by Nick Harlow
“President Donovan just called you a hero. How does that feel?”
“I’m no hero. What I did was a matter of self-preservation. Heroes are members of our military, police officers, firefighters, teachers. And remember, I’m still here. The real heroes are Jordan Reese, who gave her life to save Sydney. And Agent Jim Ryan, who nearly died in an effort to protect us.”
Sydney became a spectator, watching Scott answer question after question, working the media like a seasoned pro even though he’d never done anything like this and had always avoided the spotlight. His honesty and humility came through in every answer. He was no longer the boy who had become her best friend in the fourth grade.
She saw a real man. One she wouldn’t let go. Pride flowed through her veins. That’s my guy there.
“Tell us about offering yourself to Mayfair in return for the doctor when you were in the bunker. What made you want to risk your life like that?”
He shrugged. “I, uh... well...” For the first time he seemed uncomfortable with a question.
Sydney gently ushered him aside and moved to the microphone. “Let me answer that because he’s obviously too modest to do so. We were trapped in the bunker with no way out and Agent Ryan was going to die without medical attention after taking a bullet for us. And once we discovered Mayfair needed Scott as a hostage to get out of the country, Scott insisted on making a deal to trade himself for a doctor in order to save the Agent. He didn’t think twice about his own safety. Of course Mayfair broke that agreement and captured him later, but he agreed to trade his life for someone else. Someone he barely knew. Agent Ryan would be dead without him. I’ll never forget Scott’s willingness to make that sacrifice. It was incredibly brave and shows his true character.” She turned to face him and gave him a soulful look. “Next to my dad, I respect you more than anyone I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
November 8th
DONOVAN WINS SECOND TERM, BUT THE ELECTION ISN’T EVEN THE TOP STORY
By Denise Wright
Once President Donovan’s landslide victory was declared shortly after ten o’clock eastern time, everyone’s attention went back to the tale that’s dominated every watercooler conversation for the past week.
How a bunch of resourceful teenagers, a senior citizen with a taser, a Secretary of Defense with a legal name he hated and a network reporter broadcasting old file tape managed to foil a takeover of the White House while landing the Speaker of the House and Attorney General in jail. It’s a story seemingly right out of Hollywood.
Except it’s true.
More amazing details continue to dribble out now that many of the participants have recovered from the emotional and physical ordeal.
But what’s clear is that politics truly changed in the days leading up to the election.
President Donovan canceled all of his campaign events and pulled all advertising, telling the country it was no time for politics as the government was in a state of flux with such high ranking officials in jail. Meanwhile, his daughter Sydney created a charitable foundation.
A scholarship fund in the name of the lone hostage who was killed, seventeen year old Jordan Reese.
The First Daughter immediately went on a fundraising tour, crisscrossing the country to honor her fallen friend. But she seemed different than the lovable teen America had grown to admire; now more adult, focused, and all business. She enlisted her childhood friend Scott Rusch, America’s latest hero, to do the same on a different itinerary. “Divide and conquer,” said the spunky redhead. “Scott and I can raise twice as much if we do it separately. And we need to strike while the iron is hot. We need to tell her story while it is still fresh in everyone’s mind.”
Rusch, instrumental in taking down his own father who was the mastermind behind the takeover, has been quiet about the relationship he had with his estranged parents. “You’ll learn everything during the trial. Right now I’m focused on honoring Jordan.” He and Miss Donovan have been drawing huge crowds while collecting a sizable amount of cash.
Still, Americans are starving for more information about the White House takeover. While many of the little details are unknown, reporter Gina Collins will most likely be the person to tell the whole story. Literary agents and publishers have been beating a path to her door offering massive book deals. The network reporter who was instrumental in fooling the enemy has been tight-lipped about any literary endeavors, but continues to offer new details on a daily basis during her evening broadcasts. For the first time in a long time, approval ratings for the media have actually gone up.
NOVEMBER 12TH
Gina Collins needed a mental health day. Actually, she needed several.
Thankfully the network owed her big time and gave her a four day weekend after all the excitement from Election Day and the hostage situation had died down.
The November sun felt good on her face, the unseasonably warm temperatures perfect for a walk along the Potomac. Incognito under a baseball hat and her eyes hidden by sunglasses, she walked unnoticed along the river with a spring in her step. She found a bench under a cherry tree, sat down, began to unpack her lunch from her favorite deli, and leaned back with a book she’d been meaning to read forever.
But it was hard to concentrate after the events of the past days.
She was being called an American hero. The reporter who had broadcast fake news and saved everyone.
Incredibly, no one was mad at her. No one cared about the journalism lines she’d crossed. The ends had truly justified the means.
Hollywood had already contacted her about the rights to a movie.
Several major publishers wanted a book and were engaged in a bidding war.
After years under the radar, she was now, according to just about every publication in America, television’s “It Girl.”
