Presidential Shift: A Political Thriller (Corps Justice Book 4)
Page 8
“He texted me a minute ago. Nothing yet. Any ideas?”
“No.”
“I’m sure the feds will take care of it.” Just then, Cal’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. “It’s Senator Zimmer. He said I need to turn on a television.”
Maynor, finishing his copious whiskey pour, reached over and turned on the oversized television mounted to the wall next to the bar. A moment later, it flickered to life. It was already on the FoxNews Channel.
A message scrolled across the bottom marquis as the news anchor babbled on about the recent attack, images of the scene flashing behind him.
- President to address the nation in two minutes. -
Cal turned his chair to face the television, hoping the address wouldn’t add another bale of hay to the search for the elusive needle. The fact that Neil and his team also hadn’t found any crumbs in the investigation for the Air and Space attack made Cal nervous. Whoever was coordinating the attacks knew what they were doing. They also knew how to act completely off the grid. Worse still, they probably had help from inside the U.S. government.
+++
The president sat in the Oval office, face creased with intensity. More surprisingly, the First Lady stood behind him, mirroring her husband’s stern expression.
“Good afternoon, fellow Americans. As most of you know, earlier this morning, at a private concert in the quiet town of Orange Beach, Alabama, an explosion aimed at killing the first lady killed and wounded over two hundred civilians along with singing great Horace Moon. This attack, along with the vice president’s murder, is an act of war. I have instructed the directors of the FBI and NSA to pursue all leads. The guilty parties will be found and brought to justice.”
His face softened. “I would be remiss if I didn’t thank all those who have sent their well wishes to the first lady, and the families of the vice president and the federal agents lost in both attacks. Thank you. Your thoughts and prayers are not in vain.
“For one piece of good news, today I have officially appointed a new vice president to serve out the remaining three years of my term. I am proud to have a strong voice of reason on my side. He is a new friend, but a close one. Over the past year he’s become a welcome voice of reason in the nation’s capital. Just before going on air, under the auspices of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and with full support of a bi-partisan coalition from the Senate and House, Senator Brandon Zimmer was sworn in as the vice president of the United State of America.”
+++
“Holy shit,” muttered Cal, as the president signed off with, “God Bless America.”
“Did you know about this?” asked Daniel.
Cal shook his head. “Brandon didn’t say anything.”
“Wait,” said Maynor. “Do you guys know that Zimmer guy?”
“He’s a friend,” offered Daniel.
“You’re kidding, right?” laughed Maynor.
Cal spun up and out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. His cold eyes flashed at the elder Marine, who put his hand up in apology. “Whoa. I didn’t mean piss you off, kid.”
Daniel watched the scene calmly and said, “Like I said, he’s a good friend.”
Maynor nodded. “I’m sorry, Cal. Sometimes my mouth runs away.”
Cal’s body vibrated, like a coiled snake ready to strike. Three cleansing breaths later, he willed himself to calm. “It’s okay. I would’ve said the same thing a couple years ago. You and I might have more in common than I thought, big mouths and all. But don’t call me kid.”
“Sure thing. Just don’t call me gramps.”
The two men smiled, the argument resolved.
+++
“Who dropped this off?” growled Congressman Peter Quailen.
“It was a messenger, sir. No return address,” the hispanic housekeeper said, cowering slightly.
Quailen grunted and looked down at the package, wrapped in brown paper, simple block lettering with Rep. P. Quailen on the front. Quailen had let concerns of his own safety wain over the years. Cockiness replaced caution. His recent scandal put him more on edge. He’d made a lot enemies over the years. Any one of them could use the present situation as an excuse to have him killed.
“Juanita, bring a knife and open this package for me.”
The housekeeper did as told, sliding a red folder out of the wrapping.
“Open it,” ordered Quailen.
She did. Nothing happened. Quailen moved closer to inspect the contents. There was a note stuck to the inside of the folder. Quailen read it….and smiled.
+++
Congressman Joel Erling stared at the wall, the same way he had for the past three hours. Two empty vodka bottles, along with the remnants of the last stash of medical grade marijuana, lay nearby. His home phone had been ringing off the hook. He’d had to ask his brother, a petty crook with nowhere else to go, to answer the phones and keep people away from the house.
There’d been the televised video, the subsequent arrest and questioning, protesters at his massive front gate, and two attempted robberies. The cops had taken care of one. His brother had shot the other. Sometimes having a brother with criminal experience came in handy.
Erling didn’t know what to do. It was antsy idle time. Too much to think about. Depression. Regret. Anger. Suicide.
A banging at the office door shook him from his gloom. “Go away!”
“Joel, there’s someone on the phone for you.”
“I said I don’t want to talk to anyone unless it’s my lawyer.”
“The guy says he’s got your ticket out. Sounds legit. I think you should talk to him.”
Erling stood, wobbling. He tried to shake away the fog. He wanted to believe. “I’ll take it in here.”
“He’s on line three,” came the muffled voice from behind the door.
Erling took a deep breath, and looked up at the ceiling. It was the closest he’d come to saying a prayer in years. “Hello?” said Erling into the phone.
