Captive-in-Chief

by Murray Mcdonald

  The Boeing jet began to descend thirty minutes after its departure, much to the concern of the majority of the passengers who were expecting a nine hour flight.

  “Oh sorry, I forgot to mention,” announced Elsa. “We’re making a little detour. I won’t be long. Amuse yourselves while I’m gone.” She looked at the motley crew that was accompanying her, half of whom were pumped up ex-Special Forces types. An intimidating looking bunch, they oozed power and intimidation through their pores. If those guys told you to do something, it was done. The other half were specialists in various fields: alarms, explosives, mechanics. She had covered every base to ensure she didn’t fail again. Then she had Clyde and his brother, ordinary looking guys who blended in to any environment, unobtrusive, forgettable, and probably the most accomplished and clinical killers she had ever met, each of whom could easily handle any of the ex-Special Forces men. With Lloyd in D.C., she had only been able to take one of them but one was more than enough.

  “Clyde, you’re with me.”

  She bounded down the steps and into the waiting SUV. Clyde rushed after her, grabbing his kit bag. He had no idea what was happening.

  “You won’t need that,” she said when he deposited the bag over the back seat and onto the floor of the trunk with a metallic clanging.

  “Oh, okay, so where are we going?”

  Elsa pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to the driver, reading it as she passed it. “Somewhere in Greenwich Village.”

  “Any particular reason?” asked Clyde.

  Elsa nodded, tipping her head to the driver. Clyde understood; the less the driver knew the better.

  ***

  Daryl felt like a different man. Finally they were listening to him. It was like he had had a weight taken off of his shoulders. He almost laughed. His editor had told him to lose the chip. He hadn’t. It was more like a sack of potatoes such was the relief that he’d finally get the story out there. The American people needed to know what was happening. It was only when you saw the nationwide picture that the full scale of the issue came to light, and he was going to expose it. He would expose the government and the military for their blatant and unlawful racism.

  It would put a whole new light on the detainment of the most vocal black voices in the country. How convenient that, as the biggest case of minority discrimination came to light since the introduction of civil rights laws, the most influential members of the minorities were detained without charge. The more he thought about the situation, the more his blood boiled.

  He opened his apartment door and was met with a smiling Jamie, his partner of five years. After many times of asking, Jamie had finally agreed to marry him. His mood swung back to his calmer self. He was getting somewhere both personally and professionally. When he updated Jamie on his news, Jamie insisted that champagne was required.

  “No,” said Daryl. “Once the article is published, then we celebrate.”

  “Are you kidding me? Baby, you’ve moaned about this for days, weeks, months, seriously we’re having champagne! Only thing is we ain’t got any. I’ll go get some!”

  “No, I’ll go,” Daryl insisted.

  “It’s my treat, I’ll go…”

  It was the same every time. The store was only at the end of the street yet they would both argue for as long as it would take to go there and back before one of them would grab their shoes and go.

  ***

  “We’re here,” announced the driver, pulling onto the street as directed.

  “Pull around the corner and wait for us, this won’t take long,” said Elsa, motioning for Clyde to join her.

  “So what’s up?” he asked, as they blended with the hustle and bustle of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  “A reporter. Needs to look like an accident or suicide. Not a big deal.”

  Clyde shrugged. “Lead on.”

  They entered the apartment block and realized the apartment they wanted was on the top floor.

  Elsa grinned. “Even better.”

  They bounded up the stairs, keeping their heads down when they passed two residents, both of whom wished them a good evening.

  “Neighborly building,” Clyde remarked. It wasn’t what you expected in New York.

  Elsa sighed dramatically. “The Village!”

  “So how do you want to play it?” asked Clyde as they neared the door.

  ***

  Daryl checked his smart phone, opened a browser, and hit the bookmark for his blog. The numbers were going crazy. Inquiries were flooding in from across the country. He scanned down the subject headings: Army, Navy, school district, school zone, medical insurance. He scrolled down, he had only seen a few previously from anything other than the military. Suddenly the inquiries were riddled with comments about school and medical insurance. He thought back to the meeting. Two of his fellow reporters had mentioned both of those areas.

  Over a thousand emails in the past two hours. What the hell was happening? He opened one for more detail and the screen went blank, then a message: The web address you’re trying to reach does not exist. He hit the back symbol, the screen flashed once, the message remained the same. He hit the bookmark to go to the home page of his blog. The message remained the same. His blog was gone.

  A loud thud from behind distracted him.

  ***

  Clyde knocked on the solid looking door once, the loud thud echoing off of the solid wood door. “See, that’s what I expect in New York,” he said to Elsa. “Security doors!”

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m looking for, uh…” Elsa said loudly, pretending to check a name on a parcel, “Daryl, I’ve got a parcel for him.”

  The door opened, and Clyde saw all he needed to. A loft apartment with a glass wall leading onto a terrace. The glass wall was concertinaed, opening almost the entire apartment to the terrace and creating a beautiful living space. Very tastefully done, all high-end equipment. A well paid journalist or rich girlfriend.

