Captive-in-Chief (25 page)

Charles Johnson, Clay’s new chief of staff, had arrived shortly after the show had aired. He apologized profusely for dropping the ball and for disturbing them at such a late hour. Both agreed it was nothing for him to apologize for. The Baldwins had taken advantage of a situation in the country’s darkest hour. By three in the morning, they had all personally tried to call every one of the surviving members of the Senate and Congress except the Baldwins. The majority took the call, and those who did didn’t wish to enter into discussion, saying the vote was for them to decide on and they would do the right thing for the country. Clay, Val, and Charles argued the right thing for the country was not to have Ed Baldwin as speaker of the House.

Few gave them little hope that the result would be anything other than what had been predicted.

“This is catastrophic,” said Charles, replacing the handset on his final call. “The markets will reopen on Monday after being closed since Thursday. It was going to be bad, but with this on top, they’re going to plummet.”

“There’s one silver lining,” said Val, accepting the inevitable.

“What?” asked Clay, playing into her hands.

“The crazier your idea, the more likely it’ll pass through Congress and the Senate.”

Val hadn’t been overly supportive of his latest brainwaves on the back of the week’s events.

“You have to hand it to him, the NRA issuing licenses is genius,” Charles said. “We finally get some control over the people who can access guns, with the full support of the pro-gun lobby. And not only their support, they become an independent licensing body, removing government from the debate. Genius.”

“Genius it may be, but who controls the NRA? And really, twelve million people ripped out of their homes. Do you realize the impact?” asked Val. “Build the wall, I’ve got no problem with that. But four men try and kill your nephew and you punish twelve million people as a result?”

Clay shrugged. He couldn’t argue with her, she’d see through him too easily. Knowing he wasn’t behind the ideas would be her death warrant. It was best to avoid the debate altogether.

“It’s late, we need to be up early,” he said, ending any further discussion. Val was boss 95% of the time, although when she pushed him too far, he took control. His tone told her that time had come. “We’re not going to sit back on the sidelines and wait for the shit to hit the fan,” continued Clay, his anger rising. “We’ll go to New York and be in amidst it. Perhaps some will consider what we’ve said, and we can maybe influence a few others to see sense.”

“And if not?” asked Charles.

“Double my security and hope for the best,” said Clay, meaning every word.

“There is another solution,” Val suggested quietly.

Both turned to her and listened to her idea.

Clay shook his head. “No way.”

Charles, however, pondered its merits.

“Sleep on it,” said Val, wishing Charles a good night, kissing him on both cheeks as she showed him to the door of the residence.

Clay sat where she had left him. She wished him a good night, turning out the light as she climbed into bed.

A shudder travelled through Clay’s body; it was as though someone had walked over his grave. Joe or Clara. He now had two lives to worry about. Two people in danger. He was the most powerful man on Earth on paper, yet two people who he had abandoned in his life were the two people that the fate of the country and potentially the world rested on. Two people he could do nothing to protect or help. He walked over to bed, climbed in next to his wife, and for the first time in many years, prayed to God to keep his daughter, family, and friend safe.

The message from Joe had been disappointing. As much as Amy played on her façade of a brain dead fool, she genuinely enjoyed shopping. It was the one thing in her life that allowed her to relax and enjoy the moment. She kept an eye out for Joe throughout the evening but nothing. Although she did notice Sandy a few times in the back garden. Fortunately, her oaf of a husband was on business in the Middle East, allowing her a weekend to herself. After the week she had had that meant an early bed and long lie in.

She couldn’t believe the clock read 10.42 a.m. when she woke up. Jet lag from her trip to Bora Bora had finally caught up with her. She looked out on a beautiful day. The back garden and pool looked enticing. She donned her bikini, opting for a swim and a lie in the sun to start off her day.

No sooner had she dived into the pool than Sandy was her side, her tail wagging wildly.

“Hello,” said Amy. “How’s Joe feeling today?”

Sandy tipped her head slightly, trying to understand what Amy was saying.

I’m talking to a dog like she’s going to answer
, Amy thought, shaking her head. Her character was scarily taking hold of her. She pushed her body forward and swam a few laps. Sandy sat watching her, her head following each stroke.

