Roy's Independence Day

by M. L. Buchman

  The tension between the nuclear powers of India and Pakistan as seen through the lens of current Indian military purchases and at-home manufacturing efforts of military products. The delicate alliance balances among the vastly different countries in ASEAN, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations who had been enemies for thousands of years and were now discovering how to be trade partners. The…

  Sienna’s knowledge was encyclopedic and her insights laser sharp. She delivered them not as he would have, with a get-a-clue tone, but instead with a gentleness that he was rapidly learning was her trademark. A gentleness backed by an intellect too powerful to ignore.

  But as the evening progressed, he found his favorite moments to be when it was just the two of them. That’s when she relaxed and was able to tease him about not having worn a suit in over a year, and he learned more about what it had been like growing up as a girl with a military father. When he caught himself keeping a mental list of things he would and wouldn’t do when he became a father, he practically choked on the beer he’d managed to scrounge up from somewhere amid all of the champagne and cocktails.

  # # #

  Sienna had managed to make her first glass of white wine last most of the evening. She’d also survived the evening, which she certainly wouldn’t have without Roy’s stalwart support. She’d worked a dozen years toward this goal without realizing quite what she was doing.

  Her father’s fascination with the strengths and shortcomings of the American military complex had become his daughter’s. She’d double majored in military history and political science. And that was before her graduate work in socioeconomics and geopolitics.

  She’d been too busy during her first week of being the National Security Advisor to realize she actually was the NSA. This evening had brought that home with a vengeance and Roy had been the only anchor that kept her from sitting down and whimpering in a corner. With each successive little “chat” she’d become more and more who she already was. It was a more powerful transition than her valedictorian speech at Yale’s Jackson Institute graduation ceremony with her Masters in International Relations clutched tightly in her hand.

  Sienna had started the evening deciding that survival was going to be ninety percent “Honey badger don’t give a shit!” and ten percent Roy Beaumont. But there was something about the way Roy kept looking at her, and adding one of his straightforward, practical world explanations that illuminated particularly complex scenarios, that had her shifting that assessment. By the end of the evening she decided it was about forty percent Roy, twenty percent honey badger, and just maybe forty percent her as well. Their “cooperative dynamic” was both encouraging and intimate. But beyond that it was familiar and easy, as if she and Roy had been doing this sort of thing since forever rather than having met just a week ago.

  A few people had left. As with any party, the first wave mostly included those who had grown bored through their own lack of popularity. She judged that she could perhaps slip away with the next tier of departures, which would include those with unfinished work or other plans for the evening.

  Roy hadn’t given her a single smug look about finding out a piece of Frank and Beatrice’s story. Not one hint that by their “deal” there was a potential for something more happening between them this evening. Perhaps she understood. Roy was the perfect gentleman and what they’d found out about the heads of the First Family’s two protection details was not grounds for any hint of smugness.

  “Excusez-moi.” French Ambassador Magda Armand came up to them. She was one of those effortlessly elegant women. Several inches taller than Sienna, with a fall of silver-white hair. Her husband appeared a mismatch, ever so slightly round and frumpy despite his immaculate suit. He was now snoozing quietly in one of the armchairs with a book in his lap and an unfinished glass of port on a nearby table. For an instant she wondered how much Roy would pay to be allowed to do the same, though he’d shown no signs of wishing to be anywhere other than at her side.

  “Bonsoir, Madame Ambassador.” Sienna’s burgeoning thoughts of escape momentarily quashed, she became intensely aware of the fact that her feet were killing her. For any future parties she would wear flats, no matter what others said, especially if they were as elegant as the Madame Ambassador’s.

  “As your friend does not speak French, we will converse in English.”

  Roy bowed his head in mute acknowledgement, thoughtfully deferring to the fact that the ambassador had sought out Sienna. After so many years associating with the military and the commensurate male assumption that the man was of course the center of attention, Roy was still a constant surprise.

  “You know of our security challenges.”

  Sienna did. “Generally open borders combined with being one of the most active allies in combating terrorist organizations. It has made your country a prime target.”

  “Yes. Precisely. My country would be very interested in hearing the insights of America’s National Security Advisor on improvement of our borders’ strengths. You very much impressed General Dumont while vous étiez présent at USEUCOM.”

  “I would be glad to speak with him at his convenience.” And watch her jammed schedule force her personal life to disappear even further than it already had. Not that she’d ever really had one. Actually, with Roy, she’d glimpsed a sliver of hope for a personal life.

  “The challenge, if I may Madame Ambassador,” Roy spoke up, “is that your problem runs far deeper. Your government is seeking to create control in a chaotic world. In the Secret Service we create narrow slices of security, just wide enough for our heads of state to move safely through. Most state security that I’ve studied had been border-based and yet we are a global economy. I have sat for hours at airports watching the number of flights in transit through that one terminal at that one airport. Comprehensive border control is no longer a viable approach.”

  “You are with the Secret Service, non? Does your National Security Advisor need protection even in this environment?” The Ambassador made it a soft joke but there was interest behind it as well.

