POTUS: A Powerplay Novel

by Selena Laurence

  “Will Amir become the heir now? Get the pressure that you’ve lived with all these years?”

  Kamal thought to his younger brother, now the chief comptroller for their father’s company. “He’ll become the first son, but I don’t think it will mean the same things. He’s been trained to take over the business. My father was blessed to have two sons, and because of that, he could look to things beyond the business, like politics. But with only one son, he’ll have to settle for keeping the business in family hands. I was his key to world domination.”

  Teague laughed, and Kamal had to admit that there was a certain sense of freedom that expanded inside him when he realized that he didn’t have to continue with his current career path if he didn’t want to. He didn’t have to be thinking of how he’d become president of Egypt in the next ten years, or which daughter of the Egyptian elite his father would want him to marry. And he remembered this same feeling when he’d made love to Jessica—the lightening of his soul, the sound of shackles falling from his limbs. And for the first time in a very long time, Kamal Masri thought about a future that was wide open.

  “Something is going on with you,” Fiona said as she scraped a spoon around the inside of her yogurt container while stretched out on one of the sofas in the Oval Office.

  “You do realize that you’re eating that on an antique silk settee that was purchased during the Roosevelt administration, right?” Jessica asked from her desk where she was signing several new bills that had been forwarded from the Senate.

  Fiona licked her spoon slowly, winking at Jessica. “Given who’s occupied this office before you, I imagine my yogurt is the least of the sins that have been committed on this sofa.”

  Jessica’s mind went to an image of her and Kamal on that very sofa, her skirt rucked around her hips, legs splayed on either side of his narrow hips as he thrust up into her, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his hot skin under her palms. Yes, if she were a more adventurous woman, that sofa might see some real sinning.

  “Jess?” Fiona was looking at her with a strange expression. “You’re all flushed now. So, I’ll repeat, what’s going on with you?”

  Jessica shook her head to clear the lust that seemed to be a constant occupant for the last few weeks since she and Kamal started their affair.

  “The usual, of course. Too many papers to sign, too many meetings to attend, too many demands on my every moment.”

  Fiona shook her head. “Nope. That’s not it. I know stressed-out Jessica. This”—she waved her spoon around in the air at Jessica—“isn’t stressed-out Jessica. This is almost like…” She stopped, eyes narrowed, watching Jessica like she were prey. “This is like you were when you first started seeing John.”

  Jessica stopped breathing, frozen, her hand holding a pen a few millimeters over a document, her face a mask of shock.

  “Oh. My. God!” Fiona cried out.

  “Shh!” Jessica admonished. “You’ll have the Secret Service in here with their guns drawn.”

  “You did it!” Fiona whisper-yelled, leaping up from the sofa and scurrying to sit in one of the armchairs facing Jessica’s desk. “You slept with the ambassador! When? How? What was he like? Tell me everything.”

  Jessica fought the urge to pound her head on the desk, opting instead to set her pen aside, push the papers away, and stare down her best friend since college. And in those twenty years of friendship, Jessica had never won a stare down with Fiona, so it was stupid to even try.

  “You’ll never outlast me,” Fiona warned, raising an eyebrow at the president.

  “Fine,” Jessica huffed. “Okay, so it’s possible…” She glanced toward the door to the outer offices, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I might be sleeping with the ambassador.”

  Fiona covered her mouth with her hand and squealed. “You did it? How could you keep it from me? How long has it been going on?”

  Jessica sighed. They’d agreed not to tell anyone, but this was Fiona. Fiona would give up her Senate seat before she’d ever betray Jessica. Fiona had held her hand and stayed by her side for months after John died, and she’d never given up on Jessica, never once let her be alone, never once lost patience with the grief that had consumed every moment Jessica wasn’t working. If there was anyone in the entire world who deserved to be told about Jessica’s affair with Kamal, it was Fiona.

