by Jack Mars
He stopped and looked down at Keller. “Is that what you mean?”
Keller shrugged. “Sure. That, and when do you think you’ll be coming back to work? You are the President of the United States, after all. The country needs you. I’m not really sure Mark Baylor is cut out for the job.”
There was a mischievous twinkle in Barrett’s eyes. He started walking again. “Some people are meant to be President, and some people are meant to be Vice President,” he said.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Keller said.
“I think I’ll be in Germany for a few days until Elizabeth is ready to come home. Then I’ll take a couple more days here at Camp David with the whole family. My mom and dad will probably come up and stay, too.”
“That’s nice.”
“So, I’ll be out of commission for another week or so. I talked to Mark late last night, and he’s willing to hold the reins for a bit longer.”
“Good,” Keller said. “And I’ll be there to look over his shoulder.”
Barrett shrugged. “Well, that’s why I bring it up. Mark would like to move you over to Legislative Affairs for now. He thinks you’re a bit of a hothead. And he’s got his own Chief of Staff, as you know. He’s concerned that having you around will be stepping on his guy’s toes, and I told him that would be fine.”
Keller nodded. “I see. Okay.”
“Yeah, I’ll be honest with you, Lawrence. I’ve been contemplating a similar move for some time. How are you doing? I mean, you seem a little burnt out to me, like you’re just not enjoying this anymore. I’ve been worried about you, and I was going to do something about it, but then this whole Elizabeth fiasco happened.”
Keller felt his heart speed up. A flush began to creep up his neck.
“I’m feeling fine. Never better, really.”
Barrett went on as if Keller hadn’t spoken at all. “You know Kathy Grumman from State? She’s a real whip. I’m going to bring her on to tidy things up a bit.”
“As Chief of Staff?” Keller said.
Barrett nodded. “Think of Legislative Affairs as a lateral move, Lawrence. You’ll keep the same salary as you have now, with all the same benefits. And the hours will be better. They’re regular nine-to-fivers most of the time, unless we’re trying to push a bill through. I’m going to need you to ride herd on a few of our reluctant friends in the House. You’ll be reporting to Mike Donovan. Do you know Mike? He’s been working Capitol Hill for about a decade.”
“I’ll be reporting… to Mike?”
Lawrence Keller had never met Mike Donovan, but he knew who he was. He was about thirty-seven years old, the son of the obnoxious, bulbous, alcoholic former Congressman from Massachusetts, Mickey Donovan.
Mike Donovan was a prep school jerk. He had strolled into his job because of nepotism. And he was fifteen years younger than Lawrence Keller.
Barrett nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Mike’s the Director of Legislative Affairs. I like him. You’ll be his Assistant Director.”
They walked along the path in silence for a moment.
“What do you think?” Barrett said.
What did he think?
Lawrence Keller thought one thing was for certain: he was NOT going to work for Mike Donovan at Legislative Affairs. If David Barrett wanted to push Keller out because he made a tape of an Oval Office conversation, so be it. But he’d better watch his back. Keller hadn’t gotten where he was by nepotism—he’d clawed his way there. And he would claw David Barrett’s eyes out.
“What do I think? I think your daughter Elizabeth is a very irresponsible young woman, who caused the needless deaths of dozens of people, and who almost sparked a world war.”
* * *
Beautiful.
David Barrett was feeling such a surge of joy that even his early meeting with Lawrence Keller couldn’t drag him down. Keller was a problem, that was true. He was untrustworthy. Apparently, he’d had an outburst during deliberations in the Situation Room, and had yelled at a general.
Lawrence Keller did not fit the suit. Short, angry, uncultured, that was Keller in a nutshell. He was banished to Legislative Affairs for now, but he would almost certainly try to claw his way back into relevance. David would have to keep an eye on him.
No matter. Elizabeth was alive, the birds were singing, and David was President of the United States. All was right with the world.
Forget about Keller.
This next meeting was the one he was really looking forward to. He sat in the rustic, sun-dappled great room of the main house. When he was a child, he would stare at photographs in magazines of Dwight Eisenhower and Jack Kennedy entertaining foreign heads of state in this very room, and he would think:
“That’s going to be me one day.”
Amazing. He shook his head at the wonder of it.
His guest walked in and David rose to meet him. David was a bit taller than the man, but it didn’t matter. The guest was so impressive physically, that David almost felt diminished in his presence. The man was broad and muscular. His eyes were sharp and intelligent and aware, in a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. His body seemed to radiate electricity. He looked like a man who never slept and who never needed to sleep. The only concessions he’d made to age were the gray in his flattop haircut, and the crow’s feet around his eyes.
He was Don Morris, decorated combat veteran of many wars, pioneer of the very concept of military special operations, and the Director of the brand new FBI Special Response Team. His agents had saved Elizabeth’s life.
He wore dress pants and a dark blazer. His light blue dress shirt was open at the collar. He was meeting the President of the United States, and he dressed down! It was perfect. The man was a legend.
“Mr. President,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Barrett took Morris’s hand. He noted that Morris’s handshake was firm, but not too firm. There was the sense that the man was holding back tremendous strength, which could crush David Barrett’s hand to mulch.
