Captive-in-Chief

by Murray Mcdonald

  The police numbers were growing as well. The TV crews that lined the streets to record the impromptu gig were taking note themselves and their focus moved from Zane and the band to the crowd.

  Brian stepped back into the building and shut the balcony door, pressing his intercom.

  “Police Commander, this is head of Band Security, come in please.”

  “Brian, I was about to contact you. We’re closing this down immediately. Reinforcements are en route. Intelligence has come in that a major protest is planned.”

  A scream ripped through the thousands of watts of music power. Zane rushed through the door, nearly knocking Brian to the ground.

  “It’s fucking crazy out there!” he shouted, racing to his dressing room.

  Brian had to wait for the rest of the band to exit the balcony before he could see what was happening. His security team rushed in behind, lumps of curb, bricks, and broken barrier raining down on them, thrown from the crowd below, nothing like the usual panties and bras,

  The police tried in vain to resist the massive surge as the crowd pushed towards the entrance. The genuine fans tried desperately to get away but were used as a buffer to attack the police. Young girls in flimsy clothing with blood running from wounds filled his vision, their weightless bodies being crashed into the barriers and police as the mass of protestors pushed from behind. It was chaos.

  The dull thud of chopper blades pulsed in his chest. Police flooded into the lobby below as the protestors pushed through the fans and began to attack the police, their apparent target, head on.

  The chopper landed above, shaking the building. He had to get to Zane and the band and get them out. It had been quick thinking by the chopper pilot, he thought. They were stationed a mile or so away, awaiting Brian’s signal. However, they had obviously seen the protestors and come anyway. Thank God.

  Brian raced through the building towards the dressing room area. The police and security were losing ground; the protestors were already breaking into the lobby.

  Zane rushed into his dressing room, where the girl was awaiting his return. He hardly looked at her as he grabbed his bag and stuffed his personal items into it.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “It’s chaos out there, a full blown riot!” he said, panicking. He looked around desperately, checking he had all of his possessions. “Maybe another time?” he offered as Brian crashed through the door.

  “Is she coming?” asked Brian. Zane shook his head and pushed past him. Brian threw her an apologetic look.

  A four-man team surrounded Zane while the rest of the band had to make do with only two-men teams. Brian brought up the rear, his ten men and the band pushing onwards towards the rooftop. The lobby, he could hear through his intercom, was overrun and the police had effectively abandoned the building. For the band and anyone still in the building, there was no other way out other than the choppers above.

  Gunshots cut through the screaming and shouting as what was supposed to be a celebration of the band’s achievements spiraled into a full scale riot.

  “Where is she?” screamed one of the friends of Zane’s abandoned conquest. Brian indicated back towards the dressing rooms. The three girls pushed past them and on towards the sounds of the onrushing rioters. Brian waved his team towards the roof. He shouldn’t have left the girl behind, and he certainly shouldn’t have asked for Zane’s approval. He turned and rushed after the girls, the sound of footsteps crashing up the stairs below him. Brian knew the building inside out. He made it his business to know any building his protectees were in. The first rioters had reached the top of the stairs as he rushed after the girls. He looked back down the length of the corridor to where his team was already pushing through the door that would lead the band to the roof. They were well ahead of the rioters and, secure in the knowledge his protectees were safe, he pushed on after the girls. Four very attractive young women caught up in a riot, he didn’t even want to think what could happen to them.

  “We can’t get on the helicopter!” came a panicked shout in Brian’s ear. It was one of his team.

  “Get on and leave me here, I’ll fend for myself,” he said, his breath catching as he forced his way through the first rioters. He was a big guy and nobody seemed interested in taking him on.

  The crowd surged against him, forcing him back towards the stairs. The rioters were moving back, away from the girls he was trying to protect.

  “You’re not the problem, it’s the chopper – it’s not ours!”

  “Offer them whatever you have to, just get the band out of here!”

  “Get me the fuck out of here!” Zane shouted in the background, his voice breaking into full diva mode.

  “I don’t care if it costs a million, get the band on that chopper!” demanded Brian, now forced to move with the mass of rioters.

  “They’re laughing at us, offering them money!”

  “For the love of God, man, offer them whatever you have to, ten million, I don’t care. Get the band off this fu—”

  Brain could finally see what was creating the backward surge of rioters. He was back at the top of the stairs and as he was pushed backwards down the corridors, a number of the rioters ahead of him went back down the stairs. He could see what was creating the backswell. The four girls were working their way down the corridor. Three were armed and threatening to kill anyone who didn’t get out of their way. The fourth girl, Zane’s potential conquest, was being shielded by the other three girls. Their FN P90 short stubby machine guns were up and he had no doubt they were prepared to use them. Three men lay flat out, further back down the corridor.

  Brian hadn’t heard any shots and wondered what had happened until a man broke ranks and rushed at the girls. The P90 was dropped by one of the girls, its strap around her shoulder meant it fell no further than her waist. She snapped her foot out, catching the man perfectly in the kneecap, following with an elbow to the side of the man’s head. His head snapped back and he dropped to the floor, if he was lucky, unconscious. The P90 was back in her hand in an instant and up and ready for action.