Amy changed course and swam towards Sandy. Sandy remained where she was. Joe was an unknown at a time when the last thing they needed was an unknown. He had convinced her he was nothing to worry about, but where was he? If he was ill in bed, how was Sandy getting in and out of the basement apartment? She was responsible for vetting everyone around the president. She had ensured they had people in place to monitor and maintain a watch on everything the president said and did. She had seen the report from yesterday. The president had met Joe. By all accounts it had been unintentional and there had been no recognition. Sandy had appeared and looking for her, Joe had met the president, who had been his usual pleasant and welcoming self. The agent who had filed the report was out of earshot for a few seconds although was sure nothing other than inane chat about the dog had transpired. The whole meeting was flagged as a casual encounter, no action required. However, there was something that niggled at Amy. Something had made her remember the report.

She climbed out of the pool and pulled on a robe, slipping her feet into a pair of flip flops. The door to the basement apartment was on the side of the house.

“Hello, Joe?” she said, walking towards the alley at the side of the house. The shade of the house made her shiver.

“Joe? Are you okay?” she said a little louder.

She walked down the short path. The door was ajar, only slightly, just enough for Sandy to squeeze in and out. Sandy raced past and proved her theory, slipping into the apartment, her sleek frame making it through the tight gap. Amy smelled a rat. Joe wasn’t who she thought he was. She considered calling Elsa but that would expose how she had failed to do her job.

In two years, she had proven her worth, and then one guy, a guy who she had actually felt sorry for and taken under her wing, was the one guy that had tricked her. Her anger began to build, she wasn’t a woman who people fooled.

“Joe, are you there?” she shouted angrily, pushing the ajar door firmly with her shoulder.

The gun clicked. Gary looked down at the rifle and pulled the trigger again. It clicked. He looked back at Joe.

Joe stood facing him, having pulled a pistol from the back of his pants. It was aimed at Gary’s chest.

“You know, you really had me going. I thought you were genuine. I really wanted to believe you were who you said you were.” Joe sighed. “The sad thing is, I’m going to struggle to trust anyone now and that upsets me. People with genuine wives and children may die at my hands because of you.”

Gary threw the rifle at Joe, it was an impressive move. There was no sign he was about to move, no flinch of the shoulder, no build up, it simply flew out of his hands straight at Joe’s head like a prize fighter throwing a jab.

Joe had a fraction of a second to make a decision as the rifle flew towards him, duck and expect the lightning fast Gary to follow the rifle and once again end up in a tussle. The guy had already proven he was far quicker then Joe. Joe didn’t think for a second Gary would fall for the fake move again, it would be a far harder fight without any guarantee he would win. Or fire and let the rifle hit him, and as a result lose his potential lead to Clara.

He didn’t have a choice, he pulled the trigger. Better to fight another day than lose any chance of saving Clara.

Gary had already closed half the distance when the bullet struck him on the top of his skull as he powered towards Joe ready to pummel him to the floor.

The rifle hit Joe on the head sending him crashing to the floor. Gary’s lifeless body fell beside him. Joe looked down, a blade was in Gary’s hand. He hadn’t even seen him pull it from wherever he had it secreted.

Joe pushed Gary off and rubbed his temple. The rifle hadn’t drawn blood but a bump was already forming. He looked around the other cabins more thoroughly although other than the weapons, there was nothing. Gary had no ID, only some cash, which Joe pocketed. After another few minutes spent erasing his presence, wiping every surface he had touched, Joe left. He had a bus to catch. He slung his new bag over his shoulder and hiked back down to Rosendale, catching the 5.20 a.m. bus back to New York.

Two dead bodies and no closer to finding Clara. All in all, a complete waste of time. The bag at his side clunked as the bus jostled over a bump in the winding country road.

Perhaps not entirely wasted,
he thought.

A short walk had him back in Penn Station and boarding the 8.00 a.m. train to Washington. With any luck, he’d be back before anybody knew he was missing.

Amy bounced back off of the door. It didn’t move.

“Joe!” she screamed in anger, rubbing her shoulder. The robe had cushioned the blow slightly but she knew it was going to bruise. Sandy barked excitedly. Amy pushed on the door again, using every ounce of her one hundred and twenty pounds. It didn’t move.

“Joe!”