The book had drawn her in, letting her lose herself in another world. She took a sip of a cream soda, noting a few Canada geese arriving in her peripheral vision, gently landing in the water. The park bench shifted a bit and she glanced over to see a middle-aged woman in sunglasses and a hat unfold a newspaper as she leaned back. “Hi. Beautiful day.”
The woman looked over the top of the paper at the scene in front of them. “Yes, it certainly is. I love this time of year.” She cocked her head at Gina’s book. “That any good?”
“Very. Check it out if you like sci-fi.”
“I will, though I generally prefer non-fiction, Gina.”
Gina’s eyes widened a bit as she studied the woman’s face.
That voice.
Jane.
“You’re Jane.”
The woman gave her a slight smile. “Not my real name, but it will do.”
“You been following me?”
“Just today. Wanted to say thank you personally.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“You were apprehensive, though, at first.”
Gina nodded. “I have to admit, it was way out of my comfort zone. But I’m happy the way it turned out.”
“We are as well.”
“May I ask what agency you work for?”
“You may ask...”
Gina laughed a bit. “Hey, I had to give it a shot.”
“That’s why you’re a great reporter. Seriously, though, we couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”
“I’m still amazed it worked.”
Jane turned the page on the newspaper, still pretending to read. “So, how does it feel to be the network’s latest it girl? That’s what everyone is calling you.”
“I feel like the it girl who has been run over by a truck. Honestly, I’m exhausted. But for once, the public doesn’t hate the media. And I’ve never felt more loved.”
“Well, you deserve it.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“I spend my whole life as a reporter being unbiased, totally objective, committed to getting just the facts. And I never really got anywhe
re. Always passed over for the best jobs, always stuck with the stories no one wanted. The one time I broadcast something totally bogus I catch the brass ring.” She shook her head and laughed. “The old newsroom joke came true.”
“What’s that?”
“Never let the facts get in the way of a good story.”
Jane smiled and nodded. “In this case, very true.” She folded the newspaper and put it on the bench. “So, are you going to stick with the news business? I understand you have some very lucrative offers from publishers to write a book.”
“I don’t know. It’s too much to process right now. Personally, I’d like to do both. Journalism is in my blood and I love covering politics. And if I did leave and wrote the book, what would I do after that?”
“I’m sure you could write your own ticket. And who knows, there might be more brass rings out there you haven’t even considered.” She reached over and patted Gina on the hand. “Well, I need to go, but thank you again. Your country is forever in your debt.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Jane got up and left. Gina leaned back, looking at the geese as they peacefully swam in the river, then noticed the newspaper on the bench. She grabbed the paper and turned. “Hey, you forgot—”
Jane was gone.
An envelope fell out of the paper.
With the seal of the President of the United States.
She opened it, pulled out a single sheet, and read.
Gina,
Since we have both been extremely busy I have not had the chance to thank you personally for all that you have done. Once things settle down I would like to have you as a guest for dinner at the White House so that Sydney and I can spend some quality time with you in person.
I know you to be someone who values her privacy, so I did not want to create any more media speculation about your future by meeting face to face right now. That said, my Press Secretary will be retiring at the end of my first term and I would be honored if you would consider taking his place. I can think of no one else who would be a better representative.
Say the word and the job is yours.
-Frank Donovan
Her jaw dropped. “Oh. My. God.”
She read the letter again, then gently folded it like a precious heirloom and placed it back in the envelope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
January 20th, Inauguration Day
Sydney’s 18th birthday
Sydney placed her hands on her father’s shoulders as they reached the center of the dance floor, noting a faraway look in his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m thinking the same thing. I miss her every day. She should be here, dancing with you.”
The music started and President Donovan started to lead. “I know, but I’m blessed that you’re here. I came awfully close to losing you, Sydney. I don’t ever want to go through something like that again. And even though she’s gone, I see her in you more and more each day.”
“This doesn’t feel like the last one. The inaugural ball, I mean.”
“Tonight is more a celebration of life than winning the election. After what we went through I honestly wouldn’t have cared if I’d lost. There are things more important than politics.”
“Yeah, but the country needs you as much as I do. I’ll get you back full time in four years.”
“Until you hit thirty-five and run for President.”
“Not happenin’. Once you’re done, I want to get as far away from this city as possible.”
“No argument here.”
Sydney rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and thinking of Jordan Reese. “I really like what you’re about to do, Dad.”
He pulled her closer, she hugged him tight. They didn’t talk for the rest of the song.
The music ended to polite applause. President Donovan walked over to a podium while Sydney headed to a table, picked up a large box, and joined her father as he adjusted the microphone. “Good evening, and thank you all for coming. While I understand it was important for many to continue the traditions of Inauguration Day, and this ball is a way to thank my most loyal supporters... this time things are different. Tonight is not about campaign slogans, or speeches, or how many electoral votes we won. While I am indebted to my campaign staff that did a wonderful job to insure my re-election, tonight is a night for true heroes. Many of us in this room went through a harrowing experience a few months ago. Those of us who survived are all lucky to be alive. That said, I’d like to take this opportunity to honor those who saved lives on that fateful day. Especially the life of my daughter. When I call your name, please come forward.”
