Sabotage

by C. G. Cooper

  "We were sent to take a look around this property. Is now a good time?”

  "Be my guest."

  He'd expected something like this. Maybe it was something the Secret Service always did in case the president was ever to visit an old friend. They must just be getting the lay of the land, Vince thought.

  The men returned fifteen minutes later during which time Vince had already gotten himself a second cup of coffee.

  "Thank you for your time, sir,” said one of the agents before slipping back into the car. No other words were offered before the blue sedan was executing a three-point turn, heading back down the gravel drive.

  No matter how long Vince had been in contact with the United States Government, he never quite got used to how focused on expediting their duties most of them were, often at the expense of appearing brusque. He would have been happy to offer the lads a strong mug of coffee and most likely a bite to eat if they had stuck around.

  Oh well. There were things to do. He put the brief visit out of his mind, and crossed the dirt road to tackle his morning tasks.

  Soon a series of honks sounded down the drive. Vince reflexively reached for his sidearm, pulling it from his waistband. One, then two, then three more heavy-duty trucks came into view, all pulling trailers packed with stacks of lumber - piles and piles of wood and bags of cement. As the trucks got closer, he saw Gaucho driving the lead vehicle, but who was in the passenger seat?

  My God, that's the president. What's he doing here?

  Once the vehicles were parked, the men started piling out. The sheer number of men reminded Vince of ants carrying food away from a picnic table. Accompanying Gaucho and the president were MSgt Willy Trent, Cal Stokes, the sniper Daniel Briggs, the portly gentleman, Dr. Higgins and young Neil Patel. Prancing along like she owned the place was the dog. What was her name? Ah, Liberty! Vince remembered she'd been a present from Cal's deceased cousin, Travis Hayden.

  Two more familiar faces stepped out, and Vince had to swallow the lump in his throat. It was Christian and his grandfather. Christian ran to him, wrapping his arms around Vince’s waist. "This place is awesome, Vince. Have you gone in the lake yet?”

  “Not yet, buddy,” Vince said with a chuckle, truly happy to see the young man.

  Everyone was gathered together in an extraordinary show of support, and Vince had difficulty keeping his emotions in check. "I don't understand. Why are you guys here? Mr. President, shouldn't you be—"

  "We wanted to be here. We want to be with Karl."

  Vince had been the one to provide an update to President Brandon Zimmer. The best doctors said Karl had days, maybe weeks. Despite his outward optimism, Karl's body was finally submitting to the cancer that had spread to almost every inch of his body. The IV fluids were the only things keeping life manageable, with a heavy dose of pain medication on constant drip.

  "What's all that?” Vince asked, pointing to the trucks.

  Gaucho grinned. "I talked to Karl. He said you guys might need a little help getting this place back in working shape. We made a couple of calls, and here we are to get this place shipshape. Consider us the most elite working party you've ever had at your disposal."

  That's when Vince noticed they were all dressed in working clothes. The president pulled a pair of work gloves out of his back pocket. "I'm going to go say hi to Karl, and after that, how about you tell us where we can get started?"

  + + +

  Cal threw the tennis ball into the lake as far as he could, prompting Liberty to take a sprinting jump to fetch the projectile. She swam, legs pumping furiously while everyone laughed from the sandy beach.

  They had made a lot of progress in the past three days. It turned out Karl had done a stint with the Navy Seabees while stationed in Guam. Along with the summers working construction as a kid, he was the resident expert when it came to repairing and rebuilding.

  While he didn't have the strength to pick up a hammer, he directed it all from the sidelines. In the way of a man accustomed to living a hard life, Karl was happy to be with the others, executing orders and staying busy. There were only a couple of times Cal had seen Karl's face turn melancholy, like he realized he would never be the one swinging the hammer again.

  By the end of three days, they'd not only repaired the holes in the bunkroom roofs, thrown out all the old cots and replaced them with new ones, but they’d also built a 1,000-meter rifle range and a long row of pistol pits. There was still plenty of work to do, but they could see the fruits of their labor.

  They'd spent their days digging, cutting and hammering away. Top was skillfully moving tons of dirt with the front loader they rented, and Dr. Higgins was particularly talented using the electric saw.

  Each day, everyone gathered to eat lunch together by the lake. Conversations only ceased when Liberty took time to entertain the men by fetching balls in the water, or chasing a bird or squirrel that had gotten too close to the action.

