
“I know who Mr. Briggs is, Mr. Secretary.” McMillan didn’t explain further. Cal looked to his friend, eyebrow arched.
“Why don’t
we get down to business, gentlemen,” suggested the President.
Everyone followed his lead, taking a seat in one of the lounge chairs. Cal kept his eyes on the President, all the while wondering why Senator Southgate seemed to be staring icy daggers at him. What’s got that old fart in a twist? Cal figured it was probably the inclusion of Washington outsiders on the stalwart senator’s home turf.
Cal couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter 12
Washington , D.C.
11:09 a.m., March 4th
Senator Southgate spent most of the meeting nodding and observing the President’s friends. They were outsiders, something Southgate didn’t like. He had to be careful. They were the President’s men, not to be taken lightly. He’d only just found out about the new Chief of Staff the day before when the request had come from the President to meet.
As he rode in the Lincoln Towncar back to his office, he replayed the exchange in his head, still not comfortable with the level of familiarity between the strangers and the President. It seemed as though Congressman McKnight’s insights were accurate. But he needed proof.
+++
The president loosened his tie. “I think that went fairly well.”
Travis nodded thoughtfully. “No problem with McMillan, and I’d say Dryburgh was friendly enough. But Southgate…”
“It takes a bit to get used to him. My dad used to say that Old Southgate was the final wall holding the Senate back from bursting into the twenty-first century. He likes his order and rules with an iron fist.”
“Do you think he’ll be a problem?”
“I don’t think so. He’s by-the-book, but I think his heart’s in the right place. A Democrat through and through.”
Cal wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think he likes the idea of Travis being your Chief of Staff. Couldn’t you feel the contempt coming off the guy?”