  “Daryl?” asked Clyde, having seen everything he needed.

  “Well, yeah—”

  Clyde’s hand shot out and he grabbed the man by the throat, ending any further conversation. His grip was solid, not overly tight that he’d cause bruising but his strength defied his looks. Clyde propelled the man through the apartment and without pause over the edge of the wall at the end of the terrace.

  Without so much as a glance, he walked back, closed the apartment door behind him, and with Elsa in tow walked down the stairs calmly, exiting the building and walking around the block back to their SUV and thereby avoiding the still twitching body and obligatory screams of horror.

  ***

  Daryl turned, reacting to the thud. The sound of screams pierced through the white noise that was New York on a busy warm evening. Daryl looked over at the mass on the pavement, and to his horror, Jamie looked back at him, or what had been Jamie, the beautiful man he had fallen in love with at first sight many years earlier. His life blood was spilling out from beneath his shattered body, his very being extinguished, shock etched across his barely recognizable face.

  Daryl joined the screams. He went to cradle his man, his love, but other pedestrians pulled him back.

  “No, man, you can’t, the police need to do that,” said one guy who was holding him back.

  “I’m a doctor, he’s gone. He died instantly, maybe even before he hit. There was no scream or shout. Sometimes the shock can…”

  Daryl looked back at the doorway. Jamie had everything to live for, he had no reason to kill himself. Somebody had done this. A man and a woman exited the building and without glancing towards the commotion turned the other way and around the corner. Daryl chased after them. A policeman arriving at the scene grabbed him, Daryl pushed him off. He had to get to the two killers.

  The policeman grabbed him more firmly.

  “Where are you running to?” he demanded.

  “They’re getting away!” Daryl screamed.

  The policeman looked
around, there was nobody making an escape. Daryl collapsed in tears as the full impact of what had happened hit him. He had lost his Jamie.

  Chapter 68

  Without help it was proving far harder than he had anticipated. Getting Hank alone in a situation that Joe could control and take advantage of was proving impossible. One thing he had noted was that Hank seemed to be around even when Lloyd wasn’t. It seemed that he was around a lot when Lloyd wasn’t around. Although that was another matter and he wasn’t quite sure how that was going to help him.

  He had taken to walking Sandy, listening out for Hank to leave. The first evening he had turned left at the end of the block, Hank had gone right. The next night he had gone right, and Hank swung a left at the end of the next street. He knew Hank was close, he’d heard him say to Lloyd that their place was around the corner. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been the literal around the corner, merely the ‘in the general vicinity’ around the corner.

  With two more coded messages from Clay, he was beginning to understand the scale of the conspiracy. Everything Clay had done over the prior weeks were at the command of his unknown controllers. The only thing they hadn’t managed to stop was Eric’s appointment much to everyone, including Eric’s, surprise. Clay had received a recent photo. Clara was still alive and from what he could tell, fed and watered, which gave some comfort that time wasn’t against them from that perspective. Clara would remain alive as long as Clay was needed. With a vice president in place, the Baldwins had no immediate benefit in trying to kill Clay. Joe had suggested that Clay and the VP never be in the same room, or even better, never be in the same building at the same time, while he tried to track down leads to Clara.

  Each day that passed, Joe felt better physically. His morning swim had increased to 150 laps, his scar was healing. Each day without a drink felt like a milestone. The Librium was amazing and he had managed his first week without one drop passing his lips. He tightened his belt and was pleased to note he breezed past the notch he had been using and settled into the next one. The stomach was going down. He patted it. Still solid, though a little bigger than he’d have liked. He checked himself in the mirror. Sandy joined him, checking whatever held his interest, one quick look and she wandered back to her spot by the door. Her message was clear, nothing to see there, it was time for a walk.

  Joe led the way. He was trying various routes to work in the morning. He knew Hank’s sedan and from his walks the general direction in which he traveled. He needed to find the proverbial needle in the haystack, or sedan in the city. So far, Hank’s “around the corner” hadn’t meant anywhere within a half mile of the house. Obviously, he had to hope that Hank was at home at the time he walked by, otherwise his efforts scoring off streets was all for nothing.

  He tried to keep the routing as casual as possible whilst ensuring he had tried all options. Sandy was great, her sheepdog genes kicking into effect. Short whistles controlled her. Depending on the whistle, she’d go left or right, and to anyone watching, Joe was simply meandering along following his wandering dog. It was a perfectly executed route to cover off more of the remaining options to find Hank’s apartment. Another wasted effort, there was no sign of Hank’s sedan. He’d try again on their route home.

  ***

  Despite being no closer to finding Clara or whoever it was that was trying to take his country from under him, Clay felt far better. Simply knowing Joe was there was more comforting than he had even conceived. A void in his life had been filled, a void he hadn’t even realized had been empty until then. He stood at the window in the Oval Office, looking out. Sandy, with her high viz vest, was running across the lawn. Joe was at the pool and would be reading his note from that morning. Another bonus. He felt great after the morning swims. Even Val had noted how much better he looked for getting some exercise. If only he wasn’t being blackmailed, his daughter wasn’t being held against her will, and his country hadn’t suffered its greatest terror attack since 9/11, life would be good.

