Captive-in-Chief

by Murray Mcdonald

  Twenty minutes later Clay was once again alone. The news of the legislature still in place was one that gave him hope. They could stop any craziness by his captors in their tracks. Although there were ways around the legislature, but there was always the Supreme Court to protect him and America.

  He pulled the note out of his pocket: America needs to look after number one. Tomorrow, recall all overseas forces. The world can fend for itself.

  The instruction bore heavily on him, he was avoiding it. While they may have cleared the way for him domestically, his conscience remained.

  ***

  The Chief Justice boarded the VH-60 White Hawk helicopter and strapped himself in. He wasn’t a fan of travelling by chopper, even one of the president’s own choppers. The justices had been relocated to Camp David immediately after the bombing of the Capitol. It was a beautiful location but the Justices of the Supreme Court, just like their elected counterparts, wanted to be back at work.

  “Would it be possible to fly over the Supreme Court building?”

  “Mr. Chief Justice, this helicopter can go anywhere you want it to.”

  He looked at his cell, that wasn’t entirely true. Flying it into the building was where he wanted it to go. Accidental death would save his precious grandchildren, suicide would end his turmoil, but he was assured would also end their lives. Convince the president to keep the legislature and require Senate elections. They had contacted him days earlier, they had his grandchildren in their sights, he would receive orders which he would follow to the letter. They were watching and listening to his every move.

  Chapter 41

  Mrs. Klein was nothing like he had pictured on his trip across America. He had pictured himself sitting sipping tea with a woman in her fifties, prim, proper and very efficient. Joe sat in disorganized chaos as a young, stunningly attractive and very ditzy Mrs. Amy Klein, ‘Please call me Amy’, searched through a mountain of notes and paperwork. All the while, stopping to pat and tell Sandy how super cute she was. As much as Joe found her frustrating, Sandy loved her.

  “I know I have something here with your name on it. God, she is too cute!” She patted Sandy again.

  “Oh I remember!” She abandoned the pile of papers on her desk and reached across to a table equally stacked with papers, producing a handwritten note: Joe Kelly, new pool man arriving in next few days.

  She laughed, and Joe smiled inanely. “Anyway, it was on my desk when I got back from my honeymoon. It’s from the chief of staff, so you’ve obviously got some powerful friends!”

  Joe shrugged, he didn’t know what to say. He knew he had to remain under the radar but had no idea of the cover story. The less he said, the less he could incriminate himself.

  “So sad. I mean, he wasn’t young or anything, about sixty or something, older than my dad, he was a lovely man though. Did you know him well?”

  “No, you?” Thank God she’d added ‘well’. Joe didn’t even know the man’s name.

  “What?”

  “Did you know him well?” he prompted.

  “Never met him,” Amy replied. Joe’s eyes raised skywards, she was something else.

  Sandy walked over to Amy, brushing past him roughly and rubbing against her affectionately. He could almost hear Sandy say with her actions, ‘Don’t be so mean, bless her, she’s sweet.’

  “Go somewhere nice on your honeymoon?” asked Joe, wanting to get the subject off of who or what he knew.

  “Bora Bora, amazing!” she said, twisting her shiny new wedding ring. Joe focused on the lump of diamond next to it that would easily buy a small family home.

  “You been?”

  “Out of my price league, I think,”

  “You know, now that you mention it, I’ve got no idea what your pay should be. I wonder if anyone else knows about your job?”

  Joe remained calm. The last thing he needed was Amy messing up Clay’s plan to get him into the White House without anyone knowing. “Money’s not a big thing for me, pay me the same as the lowest member of staff and I’ll be more than happy. With everything going on, I’m sure people have enough to worry about other than a pool guy’s salary.”

  Amy shrugged. “Okay, although that’s like $42,000. I mean…”

  Joe had to stop himself from reacting. Forty-two grand!

  “…how can you live on that! It’s scandalous,” she continued.

  “That’s fine for me,” he said calmly, his mind racing at how much he could do with forty-two grand.

  “Then all I need is your Social Security details, security clearance, and a copy of your resume.”

  “Ah, unfortunately my luggage was lost in the explosion.” He pointed to the dressing behind his ear and the plaster on his neck as evidence while desperately trying to think of something that would allow him to stay and take the job. “Oh, I know, the Marines took my fingerprints and have my old record. Would that help?”

  “Military record?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Okay, that might work, give me a few minutes. I’m sure we can work something out while we work our way through the rest and get replacement papers for you. It’s not like you’re going to be working inside the White House after all.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No the pool’s on the grounds.”

  “So it’s not like a pool guy as in part of a group, like a pool of drivers?”

  “No pool as in swimming pool,” she replied. “Is that not what you do?”

  “Yeah, I mean there’s nothing I don’t know about swimming pools, quite literally nothing!”

  With a scratch of Sandy’s head, Amy Klein disappeared out the door. Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared with a copy of Joe’s military record in her hand. The record that up until that day had caused him nothing but problems and one that years earlier he had given up even referring to.