  “About three weeks ago. And I’m sorry, but we both swore not to tell a soul. We only get to see each other once or twice a week. And he’s, um…”

  A wicked smile spread across Fiona’s face. “I can tell just by looking at you. He makes you happy.”

  Jessica’s cheeks heated. “He does.” She sighed. “He’s kind of wonderful, Fi. He’s so considerate and caring, but other times, he’s…um, well, you know…”

  Fiona laughed. “Actually I don’t, do tell.” She leaned forward, one elbow on the desk, her chin in her hand, eyes wide with anticipation.

  “He’s delightfully bossy,” Jessica whispered. “Fi, I swear I never knew it could be like that. I mean, John was wonderful, but Kamal… He’s a lot of man. A lot.”

  Fiona fanned herself with her hand and giggled. “Why, Madam President, you’ve found yourself a real tiger, have you?” Then she became serious almost as quickly as she had silly. “I’m happy for you, Jess. You’ve earned it. Whatever attention, pleasure, fun, he can give you, you’ve earned it.”

  “Thank you,” Jessica answered softly. “It’s not always easy to feel like it’s all right for me to do this, but I’m trying, and I’m so happy when I’m with him.”

  “And you’re being cautious? How are you slipping him in? Dear God, that sounded all wrong.”

  Jessica laughed quietly. “Only Peter knows about it. He started on our detail with John when John was in the Senate. He’s been so loyal to John and me all these years, I trust him.”

  “Good.” Fiona glanced at Jessica’s cell phone on the desk. “Oh crap, the Armed Services Committee starts in ten minutes. I have to go.”

  She stood, and Jessica did as well, her heart full of love for this woman who was so steadfast. She walked around the desk and put her arms around her friend. “Thank you.”

  “Heavens, for what?” Fiona asked, patting Jessica on the back.

  “For always being there for me. For supporting me no matter what I decide to do or how I do it.”

  Fiona grasped Jessica’s hand in hers. “Twenty years ago, they assigned me to a dorm room at Stanford, and I met the woman who would be the sister I’ve never had. You’re stuck with me until one of us drops dead.”

  Jessica nodded rapidly, knowing that a president crying, especially at midday, wasn’t on the agenda.

  “Now,” Fiona said, tossing her yogurt container in a trash can next to the desk. “I expect to see the ambassador at the reception next weekend. I have some questions for him.”

  “About what?” Jessica asked as she walked Fi to the door.

  “About this bossiness you’ve mentioned. I might be able to learn something from him that I can use on Denny when we go to Aspen over Christmas.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes and laughed as her friend left the office. Days were always brighter when Fiona visited. In fact, the world was brighter lately, which had Jessica wishing she could take the afternoon off and do something just for her—shopping or watching a movie. Of course she couldn’t, but she consoled herself with the fact that in only fifteen months, she could do things like that as often as she wanted, anywhere she wanted, and with whomever she wanted. She wondered if Kamal would be someone who might be willing to join her doing some of those things when she was no longer living in the White House? She was starting to think that she wanted him to be.

  Chapter 12

  Kamal wasn’t speaking to Derek. Ever again. Well, if he was completely honest, he doubted it would be that long, but it definitely wouldn’t be anytime soon. Derek had fucked up his own career and Melville’s presidential bid so badly that Kamal couldn’t stand to look at hi
s best friend, much less speak to him.

  For fifteen years, they had worked to climb the ladder of success in politics and government. Kamal had financed Derek’s consulting business when it had first opened, and Derek had gotten some of his high-powered clients to lobby for Kamal’s appointment as ambassador, giving the Egyptian parliament the impression that Kamal already had significant American ties who would be likely to support Egypt’s interests in the US.

  But now Kamal had lost his temper, told Derek off, and quit speaking to him. And because of that, he was avoiding the Powerplay condo like the bloody plague. But today he had to risk it because he needed Jeff’s help. Or, more specifically, Colonel Jefferson Thibadeux’s expertise.

