COMMANDER IN CHIEF
JA Armstrong
Text © Copyright 2018 Bumbling Bard Creations
All Rights Reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.
ISBN-13: 978-0692070154
ISBN-10: 069207015X
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
Candace Reid listened attentively as each person facing her took a turn apprising her of concerns and potential issues across the globe. The occasional glance at a document presented the only evidence of a diversion in her attention. She accepted a folder from NSA Director Joshua Tate. Her eyes held his momentarily before her hands lifted the cover. The room fell silent as she studied the contents without comment. Page by page, she flipped through the information, committing it to memory and filing away questions that she would need to address beyond this meeting and its participants. She closed the cover and peered over the top of her glasses at Director Tate. “How credible is this information?”
“The sources are credible enough that you’re holding it,” he replied.
Candace nodded her understanding, removed her glasses, and allowed her gaze to meet each person as she spoke. “I understand that this is as far as it goes for the next couple of months. Be aware that when you bring this to me after January, I will expect more than credible enough.” She held up her hand to stall any objections. “I don’t need to hear your objection to see them. Understand, I will expect to know where the information you place in my hands came from—if not the who, the where. You cannot expect me to make sound judgments without something tangible, and that includes the origin of information.”
Tate nodded. “I think we’re all clear on that point.”
“Good.” Candace smiled. “In that case, I look forward to our next meeting.” The group stood nearly in unison. Candace shook hands and thanked the group. “Joshua.” She held Tate’s hand. “Stay for a moment?”
“Ma’am.”
Candace directed the NSA director to have a seat when the room had cleared.
“What can I do for you?” Tate inquired.
“I have a few important decisions facing me.”
“So, I understand.”
Candace chuckled. “Not the best-kept secret.”
He smiled. “Not exactly.”
Candace was genuinely amused. Cable news had been droning on and on, debating which people should fill Candace’s cabinet. She’d found some of the debate entertaining. Lately, she welcomed a few minutes of diversion. Twenty-four-hour days seemed commonplace. Her head might be hitting the pillow at midnight; sleep seemed determined to elude her. Five million details to address and five million more decisions seemed to demand her attention. Filling her cabinet was her paramount concern. That is what had led her to ask the NSA Director to stay behind. While she enjoyed the banter of pundits, and the suppositions of “experts,” Candace put stock in those she trusted. One of the names continually raised by people in Candace’s inner-circle was Joshua Tate.
“Well,” Candace began. “I’m always fascinated by the things people know I am about to say or do.”
“I can only imagine.”
“You might have heard that I have some positions to fill.”
“I seem to vaguely recall that.”
Candace chuckled. Good answer. Candace valued the ability of those closest to her to speak openly, to challenge her assumptions, while understanding that her decisions, once she made them were final. “You have a fan base,” she told him.
“I hardly think that.”
“Mmm. You enjoy the respect of people whom I trust implicitly.”
Tate nodded.
“I need someone, Joshua, who can sit across from me and be willing to deliver the news I don’t want to hear candidly. I need someone who will answer my questions honestly and directly—someone who isn’t afraid to challenge me. Also, the people who work with me must understand that final decisions rest with me. Regardless of where the chips may fall, it will be my responsibility to account for those decisions. I will not pass that responsibility to my staff. Their responsibility will be to provide me with the facts as they understand those facts, and to give me an honest, forthright assessment of what those facts mean.” Candace took a breath. “I need someone, Joshua, that I can trust to be candid with me in private. Someone who understands the need to stand shoulder to shoulder with me publicly. We both know what you shared today barely scratches the surface of what this country faces in an ever-changing world.” She offered the stoic man a smile. “I’d like you to come on as my National Security Adviser.”
Tate stared blankly at the President-elect. He’d briefed the woman several times, and encountered her during her time on Capitol Hill. Tate had been drilled for several hours by Candace’s transition team including the incoming Vice President, and had spent nearly four hours with the former Governor of New York answering a line of questions that had astounded him with their insight. He had never expected an offer to come his way.
“You look surprised,” Candace observed.
“I am.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Candace left her seat and walked to a cabinet in the corner of the office. “Scotch?”
Tate nodded.
“Neat or on the rocks?”
“However you take it.”
Candace’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Neat it is.” She handed him a glass and resumed her seat. “You have advocates, Joshua.”
“You’re referring to Jane,” he surmised.
“Not just Jane.”
“Alex?”
Candace smiled. “Trust, as I am sure you are aware, is a precious commodity in this line of business. It becomes a rarity at this level.”
Tate listened without comment, sipping his scotch as he regarded Candace from over the top of his glass.
“The world is a complicated place,” she said. “People are not as complicated.”
He smiled.