  “The Marines have been looking for you,” she said as she entered. Two Marines followed her into the office; the corporal that had taken his prints and a captain.

  Joe rose and saluted the captain, despite the fact they had obviously realized their mistake and were going to throw him unceremoniously out of the White House.

  “We checked your record and noticed something we are not at all happy about...” began the captain.

  Joe walked towards the door. Sandy reluctantly relinquished herself from Amy’s affections and joined him. Without papers, he was never going to be allowed to stay on the White House grounds. The Marines vouching for him was his one and only hope. He hadn’t even thought about papers until Amy had mentioned them. He didn’t need to hear the rest.

  “Whoa, Master Sergeant, what’s the hurry? We’re not finished here!” snapped the captain.

  Joe stopped in his tracks. He was still calling him Master Sergeant?

  “Yes, Sir,” said Joe. Sandy sat rigidly at his side, she too reacting to the captain’s snapping.

  “You’ve got a disability compensation payment allocated to you and it shows you’ve not received one red cent in twenty-six years. You served your country and your country needs to recompense you for what that service cost you, Master Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Joe, not really comprehending what was happening. He had seen his service record, the dishonorable discharge for cowardice was glaring and had blocked any type of help over the years. To the extent years earlier he had given up even trying.

  “It’s a pretty sum you have waiting for you, Master Sergeant. Don’t spend it all at once.”

  The captain thanked him for his service, handed him an envelope, and left with the corporal in tow.

  Joe looked at the envelope, not sure what to do.

  “Do you mind if I see that?” He pointed to the printout of his records in Amy’s hands. Nothing made any sense.

  Amy handed it over without question.

  Joe scanned down the file, flicking through the pages. His military history was exemplary. Commendations, citations, awards. Joe Francis Kelly had been an impress
ive Marine. He scanned beyond all of the glowing reports from his commanders, his heart pounding with pride at the man he used to be. He turned the page, March 1991, the date of his discharge. He wasn’t surprised it wasn’t as he remembered. The reaction of the people to him had meant it couldn’t be there. Instead, a recognition of his outstanding service concluded with an honorable discharge for medical reasons and a recommendation for disability compensation.

  A tear welled in his eye, he wiped it away quickly before Amy could see.

  He kept scanning down, a time and date stamp for each entry into the file was listed. The last stamp was dated two years earlier. His file had been altered two years previously by a COTJCOS. Normally the stamp was a Marine position and surname. OOTCOTJCOS, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Two years earlier President Clay Caldwell had been elected. Clay checked the date, the entry was dated the same day of Clay’s inauguration. One of his first acts of the president had been to right a wrong from over twenty years earlier.

  “When do I start?” asked Joe. His energy levels had instantly trebled. He felt like a new man, a man with a purpose.

  Shit, he thought. That Librium is good!

  “Aren’t you going to check what’s in the envelope?”

  “One surprise at a time I think,” said Joe. He was scared to look. As much as he hated his life, its simplicity appealed to him. Money only ever complicated lives.

  “I think all I need are some contact details and we can get your pass ready for starting tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”

  “You do have an address in the city?” prompted Amy when Joe remained silent. “Okay, I don’t know you but you’ve been personally recommended by the president, you have a file that the Marines downstairs were wetting themselves over, and the cutest, smartest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  “The president didn’t—”

  “Anyway,” she waved. “The president, somebody up there, whoever, thinks you’re a good guy.”

  Joe tuned out as she talked, trying to think of an address he could give her. One that wasn’t a national monument that would be too obvious even for Amy.

  “So what do you think?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The basement apartment in our house?”

  “What about it?”

  “You can use it until you get somewhere else. We’ve got a big garden and a park nearby for Sandy.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “He’s away a lot. He’ll be pleased since I’m always complaining how scary that big house is on my own. If I know you and Sandy are downstairs in the basement I’ll sleep much better.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ll call him now!” She clapped her hands excitedly like a child as she reached for her phone.

  While Joe listened to himself being described as a lovely old war hero, the old emphasized a few too many times for his liking, ego, and confidence. He opened the envelope. President Clay Caldwell’s guilt had obviously weighed very heavy. Joe knew how the disability compensation worked, he’d tried many times to get it. He’d have been lucky to qualify for a 10% rating. Joe Francis Kelly had been rated at 100%, he didn’t need to work a day in his life again.

  “Oh, and honey, he’s a whiz with pools, he can sort ours out,” Amy said, ending her call with her husband. She threw a thumbs up to Joe, it was all good.

  Joe struggled to raise his with anywhere near as much enthusiasm.

  Chapter 42

  His phone buzzed again, a picture of Clara with a card placed around her neck. Pull out the troops or they kill me. Another buzz, another picture. Tess sleeping in her bed in the White House!

  He dropped the phone on his desk, his heart racing. A pit formed in his stomach. His daughters!

