“Any particular reason?”
He handed her his cell phone, the most recent sent message was open on the screen.
“Our time is now.”
“It’s started. All thanks to you,” he added proudly for the first time in her life.
A tear welled in her eye, she wiped it away. “So Alabama wasn’t a disaster?”
“A slight setback, but everything else has turned out as well as we could have possibly expected, in fact, even more so.”
“This is way ahead of when we expected.”
The plan had always been fluid, the number of variables and possible outcomes of their actions were so numerous, computer programs had been developed to monitor every aspect of the plan. Even the most optimistic models had failed to anticipate how well the plan would work. America was changing quicker and the people adapting far more readily than any model predicted or anyone had dared hope for.
“Exactly. We need to adapt the plan. Things are moving so fast we need to make some changes.”
She shifted nervously. “Like what?”
“The governor. We need to try again.”
Chapter 51
“Oh my God!” Val burst into the Oval Office. “Why didn’t anyone tell us, wake us up, anything!”
“Tell us what?” asked Clay, looking at Ramona for some idea of what was wrong.
“Eric! They tried to kill Eric!”
Ramona excused herself, realizing it was nothing new.
“He’s fine, I spoke to him last night. You were sound asleep and I didn’t want you to worry all night and not sleep.”
“Fine? Fine? Four men tried to kill him,” she blurted.
“And he dealt with them, Val. He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s a man.”
“They put a gun to Maria’s head! His pregnant wife!”
“And they won’t be doing it ever again.”
“Whatever, I’m inviting them here for the weekend,” she said, turning and exiting as quickly as she had burst in, not waiting for his approval or otherwise. It was a fait accompli.
Clay watched the door slam behind Val. Time for a walk, he thought. All he could think about during the interaction with Val was meeting Joe. He had to take precautions, he needed to make it casual, not raise suspicions from anyone around him. At least he had an idea of how they were keeping tabs on him—the security cameras. His anger earlier had exposed some of how they were watching him. He placed his cell on his desk and called out to Ramona.
“I’m going for a stroll, clear my head.”
Clay walked out of the Oval Office and into the grounds, his Secret Service detail following.
“Guys, I’ll keep in the treeline and not go further than the tennis courts, just give me some breathing space, please,” he said firmly.
The four agents hung back, keeping a respectful distance as instructed. Clay kept it as casual as he could. His heart was racing as he walked beyond the swimming pool, keeping it out of sight. He continued on towards the tennis courts and took a seat in the children’s garden. It was a beautiful morning. He closed his eyes and looked towards the sun, the heat radiating through him. The four agents kept their distance. The garden was secure, one way in and out. At least for people, that was. A dog appeared by Clay’s side, pulling itself through the bushes, its tail wagging and its tongue hanging, excited to meet Clay. It wasn’t often people were excited to meet him. They were excited to meet the President of the United States, not plain old Clay Caldwell, a normal guy.
“Hello, buddy.” Clay patted the dog, his voice eliciting a response from his agents.
“Are you okay, Mr. President?” asked an agent appearing from behind the bushes.
“I’m fine, simply talking to a dog!” he said impatiently.
The agent ignored the president’s irritation and immediately requested through his mic information on the dog and if anyone knew where it had come from.
A few seconds later, he shared his findings, despite the fact the president hadn’t asked.
“It’s the pool guy’s dog, should I take it away?”
Clay remained as calm as he could on the outside, he had to remain casual. No sign of recognition could be given. Joe was his only hope.
“Seriously, son? A lovely, friendly dog comes over to say hi to me and you want to get rid of it?”
The dog looked at the agent with as much disdain as his president. He turned and left them alone.
“So you are Joe’s,” Clay whispered into Sandy’s ear while rubbing her chin.
“Sandy! Sandy!” Joe shouted.
Sandy left Clay without a second thought and raced towards the sound of Joe’s voice, providing more evidence that his presidential status meant little in the animal world. Clay rose and followed Sandy to where Joe was being held back by agents. Sandy rushed to his side.
“It’s okay, guys, its just a man looking for his dog,” Clay said calmly, his heart pounding at the sight of Joe. He looks rough, was his first thought.
“Mr. President, my apologies, did Sandy annoy you?” asked Joe, trying to act surprised at meeting the president as if for the first time.
Clay walked towards them both, reaching down to Sandy and petting her on the head. “Not at all, she’s beautiful.”
“She’s a service dog, I was told that was okay,” Joe said. The Secret Service Agents remained close to the president, watching Joe’s every move.
“Absolutely,” Clay turned to his agents. “Guys, really, you can relax!”
“Your name, Sir?” asked the agent leading the president’s detail, ignoring Clay. They had their orders and would disobey the president whenever necessary to protect his life.
“Joe Kelly.”
After a few seconds of toing and froing with the security office through his mic, the lead agent nodded and they stepped back. Joe was cleared.
“So, Joe what do you and…?” Clay looked down at Sandy.
“Sandy, Mr. President.”
“Sandy. So what do you guys do?”
“We look after the swimming pool, Mr. President.”