“People do, however, make the world complicated.”
“They do,” he agreed.
“I need someone I can count on,” Candace said.
Tate nodded. “Other than the endorsements of the former First Lady and Agent Toles, why me?”
“That’s not enough?” Candace teased. “Joshua, you have the experience I need. You understand something that too many people do not.”
“What’s that?”
“That everything that happens in our world in some way will shape everything else that happens.” She sipped from her glass and set it aside. “Too often, I’ve seen leaders commit the cardinal sins of leadership.”
“What might those be?”
“For starters, they overestimate themselves and underestimate the concerns and perspectives of those surrounding them. You know as well as I do that how we train our military will impact outcomes. How much we invest in soft power will play a significant role in how we deploy those men and women serving in our military around the globe. Our economy in many ways dictates our bearing in the world. Someone is always seeking to undermine our efforts and agenda. The idea that a foreign policy adviser needs no understanding, experience, and command of domestic problems is outdated at best. You have that experience. You’ve worked for FINCEN, you’ve worked in the upper echelons of the FBI, and you’ve sat in the director’s chair at NSA. Who would be more qualified?”
“I don’t have the military background,” he offered.
<
br /> “No. I have military advisers.” She smiled. “The Joint Chiefs as an example. I will have a Defense Secretary. And, let’s be honest, you will have dozens of people bending your ear with that experience.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Yes, you do.” Candace smiled.
“I’d be honored.”
“Good answer,” she replied. “Just remember what an absolute bitch I can be.”
Tate laughed. Direct, candid, strong-willed, deliberate—all words he would use to describe the incoming president. Bitch would be nowhere on the list.
“May I ask…”
“We’ll make a formal announcement this week,” she told him. “Thank you for taking one major issue off my plate.”
“I hope I can ease more than one.”
Candace raised her class as a toast. “So, do I.”
***
“How’s Mom?”
Jameson looked up from the paper in front of her. “Busy.”
Marianne took the newspaper from Jameson’s hands and laid it on the table. “Feeling lonely?”
Jameson laughed. Lonely? She was hardly lonely. Between the presence of Secret Service agents, the comings and goings of advisers, and the constant calls and visits from family, Jameson wasn’t sure she could remember the last time she’d been alone. “I don’t think I’ve been alone longer than it takes me in the shower in the last two weeks.”
Marianne nodded. “I don’t think being alone and being lonely are the same thing.”
“They’re not,” a voice offered.
Marianne smiled at her mother.
Candace made her way to Jameson and placed a kiss on her cheek.
“Meeting’s over?” Jameson guessed.
“It is.”
“How did it go?”
“He accepted.”
“That’s good.”
Candace sighed. “Marianne, would you give us a minute?”
Marianne winked at Jameson and left the kitchen.
“I know that look,” Jameson said.
“Is that right?”
“Don’t you start worrying about me.”
Candace took the opportunity to plop down into Jameson’s lap. “Who says I’m worried?”
“I’m all right,” Jameson promised.
“I know you are.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. But, I was hoping I might entice you to spend the rest of the evening with me. Unless you’d rather be alone.”
Jameson’s eyes met Candace’s thoughtfully. Two weeks felt like two years, at least, they did to Jameson. If Jameson had thought that life on the campaign trail was a whirlwind, life with the next president was nothing short of a hurricane. People blew in and out everywhere Candace was. There were decisions to be made every second. Jameson understood the situation. Candace had roughly nine weeks to assemble a cabinet and secure her closest advisers. The daily briefings she received were longer than they had ever been as governor or on the campaign trail. She frequently spoke with President Wallace. Amid what Jameson was certain were pressing national security concerns, domestic issues, and policy foibles, Candace also had to deal with the organization of an Inauguration, writing a speech, making appearances on and off, providing input regarding the private living quarters of The White House, and preparing the family for a transition like no other. On top of it, tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Candace and Jameson would be leaving New York on Sunday and taking up residence at the townhouse they owned in Virginia. That decision had been made more for Cooper’s benefit. Cooper would be attending a new school. Candace wanted him to adjust as much as possible before they moved into that big white house.
“I know you have a million things to do,” Jameson offered.
“True,” Candace admitted. “The kids will all be here tomorrow and then…”
“And then the chaos becomes mania?”
Candace grinned. “Something like that.” She wrapped her arms around Jameson’s neck. “Do you want the truth?”
“Please.”
“Marianne is right.”
“I’m okay, Candace.”
“I know you are,” Candace said, surprising Jameson with the assuredness on her voice. “I know,” she repeated. “I’m okay too. I’ve never been one to settle for that—not for long.”
Jameson chuckled. True.