  “So, we know that the Bratva made the attempt, we know why, and we suspect that your father and President Abbas are both in bed with the Bratva. Anything else?”

  Kamal stretched across the pool table to line up his next shot, tapping the cue ball and sending it bouncing softly into the six that rolled to the very edge of the pocket and balanced precariously there.

  “Son of a bitch,” he complained. “Something’s been nagging at me. How did the Bratva know that we were considering those particular trade provisions that would stymie their operations? The accord is no secret, and the areas of policy we’re exploring aren’t either, but how could they have ascertained from that general public information that we’d be getting in their way?”

  “A lucky guess?” Jeff countered as he sank the three ball in a corner pocket.

  “I doubt it.”

  “I do too. Let’s talk possibilities.”

  “Okay. Someone on my staff. Someone on the president’s staff.”

  “And how would they know? Do you discuss the details with particular staff members?”

  “I don’t,” Kamal said, his hand poised over the cue stick while he thought. “I give my notes to my secretary so she can type them up and maintain the digital files.”

  He sent the cue ball careening into the eight, which promptly shot at his balancing six ball, sending both balls into the pocket.

  Jeff chuckled as Kamal tossed his cue stick on the table in frustration.

  “I assume you don’t want a rematch?” Jeff asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Kamal rolled his eyes and made his way to the sofa instead of picking his cue stick back up.

  Jeff opted to shoot alone while the conversation continued, his cropped hair and military uniform both in perfect order as he moved around the table, capturing different angles.

  “Do you think the president treats her notes the same way?”

  “I’m guessing so,” Kamal answered. “You need to have at least duplicate copies of everything, and since there aren’t stenographers there when we meet, our personal notes are the only record, so I’m guessing we both try to get those digitized as quickly as possible.”

  “Is it possible for someone to access those files of notes? A hacker maybe?”

  It was the words files and notes that triggered his memory. Kamal sat forward on the sofa, every muscle in his body suddenly tense as it all became clear to him.

  “The bomb threats,” he gasped.

  “What?” Jeff stopped playing with the pool table and walked over to stand looking down at Kamal.

  “The bomb threats we kept getting…”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Every time it happened, I would come back into the office and the sweepers would have opened all the drawers, unshelved all the books. I had to go around putting things back together.”

  “Shit,” Jeff growled, already understanding where this was going.

  “The last threat we had, I went to close the drawer in my desk, and one folder wasn’t quite replaced—it was sitting up too high, preventing the drawer from closing.”

  “Let me guess—this was the folder that contained your notes on the accord?”

  Kamal nodded, anger washing over him. “Son of a bitch!” He pounded his fist on the table in front of him. “The crews that swept the embassy after the threats were all Egyptian security staff. There is only one way someone could get an insider on that crew.”

  “Your father,” Jeff murmured, casting a sympathetic glance at Kamal. “Are you going to tell the president now?”

  Kamal sighed heavily. “I don’t know. If it were only my father involved, I would immediately. He deserves what he gets, but it’s Abbas too. If I give information involving him to the Americans, then I’m a traitor to Egypt. I’d rather not end up in an Egyptian prison cell.” Kamal’s head throbbed, and his throat felt as though it was closing up. Because he was beginning to realize that getting his money away from his father and out of Egypt had really been the least of his concerns.

  Jeff watched him, patiently waiting for him to sort through everything. His heart hurt, his chest burdened by a weight that had been building for weeks now. While he had resigned himself to cutting ties with his father, he hadn’t resigned himself to cutting ties with Egypt.

  His relationship with his homeland was complex, and sometimes even he didn’t understand it. He had lived in the shadow of Egypt his entire life. It was always there, even when it was across an ocean; it was in the mirror when he looked at his own reflection; it was in the food that he was served in his embassy dining room; it was in the voices of his staff as they spoke to one another. Egypt was in the fabric of his DNA, and in every lesson and responsibility he’d been given over the course of his life.

