Presidential Shift

by C. G. Cooper

  The explosion was close. He knew the area well. He’d lived in Orange Beach for years and had either ridden or stumbled through most of its roadways and byways. The amphitheater was ten blocks from his one bedroom condo.

  He’d heard about the first lady’s visit, as had anyone who read or watched the news in the off-season beach town. Not that he cared other than to grumble about the increased traffic on the normally barren streets. A familiar prickle flitted up his neck. It had never failed to warn him of danger.

  More curious than concerned, Maynor slipped on his black leather riding vest with Leathernecks U.S.M.C and an eagle, globe and anchor emblazened in Marine Corps red and yellow on the back, pocketed his Colt 1911 and slipped the sheathed Kabar into the back of his waistband.

  A minute later, his motorcycle rumbled to life, and Maynor headed toward the mayhem.

  +++

  Cal was lucky to have been on the opposite side of the stage. Still, he was thrown back by the force of the explosion. Ears ringing, heart pounding, the Marine moved toward the chaos. Blood and body parts littered the stage. He’d seen it before, but the absolute devastation of human life sickened him. However, unlike most people, it angered him to action.

  He pushed past three of the four Hollywood heavyweights who stood with gore-splattered faces, staring down at their companion, the soul singer, whose head sat split in half by a piece of debris. Cal jumped off the stage nearly slipping on what looked like a woman’s bloody stump of a hand.

  The epicenter of the blast was clear. Screaming and moaning concert-goers crawled in no general direction. Cal was joined by two Secret Service agents, who were similarly deafened by the blast.

  “Is the first lady safe?” Cal bellowed.

  Both of the agents nodded like robots, their normally stoic faces wide-eyed. It had happened on their watch, again. Cal could read the implications in their look.

  “Where is she?” Cal asked.

  One of the suited agents pointed over his shoulder. “They took her away in the helo.”

  Good, thought Cal. One less thing to worry about.

  “Hey!” Cal had to yell again to get their attention. Their heads snapped around. “Start triaging the wounded, I’ll…” Just then he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone. It was Daniel.

  “Yeah?” he answered.

  He couldn’t hear a damn thing, so instead he said, “Text it to me, Briggs. My ears are shit right now.”

  Turning back to the agents, Cal moved to help a woman who’d lost both arms and was silently screaming in pain. “Dammit,” mumbled Cal.

  +++

  Daniel couldn’t text. He was on the heels of the guy he’d followed from the arena, and who had jammed into a sprint after the explosion. At least Cal was safe. He trusted his boss and instead focused on running faster. The guy had a good lead. Daniel, as was his fashion, said a silent prayer that his abilities not fail.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Daniel’s prayer was answered. A motorcycle roared around the corner and a smile spread across Daniel’s face at the sight of the Marine emblem on the rider’s jacket.

  “Marine!” he yelled at the rider, who quickly caught up to Daniel.

  “Need a ride?” said the rider, as he pulled up alongside the sprinting sniper.

  Daniel nodded and jumped onto the back of the Harley, shaking his head. Send in the Marines, he thought, saying thanks to the Almighty once again.

  +++

  Steve Stricklin saw Cal’s friend sneak out of the concert. On a hunch, he followed at a safe distance. Minutes later, the explosion had rocked the surrounding area. Stricklin looked back, contemplating going to help, but thought better of it. He didn’t want anything to do with another attack. Too much mess. Too much paperwork. Stricklin didn’t have the strongest stomach. He’d once wretched at the sight of two decapitated Iraqi soldiers after a particularly brutal battle.

  No. Maybe Cal’s buddy knew something. Maybe he, Special Agent Steve Stricklin, could intercept the culprit. Visions of glory followed him as he commandeered a vehicle to shadow the two men on the motorcycle.

  +++

  Daniel and the motorcycle driver caught up to the running man quickly. As if it was something he’d practiced before, the biker extracted his pistol, revved up next to the runner, and delivered a vicious blow to the man’s neck. The momentum of the swing and the motorcycle sent the man sprawling.

