Just when he was wondering if his life could get any worse, the sound of an approaching low-flying helicopter sent reverberations pulsing through his body.
John looked up as a large black helicopter slowed down to hover over the freshly mown lawn, its massive rotor blades a blur of motion.
His eye narrowed as the sophisticated craft manoeuvred to reveal a large white GMRC emblem on its side.
John muttered a curse and stormed out of the library as Paul jogged towards the building’s rear entrance, having also heard the unannounced arrival.
‘Who the hell is that?’ John said, catching up to his friend as they exited the rear of the White House.
Paul shouted something to him, but the roar of the aircraft’s twin turbines drowned him out.
The helicopter touched down, and soon after a host of GMRC soldiers emerged to stand in two columns flanking the open door.
A man wearing dark glasses emerged into the open and led his armed entourage towards John and his Chief of Staff.
A noise behind made John glance back to see a host of Secret Service agents streaming out of the White House to guard their Commander in Chief.
John’s presidential detail gathered behind him as the GMRC soldiers came to a halt ten yards away, their grey amour and sophisticated rifles gleaming under the building’s floodlights. The GMRC intelligence agent carried on walking for a few more paces, and then stopped in front of John. He didn’t speak, instead choosing to peruse those gathered, his eyes hidden behind his blacked-out shades.
‘And to what do we owe this pleasure?’ John said, trying to maintain his cool.
‘Your presence is requested by the GMRC, Mr President.’
‘And you are?’ Paul said.
‘Special Agent Myers, CIA, GMRC Intelligence Division.’ He held out his ID card.
Paul accepted the man’s credentials and then showed it to John.
‘Your clearance to land was given in error, Agent Myers,’ Paul said, handing the card back to him. ‘Go back and tell your superiors the president is otherwise engaged.’
Agent Myers suppressed a smile. ‘Can the president not speak for himself?’
John put his hand on Paul’s arm as his friend’s face flushed with anger.
‘The president can,’ John said. ‘But he’s eager to know what the GMRC wants that’s so urgent it sends one of its senior agents as an errand boy.’
‘We have reason to believe the information you provided about your abduction was incomplete. We’d like to give you this opportunity to ... fill in the gaps, so to speak.’
‘Are you accusing me of lying, agent?’
Myers hesitated before saying, ‘They’re your words, Mr President, not mine. Let’s just say I’ve been told the omissions in your statement might not go down well with the press.’ He glanced up at the sky.
John followed his gaze to where a number of UAVs and other aircraft continued to circle the perimeter of the White House’s restricted airspace. Even now, he knew his current standoff with the GMRC was being streamed live around the country and beyond, fuelling yet more speculation about the unfolding saga that was his presidency.
Agent Myers stepped closer and lowered his voice. ‘Your security forces might also take a dim view of your lack of transparency, Mr President.’ He glanced past John at the Secret Service agents. ‘Some might think you’re protecting the very people you’ve sworn to bring to justice.’
John glared at the man before him and inwardly cursed whoever had betrayed his confidence to the GMRC. The only problem was, he’d only told two people his secret: Dante and his wife.
Despite Ashley’s protestations, he knew she must be to blame, whether she disclosed the information purposely or not. It was hard to hate someone he loved, but he was finding it very difficult not to blame her for the betrayal. The thought sparked a question in his mind and he suddenly wondered if his marriage was already over.
‘Mr President?’ Myers said.
John blinked and looked at Paul, before taking him to one side. ‘Continue with what we discussed, I’ll be back shortly.’
‘Nothing good can come of this,’ Paul said. ‘Let them say what they will, no one will believe them anyway.’
‘Won’t they? After what’s just happened, they might believe anything. Some will, anyway. You saw the protestors; this could tip more over the edge. Besides, they probably already know everything already, and if I can’t stop them using it against me, I can at least try and find out what they’re up to. I hold all the cards. I’ll shake their tree and see what falls out.’
Paul didn’t look convinced and John knew it was with good reason. He sounded far more confident than he felt and knew he was so far out on a limb, if he went any further he’d be in freefall. But equally, it was an opportunity to look into the belly of the beast, and as such it was a chance not to be missed.
‘Okay?’ John said.
Paul nodded, turned to an agent behind him and pointed to his left, where a large green and white, single rotor helicopter waited on its makeshift helipad. ‘Ready Marine One.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Agent Myers. ‘We can take the president directly. In fact, I insist.’
John’s new head of security stepped to the fore. ‘Marine One can be prepped and ready to fly in an hour, Mr President.’
John considered his options: submit himself to the GMRC’s care or allow them to sully his name further. It was an unenviable choice. John nodded to Myers. ‘Very well, let’s get this over with.’
Paul grasped his arm, as Agent Myers and his soldiers returned to their aircraft.
‘Be careful, John,’ his Chief of Staff said, ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
John couldn’t have agreed with him more, but what else could he do? With the decision made, he gave his friend a nod of farewell, assembled his security detail and made for the black helicopter.
