Fires of Autumn (41 page)

“Oh, my
God,” Casey breathed, clutching a hand to her stomach. “I don’t like the sound
of that at all. Colt, whatever you do, please be careful.  I don’t want to
raise this baby on my own. I’d rather have you alive and on the run than a dead
hero.”

He gave
her a squeeze. “You won’t have to do anything alone, I promise,” he said
softly. “But whatever I do, I want you to understand that it’s what I feel is
right.  I want you to support me no matter what.”

“I will.
You know that.”

Colt did. 
He took her over to their favorite sandwich shop to get some lunch before they
headed back to the White House. Not surprisingly, Casey wasn’t very hungry.

Neither
was he. He knew what he had to do.

***

It was
mid-afternoon in the West Wing, a surprisingly quiet afternoon that saw Russ
working on a speech with Jason Travis, and nearly everyone else just going
about their business.  Usually, there was a sense of bustle, but not today.  It
was actually rather calm, an odd peace that wasn’t entirely comforting. It was
like the calm before the storm, and there was always a storm.

Casey sat
at her desk, discreetly munching on salty peanuts as she went through some
plans for Tracy Talbot’s birthday in April.  The President wanted to have a
theme party and Casey was trying to nail down a country-western theme with the
help of one of Washington’s most popular party planners. 

Colt was
back over at his desk; she could hear him alternately typing and on the phone
to someone in the Presidential detail. As she put her peanuts away, she caught
movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Colt standing next to
her desk.

“Can I
have some of the President’s time the afternoon?” he asked quietly.

Casey
nodded as she glanced at his schedule. “He should be done with Jason soon,” she
looked up at him. “How much time do you need?”

“A half
hour at most.”

“I’ll make
it happen. You can go in when Jason is finished.”

He winked
at her and went back to his desk.  Casey went back to her work, losing track of
time until the door to the Oval Office suddenly opened and Russ and Jason came
through.  The young aide had some re-writing to do and he slipped out as Russ
wandered up to Casey’s desk and sat heavily in her guest chair.  He kicked out
his feet and leaned back against the cushions.

“Whew,” he
grunted.  “I was never any good as a writer. I’m much better speaking off the
cuff. I can never stick to a prepared speech.”

Casey put
her work aside, grinning at the President. “Don’t go too far off the prepared
speech. You’ll freak everybody out.”

Russ
snorted. “It’s good to give ‘em a scare once in awhile,” he yawned and
scratched his head. “Is the day over yet, General?”

Casey
shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “Special Agent in Charge Sheridan needs a
few moments of your time.”

Russ laced
his fingers behind his head, leaning back as he turned to look into Colt’s
office. “Sheridan?” he called.

Colt could
only see the President’s legs from where he sat. He came out from behind his
desk and stood in the doorway. “Mr. President,” he greeted.

Russ was
casually looking up at the man. “Good God, you’re tall,” he grunted.  “Is your
brother as tall as you are?”

Colt shook
his head. “He’s taller, sir,” he replied. “He’s an inch taller than I am and
about eighty pounds lighter.”

“Hmmm,” the
President looked him up and down before rising wearily to his feet. “You
Sheridan boys are a big bunch.  As I recall, General Phil Sheridan was a short
guy.”

Colt
nodded. “He was,” he replied, “but my mother’s grandfather was six feet six
inches. We don’t get our height from the Sheridan side of the family, only our
brains.”

The
President chuckled. “Well, come on, then. Let’s go shoot the breeze.”

Colt
turned to Casey as the President made his way back to the Oval Office. “Will
you join us, please?”

Rather
surprised at the request, Casey grabbed her steno pad and followed.  As she
entered the yellow and deep blue Oval Office with the big antique Resolute desk
near the windows, Colt closed the door softly behind her. 

Russ had
already moved to sit on one of the two blue couches in the room, both of them
facing each other, and Colt indicated for Casey to sit on the couch opposite
the President. He sat down beside her.

“Thank you
for seeing me on such short notice,” Colt said. “I know your time is valuable, so
I won’t waste it.  I have a situation on my hands and I need your help, Mr.
President.”

Russ
looked at him seriously. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Colt drew
in a long, thoughtful breath, organizing his thoughts. “Mr. President, as you
know, I have served four Presidents including you. I take my work very
seriously.”

Russ
nodded. “You’re the best, Colt. I’m proud to have you.”

“Thank
you,” Colt replied sincerely. “I hope that there is a level of trust between us
that superseded the roles of your office and my position.  I hope there is a
level of trust that is man to man.”

Again,
Russ nodded, his gaze moving to Casey. “You know there is,” he said quietly.
“You entrusted me with a very big secret, once. I kept it. You also saved my life. 
I will never forget that and, as I said before, I owe you.  I am deeply
indebted to you.”

Colt
remained quiet a moment.  When he spoke, his tone was very low and soft. “What
I am about to tell you must not leave this room.  If it does, we’re all in jeopardy.”

Casey was
prepared to take notes but suddenly, she froze with her pen poised just above
the paper.  Shocked, she looked at Colt, having a vague idea as to why he had
called this meeting. The truth was that she was a more that afraid.  She sat there,
wide-eyed, as Russ leaned forward, his expression grave.

“Of
course, Colt,” he said. “What is it?”