  Daniel hopped off and drew his own weapon, taking a bead on the man struggling to rise. “Stay down!” ordered Daniel.

  “You need help, kid?” asked the Harley rider, who was even now stepping up next to Daniel, his weapon also aimed at the struggling suspect.

  “Yeah. Thanks for the help. Marine?”

  “Former Lance Corporal Don Maynor at your service.”

  Daniel didn’t have time to respond because another voice sounded from behind them. “Drop your weapons and get on the ground!”

  +++

  Stricklin couldn’t believe his luck. Not only had he caught up to the Cal’s pal, he’d also caught the man and his new companion unaware.

  “I said, drop your weapons and get on the ground!” he yelled, a bit louder.

  “I can’t do that, sir,” said Daniel. “This man is a suspect in the attack.”

  Stricklin inched closer, wary of the two men with pistols extended. He noticed the Marine logo on the motorcycle rider’s back and scowled. It looked to him like a bit of a redneck gathering. Maybe he could bust all three.

  “I am an FBI agent,” Stricklin started.

  “Let me guess, Johnny Utah?” Maynor asked, lacing his voice with sufficient sarcasm to make Daniel smile.

  “Excuse me? No, I am Special Agent Stricklin…”

  The voice and the named clicked for Daniel. “Sir, we met last night. My name is Briggs. I’m a friend of…”

  “I know who you are, Marine.” He said Marine like he was saying a word that disgusted him, stepping the final feet to stand behind Briggs and Maynor. “For the last time, drop your…”

  Before he could utter another syllable, Maynor swung around and swept the butt of his pistol across Stricklin’s temple. The cocky agent hit the pavement, unconscious.

  Daniel barely moved. “I guess I should say you shouldn’t have done that, but…”

  “But the guy’s an asshole, I know,” finished Maynor. “Come on. We better get this other guy loaded and get the hell out of here. I don’t wanna be around when Special Agent Utah wakes up. He might try to throw more Point Break lines at us.”

  The Marine sniper chuckled and moved to secure their prisoner. Maynor checked to see that Stricklin was still breathing. He was, although he’d have a nasty headache for a day or two. Maynor didn’t care. He had a feeling the kid with the blond ponytail would take care of any hassles the prick agent might concoct.

  +++

  Sirens and blaring lights welcomed them back to the arena as Maynor pulled the overloaded Harley up to the curb. The smell of carnage and destruction led them inside. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you can’t come in here,” said a portly local cop.

  Daniel flashed his ID badge and stepped around the barricade, dragging his suspect along by the wrists. It wasn’t hard to find Cal, although his appearance made Daniel hesitate. His hair plastered his head in sweat, and his shirt and trousers were covered in darkening blood. Cal waved them over.

  “Who are these guys?” asked Cal, pointing.

  “Prisoner and Marine,” answered Daniel. Cal looked the two up and down.

  “You know how to keep your mouth shut, Marine?” Cal asked, scowling.

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” replied Maynor, meeting Cal’s stare with equal intensity.

  Despite the situation, Cal grinned. “Okay. We’ve got a Secret Service helo picking us up in ten, then Trav has a plane waiting at the airport. I think you better come along, Mister…”

  “Maynor. Don Maynor.”

  Cal nodded. “Welco
me to the clusterfuck, Maynor.”

  Chapter 14

  Enroute to Reagan National

  11:42am, December 18th

  A surly Secret Service agent had almost prevented their departure from the arena. “I can’t let you take these men with you, sir. My orders are to take yourself and Mr. Briggs. No one said a thing about the other two.”

  Cal might normally sympathize with the agent’s predicament, but at the moment, covered in gore, head pounding and throat parched, the Marine was in no mood. “How about I get the president on the line and tell him you’re obstructing his investigation?”

  The agent’s eyebrows raised. He’d been told by his superiors to give Stokes and Briggs every accommodation. That meant the order had originated from the president or one of his staff. Instead of fighting it, he ushered the four men onto the helicopter.