Clay motioned to his security team. He was going to the pool area. Joe led the way, Clay by his side.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Clay whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“It’s good to see you,” Joe whispered in response.
“I’m so sorry for what I—”
“You thought I was dead. Don’t worry about it.”
Over twenty-five years had passed since they had last seen each other and those few stolen sentences meant the world to both of them.
“We don’t have much time, they watch me everywhere. I have a few leads.”
“I’ve already got one,” Joe said.
Clay had to stop himself reacting visually. “Who?”
Joe had thought about Clara all morning. How had anyone known who she was?
“Only four people knew about Clara. Clara herself, me, you and Maddy. I didn’t tell anyone, you didn’t, and Maddy wouldn’t have, which leaves Clara, the only person in the world she would have told. Her husband.”
Clay nodded, trying to keep their whispering to a minimum. “We won’t have much chance to talk, do you remember our old code?”
Joe nodded.
“We’ll leave messages in the towel bucket. I’ll swim before you come in each day. The less we meet the better for you.” Louder, he said, “Well it was nice to meet you, Joe, and your lovely Sandy.” He bent down and received an uplifted chin to scratch for his efforts.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Joe said as Clay walked away with his guards in tow.
Joe’s emotions were going wild. Laughter, crying, anger—he had no idea how to feel. He had dreamt many times about their meeting. In many, his reaction was to throw a punch, only one. In others, it was many more, pummeling the man who had destroyed his career and as a result, his life. In reality he had just wanted to hug him. Clay was the best, and only, friend he had ever had. Joe stood helpless as C
lay walked back into danger without looking back.
Chapter 52
The cell buzzed as he reentered the Oval Office, his watchers weren’t happy.
“Don’t leave your cell behind again!”
He pocketed the cell. They were getting sloppy. Or too cocky. That message told him all he needed to know and confirmed what he had thought, they were listening to everything he did through his cell. Leaving it behind had saved Joe’s life and potentially Clara’s, although as soon as they made good their promise to kill her, they would know he’d no longer be their puppet.
No sooner had he put it in his pocket than it buzzed again. He looked at the message. They really were pushing it. The American public would only bend so far. The cell buzzed again before he had even got his head around the first action. He opened the second message, it was a far easier sell, especially given the news media’s portrayal of the attack on his nephew Eric. Four illegal immigrants, all hardened criminals having served many years in prison in Mexico and completely unknown to local enforcement in Alabama. There was mention of the weapons they used but the media was focusing on their residency status.
Ramona buzzed him on the intercom. “I’ve got the president of the NRA holding for you, says you’re expecting his call?”
Clay reread the first message on his cell and picked up the handset: Enact stricter firearm control with a requirement to hold a federal license. The license would require proficiency testing, background checks, and a mental health status.
“William,” said Clay answering the call.
“Mr. President, my condolences for all those close to you that you lost.”
“Thank you, William, that’s very kind of you. How can I help?”
“I was asked to call you. I believe you want to move forward with the findings of the working group you set up with us.”
Clay wasn’t aware of any working group he had initiated with the NRA, nor any he would conceivably think of that he’d have wanted to. However, uttering those words would more than likely be the nail in William’s coffin. As much as he disagreed with some of William’s views on gun ownership, he was as moderate a president the NRA had seen in many years.
“Give me a quick recap of the findings, would you, please? Ramona’s mislaid the report.”
William laid out the findings and to say Clay was stunned the NRA was going to support some of them was an understatement. However, the more William spoke the more he understood why. The NRA was going to be at the heart of controlling gun ownership. William understood the impact of guns falling into the wrong hands and at some time in the future those lone wolves that had caused so many headaches for law abiding gun owners were going to ruin it for everyone, unless action was taken. Action that President Clay Caldwell was taking with the NRA’s assistance and support.
“The people can have guns, they just have to know how to use them, be law abiding, and of sound mind. I don’t think anyone here at the NRA can argue with any of that, Mr. President.”
“And you are confident you have the facilities to train everybody and issue the licenses?”
“Mr. President, I believe with the ATF and the FPS’s support in the initial phase, we can more than meet the requirements as the new licensing body for firearm control.”
Clay had to physically pinch himself, the National Rifle Association, the one body he thought would go ballistic when he had first read the instruction, was going to be his biggest ally in delivering a message to the American people that would have, he was sure, started an uprising. The federal government was about to enforce gun control in a way never before conceived possible and with the full support and cooperation of the group most supportive of the Second Amendment.
“I’ll get the AG onto it and get it across to the Houses as soon as possible. Hopefully the representatives and senators will see the merits of the plan.”
“They may be the few that are left but to be honest, Mr. President, I don’t think we’ll have a problem. Of all the Democrats and Republicans that were saved the tragedy, they are some of our biggest supporters.”
