National Burden

by C. G. Cooper

  “Stevie?”

  No one said a word. No one answered her. All thoughts of returning to the nightly news gone, Mrs. Stricklin stood at the open doorway, tears streaming down her face, landing silently on the frozen ground.

  +++

  It took every ounce of restraint in his body for Secretary of State Geoffrey Dryburgh to keep from raising his voice. He squeezed his phone, staring at the off-white carpet now gripped by his bare feet. The sound of the television in the next room, his wife catching-up on the weekly shows they’d missed on their latest trip overseas, barely registering through the pounding in his head.

  How the hell could Southgate have been wrong? He was never wrong! He’d taken the old bastard on his word, taken steps to secure his own footing. And now Southgate was saying that Zimmer was clean?

  Dryburgh wanted to punch something. In his youth he might have torn the Carolina beach decorated sitting room to shreds. But that wasn’t him anymore. He had changed, matured, like a fine wine, or better yet, an aged whiskey.

  Everything had been planned in his head. He hadn’t told Southgate about his role in the Lithuania incursion. That was something he planned on keeping to himself, and Bukov would never say a word. He knew better. And besides, it wasn’t like Dryburgh had told Russia to do it. He’d only nudged them in the right direction.

  He had to find another way. The presidency had been so close, within reach of his oversized hands that now clenched open and closed. He was sick of reporting to the ineffectual Zimmer. He, Geoffrey Dryburgh, former United States Senator and now Secretary of State, should be the man leading the country.

  Not one to feel sorry for himself, always looking for the silver lining, or at least an angle to weasel a win out of defeat, Geoffrey Dryburgh stood slowly. As the face of American foreign policy, the Scot knew every hot spot in the world. He’d thought the Russians the perfect ploy, but he’d underestimated Zimmer’s newfound resolve. Maybe there’s another way. Just as the thought pierced his subconscious, another took its place, adding depth, layers building already, a plan. He had to hit Zimmer where it hurt, where he had no choice but to react the way Dryburgh wanted. The perfect entrapment.

  Dryburgh’s lips curled into a wry smile. He called into the master bedroom. “Honey, I’ll be in the office. Don’t wait up.”

  Chapter 23

  Camp Spartan, Arrington, Tennessee

  9:47 a.m., March 6th

  Cal had been so ready to get out of D.C. that he’d ignored his frugal ways and chartered a private jet for himself and Daniel. The pair was enjoying a leisurely room service breakfast (another splurge) in Cal’s permanent suite in The Lodge, neither saying a word as they crammed huge bites of pancake and sausage in their mouths, all the while admiring the blessedly sun-soaked fields of snow through the oversized windows of the VIP quarters.

  “Have you talked to Marge yet?”

  Cal shook his head. “I thought we could head over later today.”

  “I’ll bet she’s revolutionizing the place.” Daniel had come to respect SSI’s only female employee turned CEO from the first moment he’d met her. Sharp. Beautiful. Cunning. Honest. He’d only heard the rumors of her past courtroom exploits. It was said that her name still sent shivers down many a CEO’s spine.

  “I can’t wait to tell Travis that we should’ve given her the job a long time ago.”

  “I’d wait on that if I were you. I think he’s got his hands full for a while.” Sometimes all Daniel could do was sit back and shake his head at the constant ribbing between the two cousins. The situation didn’t matter; one of them was always hounding the other, in a cousinly way, of course.

  “Whatever. He stepped in that shit sandwich himself.” Cal pushed his licked-clean plate away, rubbing his toned stomach. “Besides, when did you become such a Travis Haden groupie?” He said it with a grin. Cal never let up. It was his style. Always the Marine.

  Daniel let out a rare laugh. “You two really should seek counseling.”

  Cal laughed, getting a tiny glimpse of the sniper’s sense of humor, something he usually kept hidden. Before he could throw a comment back at his friend, his phone chirped, indicating an incoming text. “It’s Marge. She wants to see me.”

  “Speak of the devil. Do me a favor and try not to piss off The Hammer.”

  Grinning from ear-to-ear, Cal flipped Daniel a friendly middle finger. Always the Marine.

  +++

  “How was your trip?” asked SSI’s newly appointed CEO.

  Cal looked around The Hammer’s spotless office. Somehow every glass top, including her desk, was smudge-less. Two small file folders graced her working space, perfectly aligned to the edge. “It was okay. Trav fill you in?”

  Haines nodded. “What are you doing now?”

  “Lots of shitbags out there, Marge. Me and Daniel were going to spend the day scoping out our database to see what we could rustle up.”

  Haines looked up from her laptop. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Cal almost rolled his eyes, but remembered Daniel’s warning. He liked The Hammer, but he didn’t like being told what to do. Biting back a smartass remark, he asked, “What do you have?”

  Haines waved him over, pointing to her computer screen. Cal stepped around the skinny glass desk, suddenly curious. There was a picture of a man, probably in his mid-fifties, posing for cameras at some black tie event. “Who’s that?”

  “Leo Martindale. He’s an old friend. I did some work for him a couple years out of law school.”

  “Wait a minute, is this the billionaire?”