  Less than ten minutes later, they touched down at Pensacola Naval Air Station, escorts in tow. A Gulfstream waited, and Cal didn’t waste a second saying thank you. Instead he hopped out and led the way to their next ride.

  Once they’d secured the prisoner to one of the leather chairs in the front row, Cal pulled out his phone. “Sir, it’s Stokes. Yes, sir. We’re on our way. No, sir. I think they can take care of it. We’ll see you soon.” Cal ended the call.

  “The president says the first lady’s fine. A little shaken, of course, but okay. You wanna tell me this guy’s story?” he asked, pointing at the bloody-faced detainee.

  Daniel ran through the story of the chase, included Stricklin’s miraculous appearance.

  “Fucking prick,” grumbled Cal, going to run his fingers through his hair, then stopping when he remembered the gore on his hands.

  “Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt, but where the hell are we going?” asked Maynor, more curious than worried. “I left my bike back at the amphitheater.”

  “D.C. We need to brief the president. You’re along for the ride now. Besides, I don’t want Stricklin getting his hands on you. I’ll deal with him.” By the look in Cal’s eyes, Maynor didn’t doubt it.

  One thing nagged. “How can I help?” asked Maynor.

  “You guys ever use the term Semper Gumby back in your day?”

  Maynor nodded with a smile.

  “Semper Gumby, Maynor. Semper Fucking Gumby.”

  +++

  They couldn’t pry much out of the man, whose name turned out to be William “Billy” Ingersol. Billy was a third generation moonshiner from outside Montgomery, Alabama. He and the exploding man, Michael “Mikey” Lincoln, had been friends since kindergarten.

  “I swear I didn’t know nothin’,” pleaded Billy, tears punctuating his statement. “Mikey said he wanted to go to the show. I thought he was fucking crazy, but he paid for everything, even the place we stayed at.”

  “You said he wasn’t feeling well this morning. Do you remember how long he’d been like that?” Cal questioned.

  Billy shook his head. “We hadn’t hung out in a while. He got a job drivin’ semis a few months back. He called me a week ago about the concert and we drove down yesterday. Mikey started complainin’ this mornin’, I swear.”

  Cal stared at the scared man. If the guy had anything to do with the attack, he didn’t give a hint. “Look. Your buddy Mikey blew himself up, killing a lot of people and almost killing the first lady. I won’t sugar coat it for you. Life’s gonna suck for all of us for the next few weeks.”

  “Oh, God!” Billy’s head thumped forward as his chin hit his chest, heaving with sobs.

  Cal motioned to the back of the plane. Daniel and Maynor followed.

  “What do you, think?” Cal asked Daniel.

  “Sounds like he’s telling the truth. You think someone surgically implanted a IED in his friend’s stomach?”

  “No fucking way,” whispered Maynor.

  Cal nodded. “Just like they’re doing in the Middle East. Animals. We need to find out who’s behind it. Let’s send what we’ve got to the Secret Service. CC Neil on it too, and have him start digging.”

  +++

  Stricklin woke to a splitting headache and a stray dog licking his face. Pushing himself up to his hands and knees, he tried to piece together what had happened. Blurry. His focus had been on the Marine with the blond hair when…the memory faded as his consciousness threatened to give way again. Instead, he convulsed, head flying forward, vomiting on the pavement, retching until all the contents from his stomach lay pooled on the ground.

  Cold sweat sprouted on his face as he rose shakily to his feet, patting his pockets, looking for his cell phone. He finally found it, shattered, ten feet away.

  Stumbling out of the alleyway, he made his way to the car he’d commandeered earlier.

  +++

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” The president asked his wife, who was on a flight back to D.C. aboard an MV-22 Osprey, part of VMM-263 out of MCAS New River, North Carolina, but who’d happened to have a contingent in Pensacola for training. They were about to drop the first lady and her security in Birmingham where a faster mode of transport sat waiting.