Sydney opened the box, took out a medal on a ribbon and handed it to her father.
Donovan looked out at the crowd. “Our first honoree this evening is Secret Service Agent Jim Ryan.” He waited a beat as Ryan stood up and headed for the podium, walking slowly with a cane to thunderous applause. “As you know, Agent Ryan took a bullet protecting my daughter and several young people while formulating a plan that kept them safe. For service above and beyond the call of duty, I award you the Presidential Medal of Freedom.” He placed the medal around Ryan’s neck and shook his hand.
Sydney moved toward him and gave him a strong hug. She pulled back and locked eyes with him. “Thank you for keeping me alive.”
“Thank you for helping, Spitfire. We’re a good team.”
“That we are. Can’t wait for you to get back.”
The crowd applauded as Ryan headed back to his seat.
“Agent Ryan will continue as my daughter’s personal guard when he is fully recovered,” said the President. “I wouldn’t trust her life with anyone else.” Sydney handed him another medal as the ceremony continued. The President handed out medals to Scott, Andrea, Vince, Kyle, Agent Lauria, Gladys and new Press Secretary Gina Collins. “And now I will let my daughter take care of our final honor. Sydney...”
She moved to the microphone and adjusted it. “While all of the people who have just received medals were part of a great team, I would not be alive if not for the actions of the one person who cannot be with us tonight.” She paused a moment, feeling her eyes well up. “Jordan Reese gave her life to save mine. You know the story of how she jumped in front of me, taking a bullet meant for me. While killing one of the terrorists.” Her voice started to crack and she wiped away a tear. “When I asked her why she did that, she said, You kept missing. Told you I was a good shot.” The words grew thick in her throat. “She should be here instead of me. But she was a true hero, giving her life for someone she barely knew, which made her a patriot in the truest sense of the word. I think of her every day, as I will for the rest of my life, and I will continue to raise money for the scholarship fund that bears her name so that her spirit will live on. I wish she were here to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom, but I am happy that her parents are here to accept this honor in her memory.”
Jordan’s parents got up to a warm standing ovation. Sydney greeted them both with hugs. President Donovan presented them with the medal. When the applause died down her father wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “You did a great job. Now you can take off with your friends.”
She furrowed her brow. “Don’t you need me here for the rest of the ball?”
“It’s your birthday. You don’t need to spend it with a bunch of campaign donors and stuffed-shirt politicians.” He pointed at Scott. “Besides, there’s another event that requires your attendance.”
“Huh? I thought this was the only ball.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, go to your birthday party. And please look surprised when you get there.”
She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”
“You too, Shortcake. Happy birthday.”
SYDNEY SAID GOODNIGHT to everyone, watched the elevator door close, and then locked it out. She headed back to the kitchen where she found Scott actually cleaning up. “You d
o realize this was an excuse to get you alone down here in the bunker, right?”
He looked up as he continued to clean off a table. “Huh?”
“Asking you to stay and help me.” She grabbed the dish towel from him, tossed it on the counter and took his hands. “We can clean up later. Am I getting through to you yet?” She playfully tapped a knuckle on his head. “Hel-loooo! You. Me. Bunker. Alone.”
He developed a sheepish grin. “Oh, sorry. I just got it. Forgive me for being clueless sometimes about women.”
“It’s actually kind of endearing.”
“Very funny.”
She held up the elevator key and dangled it in front of him. “By the way, I control the elevator, so you can’t get away.”
“Why would I want to?”
“Now that’s the perfect answer. See, you’re not clueless. You’re catching on.”
“Besides, who am I to challenge a girl who takes what she wants?”
“Ah, I see you understand the rules of the Spitfire.”
“I do.” He laughed a bit. “So, I guess you had a pretty unique birthday. Not many people get a parade and go to a black tie ball to dance with the President of the United States when they turn eighteen.”
“Just a perk of being born on January twentieth. But along with all that, I got some great gifts from my friends. Especially yours. I love that leather jacket with Spitfire embroidered on the front. And it’s cold enough for me to wear tomorrow.”
“Glad you like it. It matches your dad’s Commander-in-Chief jacket and I thought it suited you. So, I guess you got everything you could possibly want.”
“Well... not quite.”
He furrowed his brow. “Not sure I understand. An inaugural ball, a parade and a surprise party aren’t enough?”
“Okay, I guess I need to explain. And let me preface this by saying I really needed time after what happened to Jordan and didn’t feel like doing anything of a social nature. I wouldn’t seem right so soon after her death.”