Joe jogged back from the station. He hadn’t realized how little Librium was left in the bottle when he had left. He was taking far more than he should, although whatever the quantity it was, it had been working up until he had no more to take. He had woken on the train to another pounding headache. Not since he had started the Librium had he felt so rough. His hand tremble was back and his body was soaked in sweat.

The last thing he had wanted was to run when the train arrived back in D.C. The taxi rank had beckoned him, he fought the urge. He needed to detox. He needed to get better, he needed to be fitter. Gary had proven that more than anything else. If not for Joe’s guile and a large chunk of luck, the guy would have had the drop on him. He needed the old Joe back, Marine Joe, Force Recon Joe, the Joe that had saved Clay’s life before, the Joe that was needed to save Clara.

He slowed as he neared the house. He needed to get in there unspotted. Gasping for breath, he bent over and emptied his stomach on the pavement. Vomit caked his new shirt, mixing with his sweat. The adrenaline pumping through him had masked how awful he was feeling. He’d had no idea how much the Librium had been helping him function until he had none left. He pulled himself onwards. He heard a shout up ahead. Shit, Amy was shouting for him, and she sounded pissed. He pushed onwards but there was no way he could get through the front door since it was double locked with a key in the lock and the security chain in place. Kicking the door in wasn’t an option.

“Joe!” she screamed, even angrier. The large fence blocked any view of the back garden. It sounded like she was at his door around the back. The bathroom window was on the opposite side of the building facing the other pathway down the side. Cameras covered every angle at the front of the property, ruling out the gates on either side. He worked back to the next door house. Amy had gone quiet but Sandy continued to bark.

He popped over the fence into the neighbor’s back garden. It took every ounce of his energy. He looked at the fence between the gardens, it was higher, and he needed to get over that as well. He heard a crash from next door. Amy was battering the door open. He launched himself and managed to get over at the first attempt, falling with a thud, fortunately covered by Amy’s enraged efforts to open the apartment door. Sandy was barking wildly at Amy’s efforts.

His head had taken the brunt of the fall, his arms struggling to do anything that he asked them. The bag of weapons lay on top of him, adding to the pain that was surging through him. He left the bag where it had fallen and tried to get through the narrow awning window, it required him to pull his full weight up and through the smallest of gaps that his body could physically fit through. His first attempt failed miserably, his hands had no grip, his head ached from withdrawal and the two cracks it had received.

Another crash sounded.

“Joe!” the woman sounded unhinged, crazy. She wasn’t who he thought she was. A car screeched to a stop outside, footsteps thudding towards the house. She had called for help.

“Get over here, now!” Amy had run back to the house and grabbed her cell.

Joe had tricked her. He obviously wasn’t there. He and his dog would have to be dealt with. She kept pummeling at the door but she wasn’t strong enough. She stepped back as her back up arrived. Hank and Clyde had been stationed only a couple of minutes away. Two massive kicks and the wedge under the door gave way. Sandy barked wildly as the two men and Amy entered the apartment.

“Shut that dog up!” she demanded.

Fortunately for Sandy the man nearest, Hank, bent down and patted her. While it hadn’t been Amy’s idea of how to shut her up, it worked. Sandy remained silent as Amy and Clyde pushed onwards into the apartment looking for the non-existent Joe. The lounge was empty, the hallway empty.

“Son of a bitch!” screamed Amy when they walked into the empty bedroom.

“We just got news Gary’s dead,” said Clyde as they stood looking at the empty and unmade bed. “And there’s the lawyer’s husband supposed suicide last night,” he added.

Amy wanted to scream. She was going to be blamed, it was her mistake. The guy was living in her house, right under her nose. She was going to be crucified.

“What’s through there?” asked Clyde spotting another door.

“The bathroom,” Amy answered absently.

The man walked towards it. The door was ajar, he pushed, it didn’t budge. He pushed harder, it moved slightly, enough to get his head around the gap.

“Hank, we’re out of here,” he said, pulling his head back, calling through to his partner.

Amy walked over to door. She struggled to open it as far as Clyde, she pushed harder and eventually got it open enough to see in.

“Shit,” she said, realizing why Hank and Clyde had pulled a hasty retreat. She grabbed a phone and dialed 911.

Joe lay on the floor in front of the cracked toilet bowl, blood oozing from his head.