  Night times were especially memorable as the men sat gathered around the campfire. Everyone chipped in, relating their stories. Even Christian's grandfather opened up, telling of his days in the Djibouti Army.

  The men had gathered to make light work of the property’s projects, but especially to be with Karl in his last days. They'd come to be together, but they'd come for a fellow warrior—to spend those last precious days together and see him off.

  Back in the real world, America was clamoring to hear from their resurrected president. Zimmer had turned into an overnight sensation. Everyone wanted to see him, to make sure he was really alive. He’d told the men staying at the new property about how he’d escaped, aided in no small way by Elliot Peabody and his impressive Djibouti spy ring. It had been Peabody who’d tipped off the president about General Hachi’s assassination scheme. After that it was just a matter of coordinating a good old fashioned switcheroo where the plane had stopped just long enough behind the airport hangar for the two presidents and their security to jump out and hide. The plane had taken off by remote control, with the cost of the lost plane a small price to pay to uncover the truth.

  But even though the president could have jumped to the mic, he instead avoided the spotlight, choosing to stay among his friends. He kept his promise, only occasionally taking phone calls that he knew he couldn’t avoid. Cal had asked him that first day about the status of the presidential election and how the recent events in Djibouti might change things. Zimmer had looked at him cautiously, like he was still trying to make a decision that he wasn't yet ready to share. Cal picked up on the hint, and he never broached the subject again. Politics wasn't his business anyway, and there was plenty of real work to do.

  Once the repairs were complete, he and Zimmer would make sure private and federal agencies were the first to hear about Vince and Karl's new venture. There would be plenty of time for that. Right now, they would enjoy each other’s company during a hard day's work and spend the nights reliving the past and making dreams for their futures.

  + + +

  The helicopter touched down in the grassy clearing. Congressman Tony McKnight waited until the pilot told him it was okay to step out. He could see the president waiting at the far end of the clearing. His stomach turned. He didn't know why he'd been summoned and, truth be told, he wondered if there were snipers hidden deep in the woods. Maybe the president had lured him there to execute him.

  He tried to remind himself that the Chinese were the only ones who knew about McKnight’s involvement in the incidents that unfolded in Djibouti. The warning was clear: keep your mouth shut, and we’ll be in touch. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. There had been more than a couple of occasions in the preceding weeks when he’d spotted an onlooker who seemed out of place at a primary stop.

  After receiving the package with his moneyman's head, he'd almost panicked. Almost. Disposing of the head hadn't been easy, but he had his ways. For a solid eighteen hours, twelve minutes, and three seconds, he'd considered dropping out of
the race. There was President Brandon Zimmer to consider, and there was also a chance the Chinese might say something.

  As the days passed, that became less and less likely. There'd been reports from China that Vice Premier Wang Ling had died in his sleep while on a trip to Hong Kong. That could not have been a coincidence, and it served as a further warning to him.

  So here it was, possibly the final confrontation with President Zimmer. The congressman tried to steady his legs as he stepped out of the helicopter and started to make his way across the field. The president was dressed in what McKnight considered outdoor gear: heavy work boots, blue jeans, and a T-shirt. There was no Secret Service to be seen. The helicopter lifted off once again, buffeting him with the downdraft.

  Still, President Zimmer stood there waiting, his face completely unreadable. Tony wondered whether he could have killed the president if he had a weapon. No, that was just silly. There was no way someone wasn't watching. As soon as the idea came into his head, he kicked it away, and he continued walking.

  McKnight had no idea where he was. They hadn't told him, and it wasn't like he carried a GPS around. They’d even taken his phone from him before lifting off. When the president summoned you immediately answered his bid. It was better to face the fire than to cower in the shadows.

  He'd never seen Brandon with what looked like a full week's worth of stubble on his face. Zimmer appeared to be in his element, whereas McKnight was still clothed in a full suit and tie. The president seemed preoccupied, though. He must’ve been making some kind of decision in his head as McKnight stepped closer, finally within arm's reach. Then, the congressman realized the president was wearing earbuds.

  Zimmer pressed a finger to his left ear and said, "Sorry, I was just listening to a little work music. I can't tell you the last time I had time to listen to music by myself. Must be the outdoors." The president chuckled and looked like his usual self. He reached out his hand, "Sorry to call you out here on such short notice, Tony."

  "I live to serve at your pleasure, Mr. President,” McKnight said, flashing what he hoped was a convincing confident smile.