  Sienna would have to say yes. Maybe especially in this environment—at least for moral support if not for any physical danger.

  “It is my honor to escort Ms. Arnson this evening, Ma’am.”

  The ambassador looked at Sienna for an uncomfortably long moment. “If I may be the advisor for a moment: do not let this one slip through your grasp.”

  “I’ll try, Madame Ambassador,” because how was she supposed to explain this was only their third date. Fourth if she counted Chinese food and ice cream.

  “So, Agent Beaumont, what advice do you have for my little country?”

  “I’m just a sniper, ma’am. You have people in your Ministry of Defence far more skilled than I am at these matters.”

  The ambassador continued to watch him and Sienna kept her mouth shut. Through the evening she’d learned that if there was enough silence, Roy would often step into it with an insight from an unexpected angle. Apparently Magda Armand had made a similar assessment during the times their discussion circles had overlapped this evening.

  “Well,” Roy rubbed at his chin. “I’m from Vermont and we hunt deer there. There was a particularly pretty doe that kept slipping away from me time after time. In the end I stopped doing what I’d always done: setting up blinds in trees to watch on high, tracking along fresh trails used by others, and the like.”

  “I see the analogy,” the ambassador nodded. “How, if ask I may, did you finally capture your doe?”

  “Oh, I didn’t.”

  “What?” Sienna burst out. “Then what’s the point of that story?”

  And finally she could see that she, at least, had walked right into his trap. His smug, knowing smile that she’d been waiting for all evening was finally on show. There was a warmth to it as he turned to gaze at her with his soft blue eyes.

  “I sa
t and waited for her to come to me of her own accord.”

  And Sienna realized that was precisely what Roy had been doing all evening. The perfect gentleman. The thoughtful date. The man who didn’t push or assume. He had indeed watched her from “on high” atop the White House roof and tracked her from museum to White House to a Chinese dinner in her office. But tonight, after he’d won his victory, he had merely bided his time.

  “As I say before…” the ambassador trailed off.

  Sienna knew. “Don’t let him slip away.” She tightened her grasp on the crook of his elbow. After how little she knew him, it should feel abrupt. But by some odd series of events that eluded her, they had skipped past so many of the typically cordial and careful steps of early dating. She knew intimate things about Roy and he of her. They could be months into their relationship, if it had contained more than that one kiss.

  “As to your problem, Madame Ambassador,” Roy turned back to the evening’s guest of honor, knowing full well that he’d left Sienna at least momentarily overwhelmed. “You must stop doing what you’ve always been doing. You are correct, your borders are open. Some of your politicians and popular press talk of trying to close them again, but you touch eight other countries by land alone.”

  “Do not be forgetting the English and their Chunnel.”

  “Nine then, plus sea or air. Your borders are past closing. Your nation and others are still grounded in symmetric thinking in an asymmetric world. Don’t waste time or effort on borders, instead spend all of your energies directly on the problem. To move the President, we don’t lock down a city, instead we secure a path. Sorry I can’t be more specific, ma’am. As I said, I’m just a sniper.”

  “And yet you know our borders enough to remember even Andorra, Monaco, and Luxembourg.” The ambassador watched him for a long time, long enough for Roy to shuffle his feet. Sienna could see him preparing to apologize when the ambassador turned back to Sienna. She rested a warm hand on Sienna’s arm and squeezed it gently.

  “You must come to talk to our people. And you must bring this one with you. Oh, to be young in Paris once again.” She squeezed Sienna’s arm again with a totally different meaning, the first of confidence, then second in a woman-to-woman intimacy that Sienna had little experience with. Then Magda was gone.

  “Wait!” But it was too late. “I don’t have time to go to France,” she told Roy for lack of anyone else to address.

  Before he could respond, Frank Adams stepped up to them.

  “Agent Beaumont. My office. Eight a.m. tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. May I ask why?”

  “The President tells me the NSA is going to France.”

  Roy didn’t even show surprise.

  Sienna considered and decided that she wasn’t surprised either. Magda Armand was not the French Ambassador by chance and must have already spoken with the President. And apparently, what the President knew, Frank Adams knew as well.

  “Which means what to me?” Roy clenched his elbow against his side, as if to squeeze her fingers for reassurance.

  She’d only be gone for a few days, far more than she could afford, but she’d be back.

  Then Frank’s smile turned positively evil as he faced Roy, perhaps finally finding a target for retribution after the forced revelation of his own story.

  “Which means you’re going to need to own more than one suit.”

  Chapter 5

  Their walk back to Sienna’s office passed in silence. Roy was puzzling at Frank’s comment, but becoming no smarter for all his thinking. Maybe Dilya had somehow found out he only owned the one suit and told Adams. But what did it mean? Needing a second suit meant he’d be off the roof more. The White House roof was one of the few places in all of D.C., as far as he could tell, where a man could feel the wind and weather and have some degree of privacy.

  It wasn’t until they reached Sienna’s office that his thoughts turned back to the present.