Barrett shook his head. “Ah, Don. Call me David, please. Won’t you sit down? What can we get for you? Anything at all. Water, soda? Beer? I know it’s early, but if you want something, you can have it. We can have them make us lunch.”
Morris shook his head. “No sir. I’m fine. Thank you. That’s very kind.”
They sat down.
“I know we’ve talked once before, haven’t we?”
Don nodded. “Yes sir. We talked briefly on the phone just a few weeks ago.”
“That’s great,” David said. “I remember that.” He felt foolish. These pleasantries were not at all what he wanted to come out of his mouth.
“I want to tell you how grateful I am, how grateful my wife is, and our parents. I think we are the most grateful family in America at this moment. We owe you a debt that we can never adequately repay.”
Don shrugged. “Sir, I appreciate that. But I had very little to do with the operation that saved your daughter. It happened because of the initiative, and frankly, the guts, shown by our field agents Luke Stone and Edward Newsam. And they had a big assist from our intelligence team, from a covert CIA agent it’s better if I do not name, crack helicopter pilots, and dozens of on the ground troops. A lot of people made this thing happen.”
“I know. I know that,” David Barrett said. “It’s wonderful the people who do these dangerous jobs. But I’ll tell you, I’m fascinated by the career you’ve had and the work you do. I’m very excited that you’ve started this new agency, and I want to meet your people. The best of the best, isn’t that what you told me? Like a civilian Delta Force?”
Morris nodded. “That is exactly what I said. You have an excellent memory.”
“Well, Don, I’m hoping we can all work closely together going forward.”
Don Morris smiled.
“I would like that, sir. I hope we can, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
; 4:30 p.m. British Summer Time (11:30 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time)
Portobello Road
Notting Hill
London, England
It was time to go.
Andrew Montgomery came out of his pale blue Victorian-era terrace house, carrying two suitcases. There were no clothes in the suitcases. His clothes were already in the car. No, the suitcases held nothing but cash, and a lot of it.
His time in Iraq had been well spent.
At first, he had been called on the carpet for the death of that Special Air Service lad. But now that it turned out the man was a hero who had not died in vain, but who had been instrumental in helping discover the location of the American President’s daughter… well, the winds had blown back in Monty’s favor a bit.
Even so, there were worse things than career setbacks to worry about. Bill Cronin had called him three times today from Baghdad, wanting to chat about the operation. Bill’s voice had a funny tone in it. It was a tone that Monty did not like. Monty guessed that his little intelligence partnership with the CIA agent Bill Cronin might be coming to its conclusion.
They were never friends, he and Big Daddy, and work relationships eventually ended. Sad, really, but just part of the life.
Monty placed the suitcases flat in the trunk of his old Porsche 911 Targa, next to two identical suitcases, also flat, making four in total. He put his clothes bags and his badminton rackets on top of the suitcases, obscuring them. It wouldn’t survive a search, of course, but who was going to search his car? No one suspected him of anything, nor should they.
Bill Cronin was calling him a bit, of course, you might even say harassing him, but that meant nothing. Bill probably just wanted to tie up a few loose ends. He could be rather pushy, in his way.
Unfortunately, Monty was not available. He was leaving right now for a few days’ getaway to his country house on the Welsh coast, near Caernarfon. There was a telephone at the house, but Monty was very careful about sharing that number.
No, Monty was unreachable for the time being. In fact, he was thinking of extending the amount of time involved. A period abroad, maybe in some far-flung, anonymous place, might be what the doctor ordered after so much time spent in war zones.
The Seychelles? Maybe.
The South Pacific?
The coast of Nicaragua?
It was hard to imagine a place on Earth where Big Daddy Cronin might not eventually find him.
But it wasn’t like he was on the run, was it? No, of course not. Big Daddy might have a few questions, but they were easily answerable.
Monty slammed the trunk closed and slipped in behind the wheel. It was a beautiful cockpit for a car—they didn’t make them like this anymore. It felt like driving an airplane. This was his favorite car, one of the best he had ever owned.
He turned the key in the ignition, but there seemed to be something wrong with the starter. It was an old car, and these things could be tricky.
He turned it again and gave it a little gas.
A spark ignited under his foot, and then flames shot upward.
He knew, even before he knew what it was. He reached to open the car door and get out before…
Ga-BOOOM!
The ground trembled.
Someone screamed.
Afternoon strollers on picturesque Portobello Road in London’s fashionable Notting Hill suddenly dove to the street and took cover in shops as a beautifully restored Porsche 911 exploded. A ball of black smoke and orange flame rose into the sky. A moment later, the fire reached the gas tank, and a secondary explosion went up.
“Help!” a young woman shouted. “There’s a man! I saw a man!”
People ran toward the site of the explosion, but no one got too close. The flames crackled. The fire raged. It was intense.
“There’s a man inside that car!”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
4:55 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Inova Women’s Hospital Birthing Center
Inova Fairfax Hospital
Woodburn, Virginia
“Okay, Rebecca,” said the doctor, a woman of about fifty. “I think this is it. One last time. Give me a big one. Push!”