  He had debated in his mind over and over, they had paved the way for the American people’s acceptance, however, innocent lives were going to be put lost around the world. His captors had already plunged America into chaos, which was nothing compared to what was going to happen without America’s influence on the world stage. He didn’t even want to think of the implications of the withdrawal. Russia and China would rush to fill any void. Not to mention the impact on South Korea and Israel without America’s protection; among many other countries they would face the wrath of old foes the US had kept at bay.

  He looked again at the pictures of Clara and Tess on his cell. He couldn’t let them die, he was their father. He hadn’t been there for Clara for most of her life, and when she needed him he was going to let her down. It wasn’t their fault their father was president, they hadn’t chosen his path, he had. They didn’t deserve to die for his choices.

  What was he even thinking? America deserting the world was nuts, it could lead to major conflicts across the world. Millions of lives were at risk. He couldn’t put his family before the lives of countless millions that could potentially be put in harm’s way. That was just it, the key word was potentially. His family wasn’t potentially in harm’s way, they were in the crosshairs of a crazed group who it seemed had omnipotent power. In all reality this wasn’t something that would happen overnight, it would take months, perhaps years to do what they wanted him to do. And time was what he needed. He needed time to think and understand what the end game was. Once he understood that he’d understand his captors, and once he understood them, he’d know who they were and how to defeat them.

  Clay hit the intercom button. He had made up his mind. “Can you get Charles for me please?” he asked Ramona.

  “What if we stopped trying to fix the world and focused on fixing ourselves?” Clay asked as Charles walked through the door.

  “Come again?” asked Charles.

  “What if we pulled all our forces back to the US and the rest of the world be damned. We’ve got our own problems to fix without worrying about theirs.”

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?” asked Charles. “With all due respect, Mr. President!” he added quickly, “their problems are our problems, or very soon would be!”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’s time we let everyone step up and do their bit. I’m getting crap from everybody over the attack on the mosques.”

  “Well, we did hit them at their peak time, we couldn’t have picked a worse time to strike.”

  “Not deliberate and yes a mistake, but did you see what they were preaching in those places? I can’t help think those women and children are going to have a far better life without the animals they mourn.”

  “Have you discussed this with anyone else?”

  Clay shook his head. “You’re the first.”

  “Are you certain with everything else going on here and around the world this is the time to do this?”

  Clay wanted to scream ‘NO!!!’ and tell Charles everything, but he had been a close trusted friend and advisor for many, many years. Telling him would kill him, quite literally.

  Clay nodded, not able to bring himself to lie so blatantly to a direct question from Charles.

  “As your National Security Advisor, I’m sorry, Mr. President, I can’t see how this action will do anything other than harm our security,” said Charles definitively. “I’d have no option. I’d have to resign my position.”

  Clay thought back to the picture of Clara. He had no choice. As much as he needed Charles by his side, he wasn’t going to sacrifice his daughter for it. Nor was he prepared to give up on Charles. Over twenty years of friendship was not going to be lost without a fight.

  “Give me a minute,” said Clay, leaving Charles in the Oval Office. “Ramona, I need the defense secretary and chairman of the Joint Chiefs in my office when I get back!” Clay said as he jogged past her desk.

  “I’m no mind-reader, Mr. President. When will that be? Ten minutes, today, tomorrow, next week? I don’t know where you’re going!” she berated.

  “Sorry, ten minutes!”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I can only do so much. If they’re more than ten minutes from here…” she muttered
as he disappeared out of the door and towards the residence. He needed to speak to Val. He needed her counsel. A decision of that magnitude needed her input.

  Ramona chastised herself, she had been so busy moaning she had forgotten to pass on a message from personnel. The new pool man had arrived.

  Chapter 43

  The total destruction of the US Capitol had been unexpected. Much like the downing of the Twin Towers on 9/11, it wasn’t conceived the plan would be so destructive. The result, however, couldn’t be faulted.

  Elsa had extracted herself from the Washington Yard without being spotted, and shortly before the authorities had descended. The information she had left at both the students’ house and the yard were explosive in their content and had resulted in a quick and decisive response by the US.

  So far, everything had gone to plan. The results were even better than anyone had expected. The American people had accepted the FPS troops without question. The detainments had been expected to cause the greatest outcry. However, other than a few liberal bleeding hearts, the vast majority felt safer knowing the troublemakers were not among them. With no repeat of the first night of riots, the FPS and detainments were being hailed as quick and decisive action by authorities for the 97% of law abiding Americans who wished their country to be free from violence and crime.

  Elsa had joined her team, who had been watching the house they had selected for the previous three days. It was perfect for their needs. A four bed slum, nineteen individuals, men, women, and children had been counted coming and going. Finally, the men and most of the women and children were present. It was time for the next part of the operation.

  Elsa directed her team and as one they moved, entering through every door at once. The POLICE ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) emblazoned jackets that her team wore ensured there was little or no fight from anyone inside the house. The four men stood protectively in front of their families as the so-called immigration officers worked their way through the house rounding up all the occupants.