by Anne Fox
“Senator, you will allow a sample to be taken from your palm,” the Secret Service agent said, “or we will forcibly take one.”
Fear crept into the Senator’s eyes. He hesitated, then extended his hand. The specialist wiped a swab across his palm and bagged it in an evidence bag, labelling it with the pertinent data needed to identify it.
“You know what will be found when that swab is analyzed,” the Secret Service agent said.
The Senator remained silent, regarding the agent apprehensively.
“Do you know what a charge of threatening the life of the President entails?” the agent asked. “It doesn’t matter if you happen to be a senator.”
A tear slid down the Senator’s cheek. “I’m an old man,” he said. “I don’t want to die in a federal prison.”
“Then you may wish to mitigate the consequences of your actions,” the agent said. “We know the others are involved. If you wish to cooperate, that would certainly be conveyed to the court.”
“I’d like to talk with the other Senators,” he said.
The agent walked back into the Oval Office with the Senator, accompanied by other agents.
“They know,” the Senator said to the others.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” one of the other Senators said. “We should never have gone along with it.”
The President stood, dumbfounded. “I can’t believe you conspired against me this way,” he said. “The leaders of my own party! Why?”
“Because you’re not with the agenda,” one of the Senators said. “You’re not a team player. You cross the aisle at every opportunity. You’re not in our camp.”
“Don’t any of you see the polls?” the President asked. “Don’t you see what being less partisan is doing for the party? We have higher approvals than we’ve had in the past couple of decades. What I’m doing is the way to solidify the electorate behind the party. It’s the way to be the people’s party and enjoy a solid leadership in Congress. With the people behind us, we can move the country forward rather than be stalemated at every turn by partisanship.”
“We don’t want bipartisan cooperation,” one of the Senators hissed. “We want you to toe the party line. The Second Lady is absolutely right. You were the wrong choice to head the ticket. We should have put her husband at the top, not you.”
“So, this was her idea,” the President said.
“Yes, it was her idea,” the Senator with the drug on his hand said. “She knew all about the 3-methoxy-PCP, and that you can even get it legally as a veterinary drug. Remember, she had a business. A drug analysis firm that does employee drug testing. She’s got a degree in pharmacology herself.”
The President turned to the Secret Service agent. “Arrest her,” he said.
Two Secret Service agents walked up to the front door of Number One Observatory Circle and greeted the agent already stationed there. “We’re here for the Second Lady,” one of them said.
Knocking, the door was opened to them by one of the Vice President’s staff. They were taken into the house to where the Vice President and Second Lady were spending a quiet evening.
“We’re very sorry, Mr. Vice President,” one of them began,
“but we’re here to take the Second Lady into custody.”
“What? What for?” the Vice President asked.
“The Second Lady is being charged with an attempt on the life of the President, Sir.”
“What?! This is ludicrous!”
“There is a great deal of evidence to support the charge, Sir. As well as the confessions of the five Senators who were her co-conspirators.” He turned to the Second Lady. “Madam, you have the right to remain silent...”
“I know my rights. You don’t have to continue reading them to me. I wave them.” She stood up. “Yes, I did it,” she said. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. It was necessary for the good of the country.”
“My God! What did you do?” the Vice President exclaimed.
“We were drugging him,” she said dispassionately. “We thought his behavior would get him removed under the Twenty-fifth Amendment if the accusations of Article Two violations were unsuccessful, but we couldn’t even get the numbers in Congress we needed to do that.” She grew angry. “The Congress is a weak, ineffectual body. They lack the courage to do anything, even when a President clearly appears to be out of his very mind. And this President is not loyal to the party. He’s not a team player. He should never have been elected President! The party knows what’s best for the country, and he’s nothing but a traitor to the party!”
“How could you do this? How could you commit such an atrocious act?” the Vice President asked.
“Because YOU wouldn’t do it!” she shrieked. “Because you wouldn’t stand up for yourself and assert your rightful position on the ticket. YOU should be the one in the Oval Office, NOT HIM!”
“In breaking news, the United States Secret Service today revealed that a conspiracy involving five senators and the Second Lady sought to discredit the President through a concerted effort to expose him to a potent illicit drug that altered his behavior...”
“It would be nice to have a beer or two after this one,” Amigo said.
“No, thanks,” Hank said. “Take it from me: being out of it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
19
Hank walked into Doc Andy’s office.
“Hello, Hank. How can I help you?” the doctor asked.
“I need a little something from your drawer,” she said, sitting on the edge of his desk and sliding it open.
Doc Andy watched her emotionlessly as she rummaged through his “special” drawer’s contents. “This one, I think,” she said, making a selection.
Doc Andy gave her a look. “Is everything alright between you and Spud?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”
“Because the last time you took any of that was before the fraternization rule change,” he said. “And that was on my recommendation, given the toy you had selected.”
Hank laughed. “I see what you’re getting at,” she said. “No, I’m not having to... rely on my toy,” she added.
Doc Andy’s eyes were asking for an explanation.
“You see, Doc Andy, as I’m sure you’ve at least been told... Spud is a... generous man. We’ve simply exhausted the supply of this that both he and I had prior to becoming a ‘spousal unit.’ And sometimes I need a little help, if you know what I mean. Not that I’m complaining.”
“As long as you don’t ask me to apply it,” Doc Andy said, just as clinically as he’d rendered his prior remarks.
Hank laughed. “I think Spud likes it better when I do that,” she said. She smiled at him, tossed the item up in the air, and caught it again, sliding off his desk and heading for the door. As she approached it, she heard the door lock.
She stood at the door, back to the doctor, slumped sideways, one hand on a hip. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Doc Andy. We’re not going to have this conversation again, are we? Open the damned fucking door.”
“Hank...”
“Right now!”
“Hank, I’m not trying to restrain you,” Doc Andy began, his voice having adopted his typical clinical tone. “I understand you have... much better things to do. I’m simply suggesting a swap.”
Hank turned and looked at him.
He rummaged through the drawer himself. Taking out a different variety of what she had taken, he looked at her stoically and placed it on his desk.
Walking over, she picked it up and read the label. Smiling a little, she said, “This sounds interesting.” She put her own selection down on his desk and took the one he’d offered. Giving him a grin, she turned and made for the door, which obligingly opened for her this time.
The next day, walking into the cafeteria with Spud, she noticed that Doc Andy was there, drinking a cup of coffee. Spud went directly to the coffee pot himself, turning to look at Doc Andy with a grin on his face.
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Hank walked over, and leaning down to him, whispered, “Thank you so much. That was... very nice.”
With a little smile, he whispered back, “You’re very welcome. I’ll be sure to keep that one in stock.”
Having seen but not heard the interaction, Edge remarked to Voice, “I wonder what that was all about?”
About the Author
Anne Fox spends her time traveling, writing, and spending time with her four cats in El Paso, Texas. An avid firearms enthusiast, instructor, and competitive marksman, as well as an FAA-certified commercial pilot, The Unit series marries her love for marksmanship and flying via an overly-active imagination to answer the question “What if?”