  He leaned against the door jamb and watched her transformation. As she crossed the threshold her entire demeanor changed. She shifted like a sniper blending into the landscape. In the Residence she had been elegant and patient, thoughtful and unconsciously feminine. No hair flips, hip-swinging sashays, or any of the other wiles he typically observed; instead she was simply a beautiful woman operating in an arena dominated by men.

  In her office she accelerated until she was almost a blur like The Flash: checking phone messages, tapping the space bar for a quick glance at the computer screen—followed by a grimace, probably at the number of new messages as she didn’t pause to actually read any of them.

  In seconds she’d also fetched her coat and changed from heels, that had done some wonderful things to the shape of her calves, into sneakers. It was another thing to like about her. She didn’t retain the heels or change into designer flats. She now wore a tired pair of black converse with a complex white design drawn all over them. They were wholly inappropriate with the fancy dress and somehow wholly appropriate on Sienna Arnson.

  With a startling efficiency, she was soon standing just a step away looking up at him. Looking farther up than he’d grown used to through the evening. Heeled, her five-six had became five-eight. Flat-footed she was made more female. He’d dated women both tall and short, but Sienna kept changing on him.

  And still she merely watched him.

  “What?”

  “You’re blocking the door,” yet she was making no effort to get by him.

  He was. “I am. Must say you have a comfortable door frame.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, but it earned him the laugh he’d been after. Her humor, like everything else, came from all of the way inside. Every one of her emotions was so clear and pure.

  “How did you ever survive what you’ve been through and still be who you are?”

  “Who I am?” As if she didn’t understand the question. She wasn’t playing coy, she really didn’t know what she’d been doing to him all evening.

  Of its own volition, one of his hands reached out to brush down her hair. Between one breath and the next, the NSA was again gone, and Sienna leaned her cheek into his palm.

  He could find no words to express what she was doing to him.

  Unable to resist her, he used that light pressure of cheek to palm to draw her toward him. She could have slipped away by merely straightening her head, but she eased forward as effortlessly and gracefully as any doe walking through the woods.

  He didn’t kiss her first. Or hold her first. Or…they simply came together in a single, body-long sensation from thighs to hands to lips.

  Their first kiss had been a surprising accident of a whirlwind of emotions. Their second was of shared wonder. Roy had never been so aware of so many things at once. Her scent really was honey sweet, like the taste of a distant hive on a summer breeze, full of flowers and life. Her kiss was rich with depth. And her body—he was a goner. Her waist fit his hands as if custom formed for the purpose. When he dared to slide them down the least little bit, the rising curve of her hips brushed the inside of his palms.

  She groaned as he pulled her in tighter, a ripple felt as much chest to chest as mouth to mouth. He couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t get her close enough. Had to—

  “Whoa!” Sienna’s protest came out on a half moan.

  He pulled her in tighter and she gave against him for a long moment, before pulling back.

  “Seriously, Roy. Whoa.”

  How was he supposed to stop when—

  But the lady said stop. Unable to actually let go, he simply held her against him and nestled his face in her hair.

  Her arms didn’t withdraw from around his neck, she too continued to hold him as tightly as he did her.

  Even in the heat of sex he’d never felt a woman the way he felt Sienna against him though they were both still fully clothed.

  The
y remained unmoving for an impossibly long moment—one that he never wanted to end.

  Then she eased a step back out of his arms and he, god help him, let her go. A gap of air formed between them, their final contact was his palm against her cheek that she trapped momentarily against her shoulder before he let his hand drop.

  “Whoa!” She repeated one more time, though he’d already stopped.

  # # #

  “Whoa!” Sienna really needed to stop saying that. Her nerve endings were very, very happy, but her nerves had neared panic mode.

  As her mental faculties slowly reengaged, she became aware again of their surroundings.

  “This is my office.”

  Roy grunted an agreement sort of sound.

  “We nearly did…something in my office.”

  Again the grunt of agreement.

  She looked up at Roy and squinted her eyes at him trying to see the truth of his next answer. “This wasn’t some male marking the female’s territory was it?”

  “I’m not a golden retriever.”

  “No,” she had to agree with that. “More like a German shepherd, warm and cuddly but incredibly dangerous when aroused.”

  His smile told her that hadn’t come out right.

  “Maybe ‘riled’ would have been a better choice of words.”

  “Well, I admit that you’re an arousing kind of lady. But I don’t get riled up much.” His gaze drifted up over her head and scanned the room. “As to pissing on your personal fire hydrant, can’t say as it ever crossed my mind. Frankly your office scares the hell out of me, my Lady Sienna Aphrodite. Every time you stand here, I remember just what the hell you do for a living.”

  She turned and tried to see it through his eyes. It was one of the three largest private offices in the West Wing, other than the Oval of course. Right in a row along the west wall: the Chief of Staff, the Vice President, and the NSA. She had room for her disaster of a desk, a small circle of meeting chairs and a sofa by the window, and a table that could seat ten for a meal or a planning session. Every bit of furnishing and decoration was historic.