For God and Country: Leona Foxx Suspense Thriller #1

by Ted Peters

  After an uncomfortable pause, the president looked at Holthusen, “Gary, would you please show our guest the file?”

  “Certainly.” Holthusen opened a manila folder and placed it on the desk in front of Leona. He opened it. The first item was an eight-by-ten inch photo of a man dressed in a pin-striped suit, salt and pepper hair, perhaps sixty. “Do you know this person?” asked the vice president.

  “Of course I do,” responded Leona. “This is Karl Budenholzer. I’ve seen him many times at CIA headquarters. I took orders directly from him on my first assignments. Why do you ask?”

  “Just to be certain we’re on the same page,” answered Holthusen. “Take a look at the second picture.”

  Leona flipped Budenholzer’s photo over to the left and studied the second one, that of a rugged soldier of fortune, dressed in a safari jacket. “This is Jarrod Grimes, of course.”

  “How well do you know Mr. Grimes?” asked the Vice President.

  “Not well. I saw him once or maybe twice in the field, in Iran. That’s all.”

  “Have you ever seen Mr. Budenholzer and Mr. Grimes together?” asked Leslie Richardson.

  “No. Although it should not be all that unusual. Grimes works on contracts for Budenholzer.”

  “The next picture shows the two together,” Holthusen offered. He sifted through the file and placed in front of her a photo of Budenholzer and Grimes standing next to one another. They were standing in front of a business jet, a Cessna Ten, sporting white shorts, turquoise polo shirts, sunglasses, and straw hats. “This shot was taken at London Gatwick. Probably a refueling stop.”

  Leona studied the photo. “I see each is wearing a light chain around the neck. What is that hanging from the chain?”

  “Don’t know,” said Holthusen. “We amplified the photo to see. Looks like a piece of jerky, huh? Curious, eh?”

  Leona’s hands began to tremble. Oh, I wish I did not know what I know. Her heart rate doubled. I’ve got to switch on my machine mind. Seconds passed.

  “Is there anything wrong, Lee?” asked Holthusen.

  Everyone remained still. Holthusen bent to look compassionately into Leona’s face. She turned slowly toward Holthusen and simply thanked him with her eyes. Then, she closed the file, straightened up in her chair, and faced the president. She said nothing.

  “Frankly, Lee, we need your help,” said President Dodge. “The situation in Tehran continues to be difficult. We cannot discern for certain whether Iran will soon be in a position to launch and detonate a nuclear weapon. Our intelligence remains ambiguous. On the one hand, video surveillance and other information suggest that Iran has not pursued bomb building since 2003. On the other hand, Tehran defied the 2006 United Nations resolution calling on Iran to suspend its nuclear enrichment program. Even with the 2016 announcement that Iran had dismantled its nuclear development program to make way for ending sanctions, we have good reason to think that weapons research continues. Somehow Iran has found a location we don’t know about. Even though we cannot accurately assess the threat, we believe a threat exists. Despite the many years we have lived with this, the course of events is now beyond our control and even beyond our prediction. We need your help. That’s why we’ve brought you here tonight.”

  “I gave you my help once. Remember?” The president nodded his head affirmatively. She continued. “I gave you my help and twenty-eight loyal spies, including Iranian assets working for America, needlessly died. They died at the hands of executioners, executioners who would not have shot or drowned or beheaded them if you would have intervened on their behalf. These were people who offered to help you. These were people who were willing to take risks because they thought they were working for a world free from the threat of nuclear terrorism. And you sacrificed them. For what? You’re no further ahead now than you were when you were draining the blood out of your agents like an auto mechanic drains oil from a crank case.”

  “Leona, I tried to explain to you...”

  “No explanations can justify what you did. And still today you think your shit doesn’t stink. Well, let me tell you it stinks all the way to high heaven!”

  At this the vice president stood up. “Young lady, do not talk to our president in this way! When we’re in this office, we show respect. We need respect if we are to deliberate and move forward.”