  “For the last time, I’m fine. Please focus on the dead and wounded. Oh, God, if you could have seen…”

  “Try not to think about it. We’ve got everyone working on it, Secret Service, FBI, NSA,” soothed the president. He could hear the first lady sniffling, wishing he could hold her, comfort her.

  “Do you have any leads? Anything?” Her voice cracked as she asked.

  The president hesitated. He didn’t want to give his wife false hope. “We have a team headed back here now. They may have a witness.”

  “I want to be there.” Her intensity flared through the phone.

  “Honey, I don’t think that’s—.”

  “No. This was my concert. Those were my people.”

  The president exhaled, knowing he was in a no-win situation. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  +++

  “I think that’s a really bad idea, sir.” Cal sat, eyes closed, shaking his head. “Yes, sir. We’ll see you soon.”

  Cal slammed the phone down and cursed under his breath.

  “What happened?” asked Daniel.

  It took Cal a moment to answer. He didn’t want to snap at his friend. “The president and the first lady are meeting us at the airport. He says she wanted to be there when they question Billy.” He motioned to the front of the plane, where their prisoner slept fitfully. They’d finally had to sedate him for fear of him having a nervous breakdown, or worse. “I say we drop him off, then make our way back to the house in Arlington.” SSI kept a modest home, sort of a safe house, close to the capitol in case employees had to stay overnight. Mostly it was used by SSI staff taking their families sight-seeing in the nation’s capitol. Cal had already checked, and no one was using it.

  “How about you? You gonna get cleaned up before we see the president?” Daniel asked, pointing at his boss’s blood-crusted clothing.

  Cal looked down as if he’d forgotten his appearance. “I’m going like this. If they can’t take it…”

  Maynor whistled. “You’ve got some balls, brother.”

  Cal leveled him with a stare. The glare softened into a grin. “Semper Fi.”

  +++

  Escorted by what looked like half the Secret Service, and a hefty police contingent, the president rolled into Reagan National Airport, effectively shutting down all traffic. Minutes later, he met the first lady’s plane as it taxied to the secluded gate. He rushed up the stairs before his cadre of agents could react, and found his wife with a mascara-streaked face rising to deplane. Enveloping her in a tight embrace, he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Suddenly realizing the eyes around them, they parted and kissed chastely. “Is the witness here yet?” asked the first lady.

  “They’ll be here in a few minutes. We’re meeting them inside.”

  +++

  Five minutes later, the Gulfstream touched down and taxied to the spot vacated by the First lady’
s transport. Billy was still passed out, so Cal instructed the interrogation team sent by the Secret Service to carry him out. Cal’s team debarked, finding a platoon of black clad operators waiting on the tarmac.

  More than one man stared at Cal, who looked like he’d just stepped out of a horror movie. Ignoring the looks, Cal followed the lead agents into the terminal outpost.

  +++

  “Jesus,” exclaimed the president as Cal walked in.

  “I’m sorry for my appearance, sir, but—.”

  The president waved the apology away. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I take it that the man they just carried in is the witness?”

  Cal hesitated, looking around the small room where over twenty staffers and assorted agents stood listening. “Can we talk somewhere private, sir?”

  The president nodded, motioning for one of the agents to lead the way. Once tucked safely into a small conference room down the hallway, Cal filled the president in on what they’d gleaned from the friend of the bomber.

  “You don’t think he knows anything?” asked the president, obviously skeptical.

  “I’m sure your guys can do a much better job interrogating him than I can, but he seemed genuinely surprised, and scared. Has the Secret Service or the FBI come up with anything?”

  “No. They haven’t found…”

  The first lady burst into the room, frantic. “Where is he? Where is the man they brought in?” Her gaze stopped on blood-soaked Cal.

  “Honey, you remember Cal Stokes. He’s the Marine you met…”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she pressed. “Where is that man?”

  Cal placed a hand on the president’s arm. “Ma’am, we had to sedate him on the way up here. They’re waiting for him to come out of it now.”