“I don’t know if you need it, but I need some time with you—just you. Just you and me without any of the kids or the world looking in.”
“What do you suggest?” Jameson asked.
“I sent Dana home. I sent Grant home. Marianne is headed to Scott’s in an hour. She offered to have Cooper spend the night there. She’ll be here with the kids early tomorrow morning so…”
“So? It’s just you and me?”
Candace smiled.
Jameson let out a sigh of relief. “Candace…”
Candace’s lips found Jameson’s. “I don’t want you to worry about what I need to do. What I need is you,” Candace said.
“And some Chinese take-out?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
Jameson laughed. “I’m sold.”
“That quickly?” Candace teased.
“Well, if you want me to go up on my rates…” Jameson’s thought was silenced by a kiss. “On second thought.”
Candace closed her eyes and let her head fall onto Jameson’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Jameson closed her eyes. “How do you feel about a nap?”
“You’re already putting me to bed?”
Jameson opened her eyes and grinned. She stood up still holding Candace.
“You are nuts,” Candace laughed.
“So, you’ve said.” Jameson carried Candace into the living room and toward the stairs.
“Jameson! Put me down, you lunatic, before you hurt yourself.”
Marianne peeked around the corner and rolled her eyes. “I hope the Secret Service isn’t opposed to Bible Study.” She laughed when she heard her mother’s voice again.
“Jameson!”
“Be quiet, Nana,” Jameson said.
Marianne rolled her eyes. “God help The White House.”
***
“I want to know what we can expect from this woman.”
“She’s thorough.”
“Unlike Wallace?”
Petru Rusnac shrugged. “She’s not Wallace.”
“Obviously. What does that mean going forward?”
“The new president is a mystery to all of us.”
“I pay you to solve mysteries, not to find them.”
“That may be,” Rusnac said. “I cannot tell you how deeply connected she is. She shares a close relationship with Jane Merrow.”
A furrowed brow raised.
Rusnac sighed. “Yuri,” he began cautiously. “It will take time to assess Mrs. Reid.”
“We do not have time. This is not a game. We need to move now.”
“That might prove unwise without more information.”
“Then decode the mystery.”
Rusnac nodded. The last person he wanted to cross was Yuri Sokolov. Sokolov had replaced Viktor Ivanov at the helm of Advance Strategic Applications. ASA was a technology company based in Moscow whose business interests extended far beyond the company mission statement. It served as a front for the Russian SVR. Its roots planted at the end of World War II had grown into tentacles stretching across the globe. ASA had invested in Bradley Wolfe’s bid for the US presidency in every way imaginable. Its surrogates had waged a disinformation campaign, funneled money to Wolfe’s campaign, paid for ads through corporate and diplomatic loopholes, and mustered the support of its allies in the states to discredit Candace Reid. The Governor of New York’s ascension to the highest seat of power in the world was less than ideal. She was a known quantity as a legislator. How she would react when presented with intelligence and military options remained a puzzle for nearly everyone. Rusnac’s wealth and all that came with it continued at the
pleasure of the man seated before him. He had failed in the task he had been given. Now, he needed to prove his worth.
“What is it you want to know?” Rusnac asked.
“Everything.”
***
Candace leaned back into Jameson’s embrace and sipped a glass of wine. Jameson had built a fire and ordered Chinese take-out as promised. It was the perfect evening. Candace would miss her time in Schoharie. It was her haven; the place she felt the most at ease.
Jameson’s lips tenderly brushed against Candace’s neck.
“Thank you,” Candace whispered.
“For?”
“This. I missed you, Jameson.”
“I’m right here.”
“I know.”
“Regrets?” Jameson asked.
“No, not regrets.”
“But?”
“Realities,” Candace said. Her fingertips played gently over Jameson’s forearm.
“Want to talk about it?”
“There are so many potential issues,” Candace said. “And, some of them have no easy solutions.”
Jameson pulled Candace a little closer.
“I knew that. I understood that when I decided to do this. It’s just… Now? Now, it’s on my plate. It’s in my hands. People don’t always understand that what we do—what happens behind the facades that people see; it matters, Jameson.”
“I know it does.”
“Sometimes, I wonder what drives people. I think I know, and then I’m presented with some insane plot to cause injury to innocent people… I want to understand. I know that without seeking understanding, I can’t make the difference I need to make.”
“But?”
“But sometimes there is no time to look for common ground or to search for reasons.”
Jameson let her head fall against Candace’s. “I wish I could tell you that I can imagine how you feel. I can’t. I can tell when you are battling with yourself. I can feel when you are struggling. You always find a way to pull people together, Candace. You do it with this family every day.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“What happened today?”
“Nothing new,” Candace replied. She moved to face Jameson. “I need this.”
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