  “Actually, Madam Vice President, I have a great deal more respect for our president than it may sound at the moment,” Leona responded looking directly at Leslie Richardson. “I can’t say the same for you, however. While you’re spending four years in Washington as vice president, you’ve temporarily suspended your participation on the board of Texarab Oil Company. But you haven’t suspended your company’s profiteering, not only at the gas pump but profiteering from depletion allowances and outright government contracts. With your husband, General ‘Bull’ Richardson, in the Pentagon, you have a nice cozy push-me-pull-you.”

  “Just what do you mean?”

  “Here’s what I mean. The Pentagon pushes for increased military action wherever possible, and the procurement office buys more petroleum to support the troops. The president pushes for reconstruction of what we blow up in Afghanistan, Iraq, and whichever country comes next on the hit list. Who gets the re-construction contracts? Doberman Construction, a subsidiary of Texarab, that’s who. In Congress you push our reps and senators for tax exemptions for large corporations so you can suck the life out of the tax-paying middle class and spend their hard-earned money on yourselves. All these pushes amount to a cash pull for you and your cronies.”

  “I don’t like the sound of what you’re saying, Reverend Foxx,” interjected the Vice President.

  “Nor do the citizens of Bagdad like the sound of ‘shock “n” awe’ or the families dying of starvation in sub-Saharan Africa like the sound of international silence. With all your wealth and influence, you could have considered investing in peace instead of war. Imagine how much better our world would be if the resources invested in bombs that explode only once were diverted into food aid for Africa’s starving, aid that could have a lifetime of impact on those who survive? Instead of burning gasoline to move military trucks up the roads of Afghanistan, suppose you send these trucks to deliver food and medicine in Africa to those who need it? ”

  “Private enterprise exists solely to make profit,” said Leslie, now fully engaged in the debate. “The free market simply responds to people’s needs in an openly competitive way. It cannot on its own take up responsibility for charity, for giving to those unproductives who do not earn their place in the global economy. That is the responsibility of governments, or even churches.” She grinned, showing satisfaction that she’d thrown in the word, “churches.”

  “But,” replied Leona, rising to her feet but not rising to the bait about churches. “What if a government is motivated to be charitable but does not have the resources to spend on aid to the needy because its tax revenue has been turned over to special interests?”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded the vice president.

  Leona went on. “Please recall: shortly before the end of a previous presidency, our nation’s leader decided to fill up American oil reserves. He paid $140 per barrel, the highest price at that time in history. When the reserves were full, the price dropped to a fair market value of $40. This was a form of pillaging our own nation on behalf of Texarab and other petroleum investors with their hands out for government welfare. Because of joint contracts between Houston and Riyadh, a torrent of cash flowed from the other forty-nine states through Washington to the Middle East and then back into Texas. The amount of profiteering has been obscene by any count. And now you, Madam Vice President, are in Washington to blow up the taxation and regulation dams that could slow the torrential cash flow.”

  “If what you say were to be true, Reverend Foxx, then I would be guilty of criminal manipulation of my office. Certainly you must be mistaken. This cannot be the case. I believe you are voicing your politic
al opinion, not something factual. You belong to that effete group of losing liberals who blame international business for all the world’s woes. Maybe you’re even green. It’s hard for me to take you seriously.”

  “What you call political opinion I deem to be a matter of grave moral concern,” Leona exclaimed. “Last week a Chinook helicopter was shot down in the mountains bordering Pakistan and Afghanistan. Two dozen casualties: six Afghan regulars and eighteen Navy Seals. The bodies of the Seals were brought back to America, and our president here met the caskets at the airfield. He announced to the Seals’ families and to the nation that they died as heroes. They died defending freedom from its enemies. They shed their blood so that we might live in freedom. Their blood is salvation for our nation. What he did not say is that some of our finest young men and women must be sacrificed for the profits of Texarab.”

  “How dare you!”