  Haines nodded. “Leo’s done well. His company, Dale and Moon, manages close to one trillion dollars in assets. Everything from stocks to real estate.”

  “I’m confused. What do you need me to do?”

  “It’s delicate. Leo called yesterday, confidentially, of course. He wanted me to fly up to New York City to talk to him.”

  “About what?”

  “He wouldn’t say, just that it was important.”

  “Marge, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but usually it works best if you tell people what you want them to do and then tell them why.”

  Haines frowned, until she noticed Cal trying to hold back a smile. Her shoulder bounced slightly with a silent chuckle. “You almost had me. Is this what you do to Travis?”

  Cal shrugged, his face looking like a five-year-old sheepishly telling the truth. “I had to at least try.”

  SSI’s new CEO shook her head, smiling this time. “Like I was saying, he wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but it was important enough that he wanted to send his jet to pick me up.”

  “And you need me to…?”

  “I want you to fly up there.”

  “No way, Marge. I just got home. I’ve got a lot to do.”

  Haines exhaled, reminding herself that Cal was actually the boss, seeing as he was the sole owner and all. “I know Leo. He wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. I told him that I just took over here, and he suggested I send someone of equal stature, someone who could keep their mouth shut, and help if possible. Travis is with the President. That leaves you.”

  Hopping on a plane to visit a spoiled billionaire was the last thing Cal wanted to do. He could feel his killer instinct going rusty, his trigger finger most of all. “What about Dunn or Neil? They’re better at that kind of stuff than I am.”

  Haines didn’t budge. “No. It has to be you. You can’t tell me an all-expense paid trip to New York City wouldn’t be nice. Besides, he could end up being a client.”

  “Have you looked outside, Marge? You think it’s bad here? They’ve got snow six feet deep up there.”

  Crossing her arms, eyes not leaving the stubborn Marine, Haines waited, tapping her index finger like a professor waiting for a student to vocalize the only answer available.

  Cal huffed. “Fine, but on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  Cal snapped his fingers, a thought coming.
“Two conditions.”

  Haines made a “give it to me” gesture with her right hand.

  “First, I take anyone I want with me.”

  “Okay. And your second request?”

  Cal cupped his chin, rubbing his two-day stubble. “This guy pisses me off, I leave.”

  “Done.”

  Chapter 24

  The White House

  12:15 p.m., March 6th

  The faint scent of lemon, or was it orange, probably the remnants of the White House cleaning staff’s furniture polish, lingered in the air of the President’s private sitting room, a part of the residence. Senator Milton Southgate waited patiently, hands crossed on his lap. The President’s butler had delivered a decaf earl grey tea moments after he’d arrived, setting it on the hand-carved oak coffee table in front of the visitor. Southgate hadn’t touched it, worried that he might spill it with his trembling hands.

  He’d had the night to think about his next steps, still wondering whether the President might simply ask for him to step down. It was not outside the realm of possibility. Stranger things had happened during his time in the senate, including a pair of senators, male and female, who’d been caught by an intern, fondling each other in a deserted hallway. Southgate had taken swift action against the two independently married senators, each of whom should’ve known better. It wasn’t that the senate leader was a prude, but to do such a thing in the hallowed halls of congress, well, it was unacceptable.

  If he were president, there was no doubt what he would’ve done had he been in Zimmer’s shoes. That was what had made him reconsider his initial declaration. The President hadn’t told the Secret Service to detain him and hadn’t accepted Southgate’s resignation.

  Maybe he’d misjudged the young president. He’d, of course, known Zimmer’s father, more of a conservative Democrat than Southgate, but still a good man, a worthy political ally. The information from Stricklin and McKnight had tainted his hopes for the new president. He could admit that he’d been wrong, painfully so. It had happened a handful of times over the years, but never to this degree. He’d let his elitist confidence cloud his judgment. Humbled, Southgate stood when President Zimmer entered, alone this time, looking every bit the youthful leader that JFK had been.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. President.”

  Zimmer strolled over, smiling, not a hint of condescension in his demeanor. “Senator Southgate, I’m glad you called.”

  “Thank you for making time for me, sir.”

  President Zimmer motioned to the couches where the two men sat down, Zimmer almost lounging while Southgate sat ramrod straight.

  “Please tell me you’ve reconsidered your offer from last night, Senator.”

  “Yes, sir. I have.”

  “That’s very good to hear.”

  The President could tell that Southgate wanted to say something, their recent confrontation obviously holding the man’s tongue. “I’d really like it if we could start over, Senator. I think it’s a major understatement to say that we got off on the wrong foot.”

  Southgate nodded, uncomfortable in his present position. He was on unfamiliar ground, always used to having the upper hand. “Yes, sir. I would appreciate that. I cannot begin to apologize for the way I acted. If there was any way--”

  Zimmer raised his hand, as if to say any past mistakes should be forgotten. “Senator, would it be okay if we spoke man-to-man for a bit?”

  Another tentative nod from Southgate.

  “Good. Now, the way I see it, we need to work together. I’ve always admired the way you run the Senate. A firm hand. What I would like you to understand is that although I may be new, I am not inexperienced. You knew my father. I want you to know who I am.”