“Joel, it’s Pete Quailen. We need to talk.”
Chapter 16
United States Naval Observatory,
U.S. Vice President’s Residence
9:30pm, December 18th
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Cal.
Vice President Brandon Zimmer exhaled. “He asked me right after he saw you at the airport. Came straight to my office.”
“I can’t believe you said yes.”
Zimmer’s eyes flashed. “What else should I have done? He said he needed my help.”
Cal shook his head. “I don’t know. Sounds like you really stepped in this time, Mister Vice President.”
Zimmer settled. “Tell me about it.”
“I know you’re busy, but I wanted to ask you about the attacks. What are your thoughts?”
“I don’t know. Other than killing my predecessor and trying to kill the first lady, I’m having a hard time coming up with a possible motive,” said Zimmer. “Have you found anything?”
“Zip. Neil’s got our full resources behind it. Nothing so far.”
Both men sat silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Cal broke the spell. “What’s it like being the vice president and not being married?”
Zimmer grinned. “Ask me again in a couple weeks.”
“Any plans yet? Do they have you traveling the world on parade?”
“Not yet. I told the president I wanted to get settled. Besides, I have no idea what’s going on inside the administration. It’ll take time to learn the personalities and the inner workings.”
“Sounds like the time they made me a squad leader as a Lance Corporal, except, of course, that you’re the new vice president of United States and I was making sure my Marines didn’t get in fights at the Driftwood.”
“What’s the Driftwood?” asked Zimmer.
Cal laughed. “It’s a strip club outside Camp Lejeune. Really classy. Remind me to take you there sometime.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll pass.
” The vice president’s face turned serious. “On another note, the president wants me to oversee the operation…”
“Operation Pest Control,” offered Cal.
“That’s what you called it?”
Cal shrugged. “Seemed fitting.”
Zimmer shook his head, still getting used to the Marine’s sense of humor. “Anyway, the president wanted me to support you in any way I can. I’m not sure I’ll be of much help yet, but at least he won’t have to be directly involved. I’ll update him as needed.”
That sounded good to Cal. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the president, but dealing with Zimmer would be easier. They’d forged their friendship against common enemies, and understood each other’s strengths. “Okay. The biggest thing you can do for us is make sure the word doesn’t get out. Washington is full of leaks, and if word of what we’re doing gets around…”
The thought hung in the air, a warning for both men to tread carefully.
“Tell me what your next move is and I’ll figure out a way to help.”
+++
“Like I said, I want this all over the news. I’ve got my people contacting friends up there. You just do your job and the media will think you’re a hero.”
“You sure the feds are gonna support this?”
“After they see what I’ve got, hell yes.”
“I don’t want to look like an idiot. You’ll tell me if anything changes?”
“Of course. Hey, did you pick a week to stay at my place in Key West? It’ll be open all February.”
“Yeah. The second week would be perfect. Thanks for that.”
“No problem. Any time.”
Congressman Peter Quailen clicked off the call and smiled. Things were falling into place.
+++
Agent Steve Stricklin sat nursing his splitting headache with a frozen daiquiri. He wasn’t much for hard alcohol, but needed something to soothe the pain before the meds kicked in.
Earlier, he’d gotten a royal ass-chewing from his boss, who’d found out that Stricklin had not been at the bombing site when the explosion occurred.
Thank God, Stricklin had thought, as his boss railed on about having an FBI presence available. Stricklin explained how he’d left to follow a lead and narrowly missed becoming one of the bombing victims. “I was right next to where the guy was standing,” Stricklin lied. He’d been farther away than Cal.
It was a new politically correct FBI, and Stricklin’s boss relented. “Fine. Just make sure you’re around to help out if you’re needed.”
Stricklin pressed the oversized margarita glass against his forehead. The pieces were coming back. The only explanation of how he’d ended up on the ground was that one of the Marines had sucker punched him. Ideas flitted into his stream of conscious. A plan formed as he swirled the slush in his glass and stared at the young bartender with the cut-off jeans. Stokes and his friends would pay.
Chapter 17
Camp Spartan, Arrington, TN
5:52am, December 19th
The old school weight room was half full. Travis Haden dripped with sweat, straining to push out his last set of squats. MSgt Willy Trent stood behind him, ready to assist.
“You’ve got this,” said Trent.
Travis, sweat glistening on his forehead, gritted his teeth and pushed until the bar jumped up and over the holders. He backed out of the frame. “Jeez. Used to be a lot easier.”
Trent laughed, “We’re not as young as we used to be.”
“I don’t see you losing many steps, Top.”
It was true. MSgt Trent was one of those freaks of nature. Despite his age, he only seemed to get stronger and faster. This frustrated the SEAL to no end. Although Travis could outrun, outlift and outfight 99.99% of the men in the world, the competitor in him always looked at the huge Marine with a hint of jealousy.
“Maybe you should’ve been a Marine instead, Trav. I think it’s the uniform and the ladies. Keeps us young.”
Travis grinned. “I can’t argue with that.”
They showered in the locker room, then headed to the chow hall for breakfast. The CEO of SSI liked to eat at least one meal a day with his troops. Besides, it was pancake day, and Travis deserved it. If you could survive a workout with Trent, anyone deserved a hearty meal.