  But, at the same time, he’d spent very little time in Egypt. In fact, no more than a month at a time in the last ten years. His two years in the Egyptian army had been split between assignments in Egypt and others outside the country. So, while Egypt was in his blood, it wasn’t in his life. Not on a regular basis. At the age of thirty-four, he found that Egypt seemed more than a little foreign to him when he visited. Like an elderly relative’s home that he’d been to enough times to know his way around, but not often enough to feel at home.

  “What am I supposed to do?” he asked Jeff, for once in his life not seeing a clear path.

  “How about this? I’ll present the information to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

  “It would beat the hell out of me taking it to the president,” he muttered.

  “The only thing is that we have to figure out how to get some evidence if we can’t use you as our source.”

  “Christ, what a mess.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can you work on figuring out how to do that?”

  “Of course. Can I have access to your security chief? I don’t want to use any of my men. It puts them in a very awkward position since it’s not an official assignment. I don’t mind risking my own career, but I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s.”

  “Of course,” Kamal said, quickly standing and putting his hand out to shake Jeff’s. I’ll have Tariq get in touch with you immediately, and you can just tell him how to proceed. Please don’t do any of it yourself. Keep your hands clean, and when Tariq’s found something that will suffice, you can take it to the general and tell him that you have a source within the Egyptian embassy. I’ll make sure that whatever investigation Egypt might conduct into finding that source goes nowhere.”

  Jeff nodded sharply. “Good. And in the meantime, you need to be extra careful with any information about the accord. Put it in a safe, keep it on your person, encrypt those digital files, whatever it takes. They may already have what they wanted, but in case they don’t, let’s not hand over anything else.”

  Kamal picked up his jacket and walked toward the door.

  “One other thing,” Jeff said from behind him.

  Kamal turned, waiting. Jeff leaned against the bar, hands in the front pockets of his uniform slacks.

  “When you spend time with the president, watch out for her. They’re undoubtedly still gunning for one or both of you.”

  Kamal swallowed, his jaw tight, not sure if Jeff was saying what he thought or not.

  “Peter A
ndrews, on her Secret Service detail?”

  Kamal’s heart sank, but he nodded silently.

  “We served in Afghanistan together. We’re very close, very old friends.”

  “Fuck,” Kamal hissed.

  Jeff cleared his throat. “You care about her?” he asked, his face stern, his words soft.

  Kamal cleared his throat, the tension in the room ratcheting up like a fire being fed oxygen. “Very much,” he confessed.

  Air left Jeff’s lungs in relief. “There’s no way it can end well.”

  “I’m hoping it doesn’t have to end,” he bit back.

  Jeff shook his head, and Kamal bristled at his friend’s pity.

  “Who else has he told—Peter?”

  “No one. I mentioned you in passing, and he asked how well I knew you. I told him we’d been close friends for several years and that’s when he brought me into the loop. He’s a very good man. He would never betray the president, but he’s concerned, and he asked me to speak to you.”

  “So, you’re warning me off, then?”

  “I’m telling you as someone who cares about you and cares about my president that I don’t see how this can have a good outcome.”

  Kamal jerked his head in affirmation, his jaw set. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll have Tariq contact you this evening.”

  Jeff nodded, obviously aware that the subject of Kamal and the president was now closed.

  But when Kamal reached the elevator and slumped against the wall in the empty metal box as it lowered to the parking garage, he couldn’t help but think that Jeff and Peter were right. Nothing good was going to come from the president of the United States and the Egyptian ambassador.

  John Hampton, Senior had served four terms in the United States Senate, one as governor of South Carolina, and two in the state House of Representatives. His father before him had been governor of South Carolina as well. He was an elder statesman in his party, as well as the patriarch of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the South. And while he’d recently had surgery for prostate cancer, he looked almost as imposing as he had the day Jessica had first met him when she accompanied her new boyfriend home from law school for Thanksgiving break.