  “Whose chopper is it?” Brian asked into his headset.

  Before he could get an answer a burst of sustained and deafening automatic gun fire tore through every shout and scream, silencing the building. It came from behind him, where the band was. He spun around. Ten heavily armed US Marines were rushing towards him, he didn’t need an answer to his question when he realized why the girl Zane had chosen looked familiar.

  She was Tess Caldwell, the president’s daughter.

  Chapter 13

  The stewardess threw him a wicked smile as they lifted into the air for the third and final time that day. It was to be their longest leg, St. Louis to San Francisco, over four hours non-stop flying. Though a fresh flight crew had joined the aircraft in St. Louis, the stewardess, Drapsmann noted, had remained.

  “I thought they’d have swapped you with the flight crew,” he said, clearly happy they hadn’t.

  “I couldn’t let you end the day without a proper sendoff.” She winked, brushing his arm as she delivered his coffee.

  “And what’s a proper sendoff?” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was as hard as he had ever been. His exploits throughout the day were exhilarating enough without the stewardess’ innuendo and suggestion. She was seriously sexy.

  She bent forward, her shirt dropping, and his eyes drifted down her exposed neckline. She was braless now; it had been there earlier. Her breasts were as perfect as he could have hoped. Her nipples stared back at him.

  “You’ll know it when it comes.” She ran her fingernails through his hair and walked away from him, her tight skirt struggling to constrain her.

  “Oh dear God,” he whispered, enraptured by her every move.

  He had been disappointed when they had landed in St. Louis and nothing had happened between them despite the outrageous flirting that had promised so much. Leaving the plane knowing the crew was changing hadn’t
been pleasant, although the promise of a few more kills under his belt had helped.

  The three black men had been too easy. Accepting their arrest despite having committed no crime was a surprise. He expected they’d have put up a bit of a struggle. It was only later he had discovered they were honor students with an unblemished past. A bonus, he had thought—all the more shocking for the media to play on. It wasn’t until he had pulled trigger and killed the first student that the men fully understood what was happening to them. The final two had cried like babies; he hated when they didn’t die with dignity, it was so unbecoming of real men.

  The stewardess turned to face him, another button on her blouse undone, her cleavage exposed and her breasts struggling to stay within their sheer confines.

  “More coffee?” she asked

  He took a sip, his eyes transfixed by her. “N-no th-thanks,” he stuttered, surprising himself with his lack of composure. His eyelids snapped closed. He fought against them, but a sudden heaviness overcame him. He had caught her smile; she’d drugged him.

  Everything around Drapsmann faded to black

  Chapter 14

  President Caldwell’s mood had darkened after his chat with Bill. The news had broken and as feared, L.A. had exploded into violence. Running battles with protestors and police were breaking out across the city. The buzz of his phone broke his trance. It was just after 3.00 a.m., not a time he expected texts or calls on his cell phone. A knock on his door beat him to his phone.

  “Mr. President, we have Tess!” announced the Secret Service agent on duty.

  “Thank you,” said Clay, a wave of relief flooding through him. He had been more worried than he even knew himself at how exposed she was at college in L.A.

  He reached for his phone. As previously, a message alert from an unknown sender was displayed on the device. He didn’t know how it was possible. He was told he had the most advanced phone money couldn’t buy, unique in its capabilities and existence, one of a kind and costing millions to modify and ensure the world’s most powerful man could speak in secrecy wherever he was in the world at any time.

  We’ll let you have Tess this time. Try something like that again and she’ll die.

  He read the message in horror. A photo of his daughter was attached showing her being bundled into a US Marine chopper, once again with crosshairs covering the image, proving they were everywhere. Clay steadied himself on his desk, his breathing coming in short gasps. He was hyperventilating. They could do anything they wanted to him, not his family… he couldn’t cope with the thought that he could cause them to be harmed.

  He had two jobs, one as a husband and father to look after and protect his family, and the second, thanks to the citizens of the United States of America, to be a president, to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.

  He had never accepted a job to defend the world but he had an obligation and duty as a father to do whatever he could to protect his family. He made a decision.

  He looked down at his desk. A map of the US was his favored desk mat. He focused first on LA, where his daughter was in a helicopter on her way to the airport, and much to her chagrin, heading back to D.C. How he was going to explain that, he wasn’t entirely sure. Tess had fought hard to attend Pomona, and her two best friends were there with her. Pulling her out of school and keeping her in D.C. wasn’t going to be easy to justify.

  Another knock preceded Bill’s entry.

  “Still can’t sleep?” asked Clay.

  “Mr. President, apologies for disturbing you again.”

  “Come in, Bill, and thank you so much for getting Tess.” Clay pushed his cell into his pocket, out of sight.