The mismatched pair said their hellos as they walked into the dining facility. Most were greeted by name. Trent moved to do a walk-through of the back of the chow line. As SSI’s unofficial head of food services, Trent spent many hours helping out in the kitchen, keeping his culinary skills sharp.
Travis moved along the empty line quickly, and then took a seat. Before he could take his first bite, his cell phone rang.
“This better be good. I was about to take a bite of a strawberry pancake.”
“Sir, it’s Isen from the main gate.”
“What’s up?”
“Sir, there’s a large group of police and reporters wanting to see you. They wouldn’t show me a warrant or anything. What you want me to do?”
Alarm bells went off in Travis’s head, but by looking at him you wouldn’t know it. “Have Ms. Haines and Mr. Dunn meet me at the front gate. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
Travis rose and headed to the line to find Trent, who was tasting the gravy and explaining to a new hire that perhaps more flour should be added to the roux. He looked up when Travis approached.
“I need you to come with me, Top.”
Trent patted the young chef on the back and followed Travis out the side door.
+++
Marge “The Hammer” Haines was the first one to the gate, and was peppering a policeman with questions when Travis arrived. “What’s going on?” he asked, trying to ignore the flash of reporters’ camera bulbs and the glare of lights extended from the tops of television news vans.
“They say they’re here to arrest you,” Haines fumed.
“For what?”
“He won’t say. Supposedly it’s a matter of national security.”
Travis’s eyebrow rose. “And they want me?”
Haines nodded. “Let me get on the phone and straighten this out.”
Travis shook his head. “It’s all right. Why don’t I go with Officer…”
“Labeau,” offered the slightly overweight plainclothes policeman, who was looking a little too smug.
Haines hesitated, and then turned to face Officer Labeau. “Mr. Haden will ride in one of our vehicles and follow you to the station.”
“Those aren’t the orders…”
Haines cut him off. “It’s either that or I call up the governor, who happens to be a good friend of Mr. Haden, and have him talk to your superiors.”
Labeau relented, wisely avoiding the powerful attorney’s threat. “Okay. He can have a driver and follow me.”
“Top, how about we take your truck?” asked Travis nonchalantly, as if they were going to the grocery store.
“No problem. I’ll run and get it.”
Minutes later, Travis and Trent pulled out of the SSI compound, soon to be surrounded by a phalanx of red and blue flashing vehicles. Haines was already on the phone.
+++
BREAKING NEWS
“The Metropolitan Nashville Police Department has confirmed that the CEO of Stokes Security International, based in Arrington, Tennessee, has been brought in for questioning. Our sources from inside the nation’s capital tell us that it may have to do with the terrorist attacks at the National Air and Space Museum and in Orange Beach, Alabama yesterday. White House officials have not yet responded to our requests for a statement.”
+++
“What the hell happened?” Cal asked Todd Dunn, director of internal security at SSI, over the phone.
“Haines is on it, Cal. The skipper’s been with the Nashville PD for just under an hour. He can take care of himself.”
“I’m not worried about Travis. He’s a big boy. What about SSI? What’s the possible fallout?”
“Your guess i
s as good as mine. As long as we get this cleared up fast, I think we’ll be okay. If we don’t…”
“Then we’re screwed,” finished Cal. He ran through his options. Since getting out of the Marine Corps, Cal had avoided the politics of running his father’s company. Of course, it was his company, and he didn’t want to see its name dragged through the mud by a ridiculous claim. “Who’s running the investigation? I can’t believe the feds are letting the locals do it.”
“I think they’ll be swooping in at any moment. They’re probably trying to get more information before deploying assets. Besides, Haines already made the calls to our high-level contacts at the major agencies. They know that if they lift a finger in the wrong direction, she’ll be all over them.”
Cal said a silent thanks to his deceased father for having the foresight to hire the skilled attorney. Her reputation alone could keep the wolves at bay until they could find the culprit.
“Let’s stay in touch.”
“You got it.”
+++
“Bueno?” answered Gaucho, who sat watching the news with the rest of his team, stroking his braided beard, deep in thought. They’d all been shocked to see their CEO, who also happened to be a good friend, taken into custody.
“It’s Cal.”
“Hey, boss. We were just watching the news. Sorry about Travis.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Look, me and Briggs are in Arlington. How quickly can you and your boys get up here from Charlottesville?”
“In civvies?”
“Yeah, with concealed.”
“Driving fast, probably two hours. In the helo, under an hour.”
“We may need the vehicles, so why don’t you drive. Leave as soon as you can.”
“You got it, boss.”
Gaucho stood up and turned off the television.
“Saddle up, homies.”
+++
“They’re on their way,” announced Cal.
Daniel nodded and Don Maynor asked, “Who?”
“The cavalry. I’ve gotta go see the president.” He pointed at Daniel. “You come with me. Maynor, you want us to get you a flight home?”
“Nah. I think I’ll stick around. Haven’t been up here in ages. Want to go pay my respects to the Iwo Jima Memorial. Hell, you might need me again.”