Clay shuddered as William spoke. He hadn’t even considered the prospect that the surviving representatives had survived for any other reason than chance. William’s words suddenly brought the idea that they had deliberately and not by luck, through illness, travel plans, or for whatever other reason not been in the Capitol when it was destroyed. William’s words of support for all surviving representatives put them on the list for Joe to investigate and left an incredibly sour and unpleasant taste in Clay’s mouth. The depth of the conspiracy against the country seemed endless and utterly ruthless.
Ironically, his next call was filled with far less concern. He knew the American people cared more about their guns than their housekeepers, nannies, gardeners, and millions of underpaid workers. He was calling time on illegal aliens. All twelve million would be sent back to where they had come from. There’d be no more sanctuary cities or excuses. If people were entitled to be in the US, they were welcome, and if not, they weren’t.
Twelve million people ripped from their homes, their jobs, families torn apart, all to save his child. He looked around his office. Yet again they had pushed him. Lives would be endangered and no doubt lost through the turmoil. Was his daughter’s life worth that? His family’s lives? To him personally, yes, but as president, that was an entirely different matter. Announcing the plans were one thing, seeing them through was another. Joe was finally there. He had some help. Joe would do something. Even if he failed and Clay’s daughter died as a result, he was doing something, fighting back in some way. To let her die without fighting back was inconceivable. Twelve million people, a gargantuan task. It wasn’t going to happen overnight. He had time. He lifted the phone.
He had thought he’d have time before the troop withdrawals. Thousands were arriving home already. Calls from heads of state around the world were begging him to change his mind, begging for more time to fix their depleted defenses. Defenses that they had run down at the American taxpayers’ expense, comfortable in the knowledge their borders were secure thanks to the US. The more they whined, the more resolve he felt towards the plan. However, that was a very different situation. These were people who had fled poverty and oppression for a better life for them and their families and in the vast majority, worked hard and strengthened the country they had adopted illegally.
A buzz of his cell, a new photo of Clara. That day’s TV news was on in the background, a placard around her neck made his decision instantly. “They will kill me…”
It was as though they were reading his mind.
He wasn’t even surprised when the heads of the three agencies within Homeland had been working on plans for just such an eventuality, as per his alleged previous instructions. Customs & Border Protection, Immigration & Customs Enforcement, and Citizenship & Immigration Services had plans in place to deliver what he wanted, beginning immediately.
Contractors could begin building a wall along the length of the Mexican/US Border, one that would once and for all stem the flow and ensure America was safe within its own borders.
He replaced the handset. What the hell was he doing? Where was it going to end? He stood and looked out across the lawn. He couldn’t see the swimming pool from there but wondered if Joe realized just how much was expected of him.
Joe Francis Kelly, thought Clay, you have one hell of a promise to live up to!
“Ramona, get me the AG and the chief justice in here ASAP, please.”
Chapter 53
Joe had finished work early, not that he had any real work to do. Check the pool levels and keep the area clean and tidy. Not hard when nobody was there to either dirty it or make it untidy. Arriving back at the apartment before Amy, he turned on the TV to more breaking news. Gun and immigration control topped the headlines, which explained the significant increase in the number of FPS forces on his walk home. Trouble was expected, trouble that the FPS would deal with, with relative ease,
he was sure, given their previous performances.
He popped a Librium and a pint of water. Although he needed to get to work, he also needed to cover his tracks. Accepting the apartment with Amy was a mistake. He needed to be anonymous. He had a weekend to investigate Clara’s husband in New York yet wanted to ensure nobody realized he had left Washington. He looked at Sandy.
“Manhattan is no place for a dog,” he said out loud. Her head tilted from side to side as he spoke. She had no idea what he was saying. He opened a few cans of food and laid them out and filled numerous bowls with water. He left the back door ajar, wide enough for Sandy to get in, and wedged the bottom of the door. No matter how hard he pushed, the door wouldn’t open any more, the wedge was doing its job perfectly. No human would fit through the gap. The garden was secure and with Sandy coming and going as she pleased, he simply needed an excuse for why he wasn’t around.
Amy wasn’t the brightest, so he didn’t need it to be too extravagant an excuse. He looked around for a piece of paper, easier said than done in the apartment, and eventually had to make do with a napkin to write on.
“Really sorry, have to cancel shopping trip, have a migraine and need to stay in darkened room. Usually lasts a day or two, will hopefully see you over the weekend as soon as better.”
He closed the blinds in his bedroom and locked the front door, using the security chain to ensure nobody, even with keys, could get in. No one could get in or out unless they were as skinny as Sandy. Of course, it did leave him the problem of getting out himself. The bathroom awning window had looked bigger when he had thought up the plan, and as he tried in vain to squeeze though the narrow gap, he realized it wasn’t the window that was the issue it was his gut. He breathed in and pulled hard on every muscle he could muster and finally he made it. The window fell back on itself and to the outside world, looked closed. Only on close inspection would anybody know the lock on the inside wasn’t engaged.
After a final pat on Sandy’s head, who had, much to his chagrin, walked out of the back door and stood watching him with some amusement, he leapt over the wall and headed to the train station. A stop at a clothes store on the way had him wearing a pair of chinos and a polo top for the first time in, well, he couldn’t even remember when.
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