  Leona would not be thwarted. “Technically, we as a nation are scapegoating these physically fit and courageous young people. We hallow them in their death so that no one will speak the truth, namely that they died to keep the price of Texarab stock from falling. What you do, Madam Vice President, is use America as a cash cow and then have your spineless president here call it sacred when you butcher it. Tennessee Williams called this ‘mendacity’. Jesus called it ‘hypocrisy’.”

  The CIA director reacted with disguised surprise when he glanced at the president. The president was not dismayed or angry. He was actually grinning.

  Astonished at Leona’s frankness and extremism, Leslie Richardson turned to Andrew Dodge. “I think this conversation is not going the direction we’d hoped, Andrew.”

  Andrew Dodge remained glued to his chair. He spoke in a calm voice, yet with a slight hint of agitation. “Madam Vice President. Mr. Director. I believe I can handle things from this point. It’s very late. I believe I can excuse the two of you. Go get some sleep.”

  The two executives bade the president and Leona good night. The president stood up and followed them to the door. Once they had departed he stuck his head out the door and whispered to the guards. Then he double locked the door from the inside.

  Leona was still on her feet. The president turned to gaze at her. He paused. His eyes skipped around the room, awkwardly. Then, he stared again at Leona. He walked slowly toward her.

  Once close enough, she threw her arms around him and nestled her head into the curve of his neck. His arms moved around her body. He gently hugged her, gripping her waist from behind.

  “Oh, Andy,” she sighed.

  “Lee, I’ve missed you.”

  30 Thursday, Chicago, 3:24 am

  The mutual caress turned time into eternity. Or, strictly a fragment of eternity. The president arched backward to say in a sing-song voice, “Spineless? Is that what you think I am?”

  “Oh, Andy. I’m sorry. I think I got carried away,” lamented Leona. “Of course, you’re not spineless. I’m just troubled. I hope you can forget that remark.”

  “No problem, Pastor.”

  “Maybe I shoot my mouth off when I don’t have the right ammunition,” Leona went on. “Next time you see Leslie Richardson, would you apologize for me?”

  “No, I won’t,” said the president sharply. “You’re like a prophet in ancient Israel: you speak truth to power. May I fix you a glass of sherry?”

  “I’d rather have port, if you’ve got it.”

  “Port for the lady!” he exclaimed as he waltzed to the wet bar. “I’ll take the single malt Scotch.”

  The two found chairs at right angles to one another. They each drank their first sips in silence. Then Andrew spoke. “I can’t tell you how refreshing you are to me. I’m surrounded all day long, every day, by sycophants. ‘Yes, Mr. President.’ and ‘No, Mr. President.’ If I would bend over, they’d push and shove in line to kiss my ass. But you, lady pastor, thunder down on me the wrath of God. You make me feel like shit.”

  Leona’s smile indicated understanding. “I’m really glad to be here, Andy.”

  Andrew lifted his glass and the two toasted.

  “May I try this one more time, Lee? You don't seem to get it, no matter how often I repeat it.” Andrew halted. “When you were incarcerated in that Iranian dungeon, I had only been in office a few weeks. I was still trying to wrap my mind around all the briefings. Karl Budenholzer was at that time CIA Director. He’s since been demoted and replaced by Holthusen. I asked Budenholzer what to say to Golshani. He dictated my actions. I trusted him. On each communication with Tehran I repeated, ‘We don’t negotiate with terrorists’. Golshani, as you can imagine, retorted that he’s not a terrorist. He reminded me that he is the president of a sovereign state. And sovereign states have the authority to execute, to take human lives.”

  “You simply let Budenholzer lead you like a cow with a ring in its nose?”

  “I was slow on the uptake, Lee. When the gravity of the situation finally sank in, I took control from Budenholzer. Golshani and I agreed that he could make public that America had hired spies to gain intelligence in Iran; and he could say what he wanted once the three of you were safely in Saudi Arabia. As it turns out, this did not become big news. The tsunami that hit Japan swallowed up the media’s attention, and this little Irangate was hardly noticed. Much to Golshani’s chagrin, virtually nobody cared about three spies. If I could do it over again, I would...”