  “Mr. President,” said Ramona, following a knock on the door.

  He turned and smiled, whether fake or real he couldn’t even tell himself anymore.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Come in, come in. For you, always.” He waved her onwards and directed her to the sofas, taking a seat across from her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked after seeing the look on her face.

  “I know I shouldn’t be bothering you with this, but it’s, well…I don’t know what else to do…”

  She handed Clay a letter from the local school district, where Ramona’s granddaughter Grace attended. She had just moved into second grade.

  Clay read the letter. “They can’t do that!” he exclaimed. “Can they?”

  Ramona nodded. “They tell me they can. They’ve got schools that are underused and need to redistribute the kids.”

  “Doesn’t your daughter live two blocks from the school?”

  “Yes,” said Ramona.

  The president’s anger rose faster than Ramona’s. “So where’s the new school?”

  “Across the river. It’s a terrible school, Mr. President. I’ve done everything I can to help my daughter have a nice home in Southwest to avoid schools like that.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Get Phyllis on the phone, will you?”

  “Mr. President, you can’t bother the secretary of education with little Grace’s school problem,” said Ramona, shocked. “I mean I’d never have mentioned it if—”

  He was going to point out she had just bothered the President of the United States with Grace’s school allocation. Her pause suggested she had realized that herself.

  “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this, I’m sorry.” She stood up and reached for the letter.

  Clay pulled it back. “You absolutely should have. And I will be speaking to Phyllis, whether you get her for me or I have to call her myself.”

  “She’s not here, she’s at the Summit of the Americas in Argentina. From what I gather half the Cabinet are there.”

  “When are they looking to move her?”

  “Immediately. She’s been asked to attend her new school as of Monday.”

  “Ridiculous. Get me the this guy on the phone,” said Clay, gesticulating to the district superintendent’s letter. “How many other children have been affected?” he asked, releasing the letter back into Ramona’s hands.

  “Not many, just a few.” She walked across to his desk and dialed the number on the letter. “Please hold for the president,” she said when someone answered. In two years she never failed to get a buzz saying those five words.

  Before he took the handset, Clay looked at Ramona. He felt awkward asking yet it was there, at the back of his mind. Something was niggling him. “Were the other children black as well?”

  “I don’t know if they all are but the ones I know are.”

  “What about this school they’re moving her to?”

  Ramona nodded. She felt as uncomfortable as he did at thoughts that were going through both their minds. That sort of thing didn’t happen anymore.

  Five of the most uncomfortable moments of the superintendent’s life later, it was confirmed that little Grace was going nowhere.

  An extremely grateful Ramona called her daughter and made the appointment as requested by Clay for him to see the secretary of education as a matter of urgency on her return from Argentina.

  Clay checked his diary. He had a few spare moments before the rest of the day disappeared in a mire of meetings. He checked his cell. It was silent, just as it had been for the last couple of days save for one photo of Clara. No demands, no instructions. They had him in the palm of their hand, they had their pawns in place. As relieved as he was not to be dictated, it was disconcerting. What were they doing? What did they have planned? The more he thought about it, the greater the knot in his stomach. Nothing good, was all he could come up with. He pressed Val’s name in the contacts.

/>   “Hey, hon,” she answered cheerily.

  “Where are you?’ he asked, the noise in the background was deafening.

  “Boarding the flight.”

  “Where to?”

  “Argentina. I’m speaking at the summit. I told you this morning at breakfast.”

  Clay had no recollection of her telling him, although that meant nothing. His mind was all over the place.

  “God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have cancelled, I should still come.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you need to be there. Charles will look after me.”

  That explained why he hadn’t seen his chief of staff either, Charles Johnson. It appeared everybody was heading off to the summit except him.

  “Okay, well take care and have fun. Anything I need to do with the children?”

  “Remember they’re there and you’re their father.”

  “Very funny,” he replied, ending the call. Although he had been avoiding them, just as he had everyone close to him. If he wasn’t near them, he couldn’t say the wrong thing and put them in danger. It was his way of keeping them safe, by staying the hell away.

  There was a knock on the door to indicate his first meeting. An intelligence update. He had read the briefing. The world was going to shit. North Korea was already flexing its muscles and the US had hardly moved a troop out of South Korea; the Chinese were sabre rattling in the South China seas; and the Syrians, with Iranian backing, were building forces near the Golan heights.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The attendees filed in. A number of faces he expected were missing. He welcomed the group as they made themselves comfortable, excusing himself for a moment.

  “Ramona, where’re the NSA, DNI and CIA directors?”

  “Argentina, Mr. President.”

  “Has everybody gone to this damn summit except me?”

  He walked back into the office, closing the door pensively behind him. Something wasn’t right. With everything else happening and knowing he had cancelled his attendance at the summit, he’d have expected at least a few of his senior staff and appointees to be around.