  "I assume my people have already briefed you on what I wished to talk about."

  "No, Mr. President. They didn't say anything. They just told me where to be and that I might be gone a couple of hours."

  The president smacked a work glove on his thigh. "Damn. Thought I'd sent them that email—maybe I didn't—Hell, I don't know. This simple life - you should try it sometime, Tony. I've got to say, it sure has a way of clearing your head. Anyway, down to business."

  Here it comes, he thought, although Brandon seemed a little too at ease considering what he was about to do, but perhaps Zimmer was more ruthless than he had ever imagined possible. Either way, the congressman wouldn't back down.

  "Tony, I just wanted to thank you for everything you said when everything went down in Djibouti. I can't tell you how much it means, especially during an election year. I saw what some of our other friends were saying, and frankly, I would have thought that you would have picked up the 'Zimmer is an idiot' banner, too."

  My God! Did he just bring me here to express his gratitude?

  Relief flooded through McKnight’s body like the hallowed touch of an angel. It was everything he could do to keep his legs from buckling.

  "Mr. President, I just did what I thought was right."

  "I'm glad to see that you and I have that in common, Tony. Despite what happens in the coming months, I really hope we can continue to work together, facing the challenges our country must resolve. I value your friendship and our strong working relationship."

  "I share your sentiments, sir."

  "The political arena has a funny way of testing men’s fortitude and character. I've lost some very good friends because they turned out to be liars and cheats. They’d present one image to the public, but live a completely different life in private. It sickens me sometimes. And I’ll tell you, I’m not embarrassed to say that there was a point where I thought I might not seek reelection." Zimmer gestured to the woods all around him, to the Smoky Mountains in the distance.

  "It would be easier to come out to a place like this and live peacefully the remainder of my days. I would turn off the news, put on some headphones, and listen to some old country music while building something I could be proud of." The president paused as if considering that option seriously. Then, he looked back at McKnight and said, "But the world needs men like us, Tony. We have decided to put our lives on hold in order to make this country, this world, better. I will fight tooth and nail to make sure that I've done the best job I can.” He exhaled, ending his sermon. “Well, anyway, it's something to think about, but for now, why don't you come join us for lunch? I'd like to introduce you to some of my friends."

  + + +

  Two days later, Vince walked into Karl's room to deliver his morning coffee. He set the cup down and nudged his friend's shoulder. Karl's eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to realize that Vince was there. There was something different in Karl's eyes, not a look of vacancy, but something close, and that was when Vince knew. "I'll be right back, okay?" he said to his friend. Karl didn't nod, but continued to stare with that empty look.

  Everybody else was gathered downstairs eating breakfast in the kitchen. A hush fell over the room as they saw Vince’s face when he entered the room.

  "It's time,” Vince said simply. None of them said a word, just got up from their chairs and followed Vince upstairs.

  Karl was still breathing, but now his eyes were closed. He was focusing on that one last task, that one last test of strength before his body gave way. The king-sized bed had been moved to the middle of the room to make room for all the medical equipment. Vince saw Dr. Higgins increase the pain medication upon entering the room.

  After they had all found spots around the bed, Vince reached under the mattress. He pulled out a full bottle of Jack Daniels, opened it, raised it in the air, and said, "To Karl."

  Everybody repeated in unison, "To Karl."

  Vince took a swig and then passed the bottle around, first to the president and then it was passed to Cal, Daniel, Gaucho, Trent, Dr. Higgins, Neil, Christian, the grandfather, and then back to Vince. He replaced the top, and placed the bottle in the crook of Karl's arm.

  All the words had already been said. They’d enjoyed their time, Karl probably the most. There had been visitors along the way, including friends from the Army who stopped in to pay their respects. There would definitely be more when they held the funeral, but for now, it was just these men.

  There, in the cabin with a red tin roof, the grandfather reached out a hand and placed it on Karl. Daniel followed suit, and soon, they all reached out to touch the dying warrior. There they stood, waiting, until finally Dr. Higgins gave Vince a nod to signal that Karl had died.

  In that moment, Vince stopped fighting back the tears. Of course he was sad for his friend. He would miss Karl more than he’d ever missed anyone, but he cried because he was happy beyond measure that Karl's last days had been spent with fellow warriors who had been more than willing to put everything else aside to help escort him into the valley of death. Colonel Vince Sweeney looked around the room, smiled, and hoped that one day he might be so lucky.

  + + + + +

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