by C. G. Cooper
“Mercenary havens. I think he’d like to see every private security company put out of business.”
The door opened and Brett Stayer stepped in. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s five after five and I think I’ve stalled the senator for as long as I can. He’s getting antsy.”
Zimmer looked to his friends. Travis nodded. “Bring him in.”
+++
Senator Southgate walked into the Oval Office, his eyes narrowing upon seeing Cal and Daniel. “What are they doing here?”
The president answered with a hint of anger in his tone. “They are my friends, Senator, and they’re here to help me explain the truth you so desperately want to hear.”
Southgate scoffed at the comment. “I know the truth. The only reason I’m here is--”
Zimmer stood up from his seat, his temper rising. “The only reason you’re here is that I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, Senator. Don’t forget that I am still your Commander and Chief, and I will be afforded the respect of the office.”
Looking momentarily stunned, Southgate searched for the correct words. He hadn’t seen this coming, having pictured the encounter differently. It was supposed to be him calling the shots, not the president.
Finally he said, “I apologize, Mr. President. You’re right. Despite the circumstances, there is no reason I cannot be cordial.”
“Thank you, Senator. Now why don’t we have a seat and talk through this unfortunate misunderstanding.”
Southgate looked at the President incredulously, but kept his mouth shut and took a seat.
Once everyone was ready, President Zimmer asked Southgate to proceed.
The senator coughed and opened the file he’d carried in. “As I mentioned last night, certain evidence has been provided to me that indicates your knowledge and complicit involvement with Stokes Security International, a company led by the men seated in this room.”
None of the SSI men moved, their eyes glued to the senator. Their collective gaze kept Southgate from looking at them directly. He went on to describe various instances, including the murder of Congressman Peter Quailen in front of his own home, where SSI operatives, including Calvin Stokes, Jr. and Daniel Briggs, were involved both directly and indirectly in illegal activities on American soil.
Southgate looked up from his file, meeting the gaze of his audience. Again, no one said a word, a fact that slightly unnerved the senator. Why aren’t they saying anything? He would’ve thought the criminals would have put up some kind of fight, maybe even screamed in his face.
Another cough and he continued. He described the president’s ongoing relationship with SSI and the obvious threat to the nation’s highest office. “If you cannot see the position this puts you in, Mr. President, you are indeed more naive than I thought.”
Zimmer stared at the cocky man, deciding whether it would be better to be subtle or more direct. He chose the latter. “Are you finished?”
“I believe that is sufficient information to lead you to the correct course of action.”
“And what course of action would that be, Senator?”
Southgate thought it would have been obvious. “For you to resign, Mr. President.”
Zimmer laughed, not a chuckle, but a guttural belly laugh that lasted for a full thirty seconds. The others looked on with smiles as Southgate’s eyes went wide.
“May I ask what is so funny?”
“You know what, Milton, I’ll tell you what’s so damned funny. You. You are so damned funny.”
“I beg your pardon.” Southgate began to rise. “I don’t have to sit here and--”
“Sit down, Senator,” barked the president. Southgate hesitated. “I said, sit down.”
Face red with a flush of embarrassment and indignation, Southgate sat down, hands gripping the arms of his chair as his pulse thrummed.
With a gleaming smile, the president continued. “As I was saying, I’ll tell you why this is all so funny. I would have thought that a veteran senator, who’s no doubt been part of numerous investigations and dealt with his fair share of anonymous informants, would be smarter than to believe the lies of an egomaniacal, disgraced former FBI agent like Steve Stricklin.”
Southgate’s face went gray. “How did you--”
“How did we know Stricklin was your informant? Well, I’m not gonna tell you that, Senator. I’ll let you figure it out.”
The senator’s mind whirled. He’d been careful. Never once had he spoken to Stricklin on one of his lines. When he realized that somehow the men from Stokes Security International had figured it out, illegally no doubt, his composure returned.
“I have the word of a former FBI special agent, who also happens to be a former Marine officer, that these men, these criminals, not only had a hand in Quailen’s death, but also assisted you in capturing the presidency.”
The accusation cut through the air like a bolt of lightning. Southgate could tell by the looks on their faces that Zimmer and his accomplices hadn’t seen that coming. No one had a thing to say this time, so Southgate continued. “I had hoped not to bring that last part up, but you left me no choice. Now, if we can move on and discuss how we will handle your resignation--”
Before he could finish, the office doors opened and Stayer took a step in.
“Sir, you have a visitor.”
Senator Southgate whirled on the Secret Service agent. “Can’t you see we’re busy?” he hissed.
Stayer ignored him. “Sir,” looking to the President, “may I bring in your visitor?”
Zimmer wasn’t expecting anyone, but he trusted Stayer. “Sure, Brett.”
Stayer nodded and turned.
“What is the meaning of this?” Southgate demanded, glaring at Zimmer. “This was supposed to be a closed meeting, and now--”
Everyone in the room rose as if on cue. Southgate turned to see who the visitor was. His eyes bulged when he recognized the tall figure wearing a pair of faded jeans and a heavy winter coat with a fur trim. He looked ten years older than Southgate remembered, having last seen the man months before. Slowly, Southgate rose, knees shaking slightly.