  Leona interrupted. “This idea that a sovereign state, whether Iran or the U.S., has the right to snuff out human lives: where does that come from? Each of us in that prison was a human person. You’re a human person. Doesn’t that trump state sovereignty?”

  “This is no time for political philosophy, Lee. I’m telling you that sitting here with you right now isn’t...”

  “Yes, I know.” Leona grabbed Andrew’s hand and gave it a tender squeeze.

  The president stood up. He grabbed the glass from Leona’s hand and sauntered toward the wet bar to pour refills. Over his shoulder he began a discourse, possibly rehearsed silently in his mind. “Whenever I feel stressed or discouraged, I think back to the first year when you’d come stateside. Once every month or so we’d spend a day or two, alone with the secret service.”

  “The very secret service,” Lee interjected.

  Andrew walked toward her. “Those were good days, Lee. After making love we would simply lie in one another’s arms. We’d talk until sunrise. What we shared came from the depth of our being, from the emptiness and fullness of our souls. Yes, you were still angry at me. I was still angry with myself. Our private time was filled with Sturm und Drang. But it was also filled with the most profound joy I’ve ever experienced.”

  Leona’s face glowed with her recollection of the same shared joy.

  “Lee,” he said, “you taught me the difference between just sex and making love. I can't thank you enough for that.”

  “Our love was beautiful, Andy. But it couldn’t continue could it?”

  “No, it had to stop.”

  “But Lee, I needed you then. I need you now.”

  “You’ve got Mildred. I’ve got my ordination. You don’t need me.”

  “Did you have to shut off your hormones just to get ordained?”

  “By no means! And that’s a crude remark, Andy. My feelings did not change. I believe you know that. You are simply not available to me. And such a secret has impeachment written all over it. Divorce too. I will contribute nothing to either. You know this.”

  “Yes, I do.” The President thought for a moment. “I’m trying to remember, Lee, since you began your second year of seminary, how often have we had a chance like this to talk. Has it been twice a year?”

  “That’s about right,” she responded. “Twice a year or so. I never know when a secret service agent might show up at my door and whisk me to the White House for a confidential rendezvous. Tonight was the first time via helicopter. It was kinda fun, actually.”

  “I have to know how you’re doing, Lee.”

 
“I appreciate the fact that you’re concerned about my well-being. But I don’t see how I contribute anything to your work as the head of state.”

  “It’s not my work as head of state. I bring you to see me because my psyche needs your visits. You’re like a pill—a reality pill. When my head aches after listening day in and day out to one bullshitter after another bullshitter, I need relief. Everyone who talks to me walks on eggshells, trying to say what they think I want them to say. I feel like a babysitter for three hundred million people. And the media! Ouch! Every contact with a reporter is like walking into a bear trap. I get prodded with jabs, accusations, provocations. I’m prodded to say something I will eventually regret. Sooner or later, I do say something I regret. And then I get to watch it on news program after news program. So, you see, Lee, you give me two things a sick person needs. You heal me with your uncompromising realism. And, more importantly, you accept me for who I am. Even though I’m responsible for the worst thing that ever happened to you in your life, the way you treat me makes me feel forgiven. If I don’t see you every so often, I’ll drown in a whirlpool of distortions and criticisms.”

  31 Thursday, Chicago, 3:48 am

  “So, where do we stand?” Leona asked the president.

  “With you and me? Or, with the geopolitical situation?”

  “Let’s do the second. The first is settled.”

  “The contractors are getting together. They’re becoming what OPEC was in the 1970s. For many years we had diversity. The larger businesses hired mercenaries, usually hardened and combat experienced special forces personnel. Some of our best soldiers found themselves at a loss after discharge. They became addicted to the head rush of the risk, danger, and excitement of combat. By shuttling these thrill addicts into mercenary forces, it keeps them under a semblance of discipline and off our streets at home. The U.S. hires them to protect VIPs and other sorts of assignments. Everything is legal. Mercenaries are subject to the same laws as our troops.”