Soon after, the pilot fired up the aircraft’s massive engines and they were airborne moments later.
As John sat in the luxurious seating of the flying limousine, he glanced around at the formidable GMRC soldiers surrounding his own security detail. The strained looks on the faces of his Secret Service team betrayed their unease, while their hands never strayed far from their assorted weaponry.
The helicopter gained altitude and John wondered what he’d let himself in for. It’s too late to change your mind now, you fool, he told himself. Stay calm, and concentrate, you can still turn this round in your favour.
Out of the window, the White House disappeared into the distance and ahead, the GMRC’s towering skyscraper loomed large in the dying light, the Council’s giant logo lit up for all to see for miles around. And as they drew closer, John knew it was time to take a stand and land a telling blow. The problem was, for the life of him, he had no idea how.
♦
Back on the ground, Paul Brown, the White House Chief of Staff, watched as the President of the United States vanished into the night, his GMRC transport shadowed by the aerial jackals of the mass media in full flight.
Paul heaved a sigh, as he contemplated his work to come and wondered how long he could keep his friend in power. He took one more look up at the night sky. ‘Good luck, John,’ he said, fearing the worst, ‘you’re going to need it.’
Chapter One Hundred Eighteen
President John Henry had arrived at Washington D.C.’s GMRC headquarters twenty minutes previously. And yet, despite his presidential station, he was kept waiting in a conference room with only a large granite table and a host of empty chairs for company. Behind him, his new head of security waited patiently in silent vigil and, not for the first time, John regretted not bringing his Chief of Staff along with him. As he thought about Paul and the mountain of work he had heaped on his friend’s shoulders, his mind inevitably returned to his wife, and the accusations made against her by the international terrorist, Bic, who seemed hell-bent on making John’s life a misery.
Do
es she really work for the GMRC? he wondered. Has Ashley been reporting on everything I’ve done since we met? The very notion continued to make him nauseous, but from what he’d witnessed, it was a reality he might well have to accept. He just had no idea what to do about it. How does one go about imprisoning a woman you love? he asked himself.
As more minutes ticked by, and as he drove himself mad with ever more distressing thoughts about his wife’s past, he’d finally had enough.
John stood up and beckoned to the Secret Service agent. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
‘We’re leaving, sir?’ said the agent, hurrying to catch up.
John pushed open the double doors to find the rest of his security detail waiting for him in the corridor. ‘We are. I don’t have time to waste sitting around twiddling my thumbs.’ He suddenly wondered if that was the whole purpose of this exercise, to waylay him as his administration crashed and burned around his ears.
‘Shall I arrange transport?’ one of his men said, looking confused.
John was about to nod, but the elevator at the end of the hall pinged, drawing his and everyone else’s attention. Two CIA operatives emerged, followed soon after by a man John had met only once before, although in his opinion that was one time too many.
The trio came to a halt ten yards away and the GMRC bigwig at their centre perused those gathered, his gaze skimming over John like he wasn’t even there.
‘And to what do we owe this pleasure?’ John said, failing to keep the anger from his voice.
The man he’d addressed turned his emotionless gaze on John, his cruel gimlet-like eyes unblinking. ‘I think, Mr President, it’s about time,’ – Malcolm Joiner removed his spectacles – ‘we had a little talk, don’t you?’
♦
At the other end of the conference table the tall figure of Malcolm Joiner spoke to one of his agents, before taking a seat opposite his Commander in Chief.
To say John was surprised Joiner was there at all was an understatement. Over the years the GMRC’s Directorate had become more and more elusive, as they chose to distance themselves from all but the most critical of gatherings, such as GMRC summits and international treaty accords. And it was perhaps for this reason that many saw them as untouchable autocrats, disconnected from reality and the decisions they made. It was also the reason John never wanted to replicate their style of governance. He wanted to return democracy to the country he loved, and if he could return it to the whole world while he was at it, so much the better.
The man known as Agent Myers entered, his arrival acting as a signal for everyone else, except Malcolm Joiner, John, and his head of security, to leave the room.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ John said, when they were left alone. ‘Why are you in Washington?’
‘I’ve come to oversee the investigation into your abduction, which is just as well, considering how poorly it’s being run.’
John considered the man before him. The intelligence director’s angular features and nasal voice only added to his reptilian demeanour. He was now in his late fifties, and the grey at his temples betrayed his years. Yet, despite being over ten years John’s senior, the man expressed a vigour men half his age would have enjoyed. His reputation as a tireless tyrant had spread far and wide, his rapid rise to the very top of the GMRC’s highest echelons a source of consternation for many who sought the same. John knew this man could make many of his presidential problems disappear, if he so wished, probably with a click of his well-connected fingers, but he also knew such a likelihood was remote; despite Joiner’s affiliation to the CIA and the United States, his loyalties lay elsewhere.
‘I thought the GMRC Directorate were too busy to dirty the hands of one of their own,’ John said.