  Southgate tried to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace. “I’d like that, sir.”

  Zimmer nodded. “We may not always see eye-to-eye on everything, but that’s okay. When was the last time anyone in Washington agreed on anything? The point is we need to have a strong working relationship, you representing the old guard and me the new generation of political leadership. Is this making sense to you, Senator?”

  “I…I think so, Mr. President.”

  “Good, because I wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings about where my intentions lay.” Zimmer threw a wink at the old senator for good measure. This was not an ass-kissing session. It was a strategic alliance born out of a need to bind two recent enemies to a common cause. “Did you ever think about running for president, Senator?”

  Southgate sat back slightly, suddenly befuddled, wondering if Zimmer was asking him an innocent question or framing an accusation. “I’ve been very happy with my position in the Senate, Mr. President. Besides, I’m not sure I have the best face for television.”

  He’s right about that, thought Zimmer. He looks more like an ornery headmaster.

  Zimmer chuckled, more at his thoughts than Southgate’s attempt at humor. “Assuming we work together…how would you propose we do that?”

  The question caught Southgate off-guard. He’d assumed the president would make his demands and send him on his way. “Well…I…I can assist you in any way you would like, Mr. President.”

  “Like how, specifically?”

  Southgate squirmed in his seat, the room feeling smaller, the fire hotter by the second. “I could help you shore up any…how should I put it…lack of support within the party.”

  “That would be helpful. I’m not sure everyone thinks I’m the best man for the job.” Another wink from Zimmer, another short exhale from Southgate. “What else?”

  Southgate felt like he was coming unglued from the inside out. As an only child he’d withstood hours of grilling from his mother and father, one a teacher, another a preacher. All for the sake of his ‘education.’ Some days it was questions on history, other days it was rote retelling of passages from the Bible. Young Milton resented the after school studies, and the lashings even more. Once he’d had a taste of political power, where he held the might to pass judgment on others, he’d slammed the door on the uncomfortable memory from his youth. Sitting across from the president, the same feeling he’d felt as a child boiled to the surface.

  “Mr. President, maybe if you tell me how I might be of assistance, I can do everything in my power to help.” His eyes pleaded. Zimmer relented, almost feeling sorry for the old man. Almost.

  “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure about most of the staff around here, and I get the feeling that a handful of my cabinet members resent the fact that I’m their new boss. How about you help me figure out which ones to keep and which ones to replace? I’m sure you’d have a lot of ideas that would help.”

  The idea perked Southgate’s interest. It was something he could do, despite his heavy workload. “Yes, Mr. President. That’s definitely something I could help you with.”

  Zimmer clapped his hands. “Good!” Then his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’ll be able to fit it in? I mean, with everything you already…”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make the time.”

  Zimmer sat for a moment, wondering if Southgate could see what was coming. The only feeling he got from his guest was that he either wanted to piss his pants or run away as fast as his legs could take him. Zimmer snapped his fingers, sitting straight up. “I’ve got it!”

  “What’s that, Mr. President?”

  “I know how we can make this happen.”

  “But, I thought…”

  “Senator, I’m going to ask you a very big favor, something that I’ve been trying to figure out for the past few months.”

  It felt to Southgate like the president was playing tug-a-war with his brain. “Sir?”

  “I think I know how to not only repair our relationship, but to make sure we capitalize on our alliance. Senator, I’d like for you to be my new vice president.”

  Chapter 25

  Camp Spartan, Arrington, Tennessee

  2:10 p.m., March 6th

  “He did what?” Cal blurted, g
rabbing the car door for support. He, Daniel and MSgt Trent had just arrived at the Nashville Airport to meet Leo Martindale’s jet. Wind swept through the nearly empty parking garage, a testament to the recent weather and the endless list of cancelled flights. One lone traveler walked past them, braced against the wind, face covered with his hand, pulling a carry-on suitcase.

  Cal pressed his ear to the phone, trying to shield it from the powerful gusts so he could hear Travis. “Did you say he made Southgate his vice president?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I really think it’s brilliant.”

  “Cuz, I don’t know what you’re smokin’, but that might be the dumbest--”

  “Hear me out, Cal. It would’ve been stupid to cast Southgate aside. For all we know he could’ve been an innocent participant in what he did.”

  “He told Brandon to resign! How the hell was that innocent?”

  “Will you just shut up and listen. Jeez. Now look, I’m not a fan of the guy either, but we’re running with the whole ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ scenario. This way we can keep an eye on the guy. If he’d have gone back to the Senate, he would’ve been back on his home turf. The vice president is as powerful as the president allows him to be.”

  Cal hadn’t thought about it that way. His snap judgment had been to can the guy, maybe even have him thrown in some high level federal prison. But then again, that’s why he did what he did and never wanted to be in politics, a game where you were surrounded by your enemies every single day. “I’m not saying you’re right, but maybe, just maybe, it’s a smart thing to keep him under your thumb.”

  He could barely hear Travis’s chuckle on the other end, another snow-laced gust stinging his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep him busy. What about you? What’s this I hear about you going to New York?”

  “Marge can’t go, so she asked me.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you. If I ever asked, you would’ve given me the finger.”