Becca screamed, a loud, shrieking wail.
Her hand crushed Luke’s.
“Oh God, Luke, I love you so much!”
“I love you, too, babe. You’re doing great.”
Luke, in surgical scrubs, mask, and gloves like the doctors and nurses, stood watching. He had raced halfway around the world for this. He had dozed on the plane, but poorly. He never imagined he would get to this operating theater in time, but somehow he did. He was nearly out on his feet.
Thank God for a long labor.
He placed his head right next to hers. She was sweating. Her face was red. She was in pain. She was exquisite.
“You’re just doing so good. I am very proud of you.”
Every word he said was true. He was in awe of what Becca’s body could do and the strength she showed. She was never more beautiful or powerful. Luke had seen a lot in his time, but he had never seen anything like this.
He saw a small patch of blond hair pushing its way out. The baby was starting to crown.
I will not freak out. I will not freak out.
“One more, Rebecca. One more big one. Come on. Push!”
“Ahhhnnnhh!”
She crushed his hand again.
What he had thought was the crown was the smallest tip of the tip of the iceberg. The head was emerging, like the moment a giant superheated bubble rises to the surface of a geyser. The head was massive, enormous. It couldn’t be. Something had to be wrong. It was like a cannonball was coming through a drinking straw.
“Is that…?”
He could barely speak. He could barely breathe.
“One more. Push!”
Suddenly, the boy was out. But he was blue. The child was blue.
Is he alive? Why is he blue?
The nurse was wiping off the afterbirth as if nothing was wrong.
“Gunner.”
The baby started crying. He was alive. Oh my God, the baby was alive.
Someone pressed a pair of scissors into his hand, and guided his hand to the place where he should cut the cord. He did it. He did his job like a good soldier. The baby was crying.
It was wrapped in a blanket. Someone put the baby in his arms, just for a second. Luke was terrified, never more vulnerable. Then the boy was gone, and placed on Becca’s chest. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply, the baby on top of her. Luke fell in love with her all over again, but in a different way this time. He could not describe the feeling.
At some point, he was out in the hallway. His gloves were off. He had pulled his mask down. But he was still wearing the scrubs.
A nurse put a hand on his shoulder. “Good job, Mr. Stone.”
“Thanks. It was nothing.”
He stared out a large window at the hospital grounds. It was daytime, and for some reason that surprised him.
Strange thoughts went through his head, a mad jumble of disconnected thoughts. Sometimes, things didn’t seem to make any sense. He was a killer, he knew that. He had killed a lot of people, even in just the past few days. The world often seemed like a horrible place, and yet, he had just witnessed a miracle.
He thought of a short conversation he’d had with Don Morris, what, maybe an hour ago? Don had commended him on the mission, had wished him luck in the birthing room, and told him he was sure it was going to be easy.
“There’s nothing to it,” Don said. “I’ve done it three times.”
Then Don told him the mission had put the SRT on the map. He’d met with the President that morning. The President was thrilled. There were more missions right on tap. As soon as Luke and Ed were ready.
Luke didn’t know if he’d ever be ready again. The thought of going back out there… But he didn’t tell Don that.
Luke wanted more miracles, like the one he had just witnessed. That�
�s what he realized. He wanted this life, with this woman, and this little boy. Maybe there were more miracles out there to be discovered. And maybe there was something else he could do for a living.
He shook his head. It didn’t even matter. Becca’s family was wealthy. That was the true, unspoken thing. For some reason, they never talked about it. Luke probably didn’t need to work again. He probably didn’t need to risk his life, or kill anyone, ever again. Not for money, anyway.
But he never did it for money in the first place.
Why?
That was the question on his mind today.
No. Not why did he do it?
Why was he here? Why was everything here? Why was there something rather than nothing? Why was there a strong, beautiful woman in that room, and a new baby boy, instead of no woman and no boy and nothing else?
Life was a mystery. What was the reason for it?
“Love,” he said, surprising himself with the answer. “It’s love.”
He nodded silently. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him. There was no one here. The hallway was empty.
“Love,” he said again, stronger this time.
NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!
PRIMARY COMMAND
(The Forging of Luke Stone—Book #2)
“One of the best thrillers I have read this year.”
--Books and Movie Reviews (re Any Means Necessary)
In PRIMARY COMMAND (The Forging of Luke Stone—Book #2), a ground-breaking action thriller by #1 bestseller Jack Mars, elite Delta Force veteran Luke Stone, 29, leads the FBI’s Special Response Team on a nail-biting mission to save American hostages from a nuclear submarine. But when all goes wrong, and when the President shocks the world with his reaction, it may fall on Luke’s shoulders to save not only the hostages—but the world.
PRIMARY COMMAND is an un-putdownable military thriller, a wild action ride that will leave you turning pages late into the night. The precursor to the #1 bestselling LUKE STONE THRILLER SERIES, this series takes us back to how it all began, a riveting series by bestseller Jack Mars, dubbed “one of the best thriller authors” out there.