The intelligence director feigned a smile. ‘You’re more popular than you thought ... Mr President.’
John noted the subtle disrespect inherent in the pause before his title. This man doesn’t think me his equal, John thought, he believes he outranks me. ‘And there was I thinking you’d come to declare a full withdrawal of GMRC assets, along with your resignation from the Directorate.’
Joiner’s smile broadened into genuine humour. ‘They told me you were an optimist, but alas,’ – his smile faded – ‘my tenure will continue for some time yet. Yours, on the other hand, I fear will be much shorter.’
John felt his anger rising. ‘Is that so?’
‘I’m afraid so. In fact, I can guarantee it.’
‘Like you’ve guaranteed the decimation of our resources?’ John said.
He’s goading you, John told himself, don’t give him what he wants.
John’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the intelligence director, the man’s smug expression almost too much to bear.
‘Your resources are as your predecessor left them,’ Joiner said. ‘It is not for the GMRC to interfere with a nation’s internal administration.’
‘What?!’ John stood up. ‘That’s all the GMRC does, is interfere! You know nothing else. You hide behind your sanctions and protocols like some kind of God meting out punishment with no thought for those you hurt.’
Joiner’s hands, which had been clasped before him, opened wide in a gesture of disinterest, the downturn of his mouth infuriating.
‘Perhaps we should discuss your abduction, Mr President,’ Agent Myers said, from where he stood just behind his boss.
John glanced at his new head of security and knew he didn’t want the Secret Service finding out about his liberal use of the truth. While Dante had seemed to understand, if not agree with, the reasoning behind his secrecy, his colleagues might not be so accommodating. Plus, he needed all the friends he could get. He motioned the man to his side and politely asked him to depart.
The Secret Service agent seemed reluctant to leave his ward alone, which wasn’t surprising, as guarding him was his job; however, John insisted, and soon the room was down to just three occupants, with John – not for the first time – wondering why he’d thought coming alone was a good idea.
‘A wise move,’ Joiner said. ‘Some people might accuse you of protecting the terrorists. Although I hear some are saying you masterminded your own abduction to blacken the GMRC’s name.’
John snorted. ‘A lie no doubt concocted by your intelligence division.’
‘You wound me, Mr President, truly. But that tale, as plausible as it seems, is not what really happened, is it? Why don’t you tell us about who else you came into contact with, besides the hacker?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Come, Mr President. Let’s not play games. You know as well as I, the hacker was not working alone.’ Joiner leaned forward in his seat, his eyes intense. ‘Does the name “Professor Steiner” mean anything to you?’
John felt his heartbeat quicken and then noticed the wallscreen behind Agent Myers was active, its dim background matching the colour of the walls around it. But it wasn’t the screen that had drawn his focus, it was a line of text that crept across it as someone typed a message from a remote location.
We’re watching you, John Henry _
John’s eyes grew wide and Myers glanced round to see what he was looking at, but the text had already vanished; the CIA agent frowned and turned back to John, who switched his gaze onto Joiner, while keeping one eye on the screen.
The hacker had returned.
It seemed he wasn’t alone, after all.
Chapter One Hundred Nineteen
As John sat in the conference room opposite the GMRC’s hateful intelligence director, he tried to remain calm, as another message from the cyberterrorist appeared on the wallscreen:
Tell them nothing, John Henry, your life and the lives of everyone you hold dear depend on it _
‘Well?’ Joiner said. ‘Do you want to change the original statement you gave about your abduction?’
‘Have you met my wife, Director?’ John said.
A fleeting look of confusion flitted across Joiner’s f
ace. ‘What?’
‘It’s a simple enough question. My wife, have you met her?’
‘You’re avoiding my question, Mr President, but if it pleases you, then yes, I met your wife at your inauguration, a meeting of which I’m sure you’re aware.’
‘And that was the first time?’
‘Professor Steiner,’ Myers said, intervening, ‘tell us what you know.’
John ignored him and kept his eyes on the intelligence director and the screen behind him. ‘Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.’
Malcolm Joiner stared at him, his expression unreadable. ‘That is the first and only time I have met your wife.’
John suddenly realised they must really want to know about this mysterious professor, otherwise they wouldn’t let him divert their questioning. It also meant if Ashley had spoken to them, she hadn’t told them everything. Unless they’re purposefully playing dumb, he thought. But he didn’t get that impression. Joiner had been thrown by John’s question about Ashley.
A third message from the hacker flashed up on the wallscreen:
He’s lying!
John held his opponent’s gaze. ‘You’re lying.’
The director’s right eye twitched, a microscopic movement that told John he was right, or rather that the hacker was right. John should know; he’d spent many a night playing poker with Dante and some of his men, some of whom were stone-cold killers. He knew a tell when he saw one. It also reminded him that the cyberterrorist was a killer himself, and not to be trusted. It was a dangerous game he was playing, but he had little option other than to tread the fine line between those who sought to manipulate him.
Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2) Page 63