  “There have been further developments, Sir. As you know, your daughter is safe and inbound to LAX where a jet is on standby to bring her home. However, I thought you should be aware of what has happened at the venue she was rescued from.”

  “Venue?”

  “Yes, Sir, she was at a concert. Rioters stormed the building and—”

  Clay gasped. “She was in the middle of a riot?”

  “She’s fine, Sir. Thanks to her Secret Service detail and the Marines, she escaped unharmed. The venue has since caught fire and the loss of life is expected to be significant. A number of people were on the roof and unable to escape the blaze which ripped through the old building with surprising speed. Tess made it out before the fire started.”

  “Dear God,” Clay said. Although, as dreadful as the situation was, he had a reason to bring his daughter home.

  “We believe Zane Tate and his band are among the dead.”

  Clay shrugged; the name meant nothing.

  “He’s the lead singer of the most popular band in the world, Sir.”

  “Do we have an idea of how many others?”

  “It could be over a hundred,” Bill replied.

  “Jesus.”

  “And the rioters caused this?”

  “That’s where it gets a bit sketchy. They stormed the building in numbers, and likely will make up a large portion of the dead. However, the suggestion is that a flare fired to warn off rioters by the Marine chopper that rescued your daughter subsequently ignited the fire.”

  “Shit!” said Clay.

  Bill nodded gravely. The media were going to go wild with the story.

  “Who were the rioters?”

  “I don’t understand, Sir.”

  “Ethnicity?”

  “Black, Sir. Almost entirely black males.”

  “Oh dear God. We’re going to be crucified if the Marines did start the fire. Even if they didn’t, it’s going to cause mayhem. Better call the Council in, we need to get ahead of this.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” replied Bill, heading back to the Situation Room.

  Alone once again, Clay’s head dropped into his hands, his gaze falling on the map on his desk. L.A. to D.C. was a long way; he wanted his baby girl home. His eye caught New York and his thoughts moved to Clara, his eldest daughter. Only a couple of hundred miles away, but a world apart. His eyes traced the map back to Texas and Corpus Christi.

  Where are you Joe? I need you now more than ever.

  ***

  Joe toasted the ‘Welcome to Louisiana’ sign with the last swig of his second bottle of bourbon. He looked out into the darkness from the coach, patted Sandy gently, and closed his eyes. Seven hours down, only another thirty-three to go.

  Chapter 15

  The Homeland Security Council list of attendees was a who’s who of the heads of the most powerful agencies in the US. All were fully expecting the situation to escalate and none were surprised at the early morning wake up call. The Situation Room bustled with nervous energy as the assembled group of America’s most powerful men and women awaited their Commander-in-Chief.

  “Morning,” the president, walking into the room.

  A chorus of “Good morning Mr. President” echoed around the room.

  “Bill, will you bring us up to date?” asked Clay, taking his seat and wasting no time.

  A deafening silence fell over the room as Bill described in detail the day’s and night’s events so far: The Black Panthers’ website being hacked, their links to Al Qaeda prior to 9/11, the murder and Klan style killing of the mayor and the police officer. Jaws visibly dropped when the details of the execution of the three black students were delivered. Audible gasps followed the latest disclosure of 146 dead in a fire at Fox Pomona, which was being blamed on a Marine flare fired during the rescue of Tess Caldwell. The dead included Zane Tate, who had been physically removed from the chopper prior to its departure after fighting his way onto it.

  Eyewitnesses said it had been Tess herself who had demanded his removal, despite ample room for him and many others to have boarded the helicopters sent to save her. At that time, the fire had not yet started.

  “We’ve also heard that despite helicopters being nearby, in particular the band’s own helicopter, which would have been able to rescue people from
the roof, the airspace was closed due to Tess’s rescue operation. The pilot has already been on air, his interview all the more damning, given he could hardly speak between his tears. And that’s where we are,” Bill concluded to a stunned and silenced audience.

  Eyes turned to the president. Nobody knew what to say. A number of the incidents in isolation were serious enough to lead to widespread unrest. The combination of them all in such a short period left no one in the room doubting they were facing the single most difficult period of their administration.

  “Firstly,” began Clay, “it was me that requested Tess be brought back to D.C. She was unaware of my request and quite honestly I was not aware that she was not in her student accommodation when I issued the request. My daughter is alive, and for that I am extremely grateful. However, I want to understand what exactly happened on that roof and at that venue, and I will report those findings to the American public. If anyone, and I include my daughter in this, is found responsible and should face charges, so be it. None of us are above the law.”

  “Mr. President,” the Secretary of Homeland Security, said, “given we’re aware of the likely trouble spots—Ferguson, Atlanta, and L.A.— would it be appropriate for us to get FEMA in there ahead of any further trouble?”

  The Secretary of Homeland Security turned to his subordinate and fellow member of the Homeland Security Council, the Administrator of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) who took over talking.

  “Obviously, we’ll need to get the governors on board and get them to request our help, but we have significant capabilities within FEMA that could help local authorities if rioting were to break out. Additionally any clean-up operation.”