The former president of the United States, Zimmer’s predecessor, smiled at the men gathered in his old office. “I happened to be in town today and I got a call from Brett. He said I might want to stop by and clear up a little misunderstanding.”
Chapter 21
The White House
5:37 p.m., March 5th
No one had seen the former president since the day he’d left office on national television. He’d retreated to his home in Chicago, refusing all callers, supposedly focused on raising his two daughters, and occasionally visiting his wife, the former first lady, who now lay in a vegetative state in a Chicago long-term care facility.
They all shook the president’s hand, all except for Southgate. He didn’t know whether to stand or sit, stay or go. What is he doing here? Southgate thought, unease welling in the pit of his empty stomach. Just when his plan seemed to be coming together, another wrinkle had walked in the door.
After the president greeted the others by name, a fact that surprised Southgate immensely, Zimmer offered his old boss the seat facing the low burning fire. “Why don’t you have a seat, Milton. You look a little shaky.”
Southgate nodded and did as he was told. Nothing about the evening’s encounter was going according to plan. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened in his long and distinguished career. “Mr. President,” he said, addressing his former colleague from the senate, “I don’t mean to be rude, but we were in the midst of a rather heated discussion. I’m afraid--”
“Don’t worry about offending me, Milt. You and I go back a ways.”
Southgate’s faced reddened at the man’s cavalier attitude. “Sir, I must insist--”
It was Zimmer who cut in this time, his voice sharp. “I suggest you sit there and listen, Senator, before you say something you’ll soon regret.”
Southgate doubted tha
t greatly, but kept his opinion to himself. He had all the proof he needed. A few minutes wouldn’t make a difference.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, Milt, but I think I can clear this whole thing up.”
There was no response from Southgate, who waited patiently, mulling.
“First, let me address the charges you’ve leveled against President Zimmer regarding my recent… Let’s call it a job change. I’ll only say this once, so I hope you’re listening. No one, not President Zimmer, not my staff, not even my family, knew that I was going to step down. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me.”
The President waited for Southgate, whose face did little to hide his confusion. Every shred of evidence he’d been provided, every angle he’d investigated, pointed to Zimmer being part of his predecessor’s decision. The sliver of doubt in Southgate’s mind morphed into something more, a reeling swath of uncertainty.
“I know it may be hard to believe,” the former president continued, “especially in this town where everyone seems to know secrets before they happen, but it is true. Now, let’s talk about the gentlemen from Stokes Security International. I don’t know the full story concerning your claims, so why don’t you give me the abbreviated version.”
Southgate straightened in his chair, regaining a portion of his calm. The air in the room suddenly felt stifling. He resisted the urge to adjust his tie, which felt like it was choking him slowly. “I, uh.” He looked down at the folder in his hands, opening it slowly. “As I’ve already told President Zimmer, the corporation known as Stokes Security International has, on more than one occasion, conducted illegal para-military operations in the United States.” He went on to explain, albeit haltingly, the acts he’d outlined earlier to Zimmer.
Once he’d finished, Southgate looked up from his lap, expecting a horrified expression on the former president’s face. It wasn’t what he found. Instead, the man looked at him, eyes sad, head shaking with a wistful smile. “You’ve really stepped in it this time, haven’t you, Milt?”
All color drained from the senator’s face. A simmering log popped in the fireplace, throwing a spark against the metal grate. “You can’t tell me that the evidence--”
“Who did you get this information from?”
It was Cal who answered. “Special Agent Steve Stricklin, Mr. President.”
The president turned to Cal. “What? The guy we had kicked out of the Bureau? That Stricklin?”
“The same, Mr. President.”
The former president whistled. “I’d love to know how you met that pitiful excuse for a human being, Milt.”
Southgate’s mouth moved, but no words came out.
“Never mind. I’m sure you’ll take care of that little problem, as long as President Zimmer decides to let you keep your job. Here’s the deal, Senator. The boys at SSI are the good guys. They saved my life on more than one occasion. They’ve done the same for countless Americans. As far as Congressman Pete Quailen, he was a crook, plain and simple. We have the proof. In fact, do you remember the little video that surfaced featuring Quailen snorting coke, doing hookers and making illegal deals with his buddy?”
Southgate nodded slowly. Everyone in Washington, and countless millions outside of the capital, had seen the video.
“That was my idea, Senator, and it was SSI who found the evidence. But they were not the ones who killed Quailen. Ironically, after SSI brought him in for questioning, it was someone on Quailen’s own team who killed the congressman to keep him from talking, in this very building.”
Southgate face somehow turned even paler.
“You see, SSI’s only concern is the well-being of this country. I didn’t know such patriots existed until my second term. If it were within my power, I would tell the entire world how special these men are. I would build a monument to memorialize their contributions. They fight evil every single day. They don’t ask for awards. They don’t ask for acclaim. They only do it so that we can do our jobs, so that our kids can live to see an America that we can be proud of. Now, if there’s anything else you’d like me to address, you’d better do it now.”
The leader of the senate, a veteran of innumerable congressional battles, who ruled with an iron fist, turned his gaze to President Zimmer. “Mr. President, I would like to formally submit my resignation from the United States Senate.”
Chapter 22
The White House
7:25 p.m., March 5th
The mood in the Oval Office felt almost festive as the former president mingled with the others. Daniel had thrown two more logs on the fire, which now flared a lively orange as if reflecting the changing atmosphere. Lester Miles brought an overflowing platter of hors d’oeuvres that the men ate hungrily.
Southgate had left immediately after President Zimmer refused the man’s resignation, instead suggesting the shaken senator take the night to decide whether he wanted to work with or against the president’s staff. “I’d rather have you with us, Senator.”
He’d left with a nod after tossing the file in the fireplace.
“What do you think he’ll do?” asked Cal.
“I think he’ll come around,” answered their surprise guest, who now looked more relaxed than any of them had ever seen, sipping Yuengling straight from the bottle. “Southgate’s not stupid. He knows how bad he screwed up. But he’s been around the block a few times. His influence alone is enough to keep him around, but that’s your call, Mr. President.”
Zimmer tipped his own beer in a silent toast. “At first, my gut told me to let him run, but you’re right, I’d rather have him on my side. I don’t think he’ll pull a stunt like that again.”
+++
Congressman Antonio McKnight smiled when he looked down at his cell phone. He’d wondered how long it would take Southgate to call.
“McKn--”
“You set me up.” Southgate’s voice sounded weak and quivering to McKnight.
“I’m sorry, Senator?”
“Stricklin, SSI, it was all a lie.” McKnight almost laughed at the desperation in the man’s tone.
“Look, Senator, like I told you when we first met, this Stricklin guy came to me and I handed it off to you. He only told me about being with the FBI and that he needed to get the information into the right hands. I never guaranteed its authenticity.”
The only noise coming from Southgate’s end was the muted sounds of traffic. He waited before replying, more soothingly this time. “Maybe I can help if you tell me what happened.”
A laugh from Southgate. “Oh, I think you’ve helped enough. This makes me wonder how much of the story came from Stricklin and how much you concocted. Maybe I should tell the president about who introduced me to that idiot Stricklin.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll tell him the same thing I just told you. What would I have to gain?”
A calming breath later, Southgate answered, careful this time. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He hated saying the words, but didn’t want the Republican to think he had the upper hand. “I’ll let you know what else we find out.”
The call ended. McKnight smirked. Taking a sip of the Argentinian syrah from his crystal glass, swirling the expensive gift in his mouth, the politician looked around his modest, yet tastefully appointed town home. Maybe it was time for an upgrade.
+++
The snowcapped landscape drifted by, the driver doing his best to avoid the potholes that popped up overnight. Southgate didn’t notice any of it. He’d been duped and felt like a fool. He’d made a mistake, overstepped his own need for structure and appearance by not being as thorough with Stricklin as he should have.
He couldn’t point the finger at McKnight because the congressman was right, he didn’t have any proof except for the introduction. Southgate filed away McKnight’s words to digest later. Maybe the upstart was up to something, but at the moment Southgate didn’t have a shred of confidence that he could initiate a proper investigation. His political capital account read ZERO. It
would look to the president like he was trying to shift blame, something the proud senator never did.
Already recovering from multiple shocks, the seasoned politician knew what he had to do. He picked up the pay-as-you-go phone he’d had his driver purchase earlier in the day and dialed a number from memory.
+++
Mrs. Stricklin answered the front door in her nightgown. Who could be calling at this hour?
She looked through the peep hole and saw three men, maybe more behind, all wearing suits and trench coats.
“May I help you?” she said through the door, not wanting to open it for just anyone.
“FBI, Mrs. Stricklin. We’d like to have a word with your son.”
Mrs. Stricklin’s ears perked up. Her Stevie had been so happy over the past week. Maybe he was getting his job back. She quickly opened the door and let the men in, each man flashing their ID badge as they entered.
“Stevie! You have visitors!” Mrs. Stricklin called, rushing to put on a pot of coffee.
Almost a minute later, Steve Stricklin stepped into the kitchen, freezing at the entryway. “What’s--”
Three of the four agents lifted guns that Mrs. Stricklin hadn’t even noticed them carrying at their sides.
“We’re here to take you into custody, Stricklin.”
Stricklin put his hands over his head, all color drained from his face. He started to sob, much as he’d done throughout his childhood and teenage years. Stevie, always so innocent and tender with her. Stevie, always so quick to take offense, especially with his classmates. He never had many friends, no sleepovers, a thought that flared in her mind like a warning sign she’d missed.
The agents handcuffed her son and moved to the exit.
“Stevie? What’s going on?”
Stricklin ignored his mother, instead almost slipping on the piss running down his leg and onto the linoleum floor.