Colt
deliberately looked at Casey, who was still looking at him with apprehension.
He reached out and put his hand on her knee before turning to look at the
President.

“I have a
big problem,” his voice was so quiet it was nearly a whisper. “Actually, all
three of us have a big problem. I need your help, Mr. President; otherwise,
Casey is facing a lot of danger.”

Russ’s
brow furrowed.  “Danger?” he repeated, looking at Casey. “Why? What in the hell
is going on?”

Casey
wrapped her fingers around Colt’s hand to reassure him that she was with him,
that he had her support. He squeezed her hand before continuing.

“Mr.
President, have you ever heard of the Core?” Colt asked quietly.

Russ
stared at him. Then, he sat back on the couch, evidently mulling over the
question.  After a few moments of silence, he slowly nodded.

“I think
so,” he said quietly. “I seem to remember hearing about them when I was a
senator and sat on the House Intelligence Committee.  They’re a division of the
CIA, aren’t they?”

Colt
half-nodded, half-shrugged. “In a sense,” he replied. “They were created by the
CIA after World War II as a super-secret division that could operate under the
radar of normal CIA activities. No accountability, no consequences. They’re
funded through a communications line item in the defense budget because of the
international implications of their work.”

The
President nodded. “I seem to recall that,” he said. “I also seem to recall that
the Core is more a rogue element than anything else, full of assassins,
double-agents and spies.”

“I am an
agent for the Core.”

Russ
didn’t react other than to nod his head faintly. “I see,” he said, his voice
low. “You realize that by telling me that, I can have you removed from my
detail.”

Colt
nodded. “I know,” he said honestly, “but you won’t, not when I tell you
everything.”

“What is
everything?”

 “I was
sent to destroy your presidency.”

Russ did
react, then. His eyebrows lifted. “Is that so? And just how are you going to do
that?”

Colt’s
dark eyes were intense. “My father was an agent for the Core during the Cold
War, which is how I was recruited,” he said quietly. “I went to work for them
straight out of the Marine Corp and my first assignment was
to get
close to Clinton during Whitewater. I was the one who provided enough
information to convict Clinton’s business partners in the fraudulent scheme and
also enough evidence to convict the man who succeeded Clinton as the governor of
Arkansas.  I was with Obama and Bush for the same reasons, to keep an eye on
them.  It was my job to seek out corruption and destroy careers if necessary,
but it was more complicated than that. I’ve taken out rogue operatives, enemy
operatives, turned double-agent myself, and a host of other things I won’t go
in to, but suffice it to say that I know your dirty secrets, Mr. President. So
does the Core.”

By this
time, Russ was pale.  “Know what?” he demanded.

Colt
didn’t pull any punches. “Nine hundred thousand dollars worth of bribes from
the Columbian Drug Cartel to allow them to land their drug planes in the
deserts of New Mexico,” he said. “We have witnesses.  I’ve seen your financial
records.  There’s enough evidence to bring you down, Mr. President.”

Russ was
sweating. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Colt
lifted an eyebrow. “I hope you do,” he said.  His tone was non-threatening,
more friend to friend. “Here’s the gist of the situation, Mr. President.  I was
sent to gather information on your Columbian drug dealings. When I first
started this position, my task was clear cut. I was directed to use Casey to my
advantage in order to accomplish my mission, but therein lies the problem; I
fell in love with Casey. I love her more than anything. When you found out
about it, you were gracious and kind. You kept our secret.  Meanwhile, I did my
job and discovered quite a bit about you, at least enough to begin an inquest. 
But simultaneously, I also came to know you. I like you, Mr. President, when my
personal feelings should not be entering into this at all.  The Core has
discovered this because there are other Core agents in the West Wing.  Now, the
Core is threatening Casey if I don’t complete my mission.”

Russ was
listening to him, trying not to appear shaken when the truth was that he was
very shaken. He knew what the Core was capable of; everyone in Washington did. 
They were the Black Ops of politics, the dirty and deadly little secret that no
one wanted to talk about.  God help them all with the Core around.

“So what
do you want from me?” Russ’ voice was hoarse with emotion.

Colt
looked at Casey, squeezing her hand again before turning back to the President.

“If you
remove me from my post, they’ll just put someone else here, someone who doesn’t
have any emotional investment in all of this, and you’ll go down,” he said
softly. “I promised Casey that I would help you, not hurt you, and that’s what
I’m going to try to do.  The Core has caught wind that the Columbians are
rearing their ugly head again and trying to blackmail you into opening more
borders for their drug shipments by threatening to tell the world about your
connections to them back in the ‘90’s.  Is this true?”

Russ’ hand
was shaking as he moved to wipe the sweat off is upper lip. “If you know so
much, then you probably already know the answer to that.”

“I need to
hear it from you.”

Russ
sighed deeply, sitting forward on the couch with his elbows on his knees. He
was looking at his hands. “I’m not sure why,” he said. “Anything I say will be
incriminating.”

Colt
watched the man struggle. “Look,” he lowered his voice. “I’m trying to help
you, Mr. President.  I know you’re shook up about this and I understand. But
you have to understand that I’m doing all of this for Casey; not you, not the
United States of America, not the Core, but for Casey.  They’ve already tried
to kidnap her to force me into turning evidence against you and I’m afraid if
they try again, I won’t be able to protect her. If you give me information on
the drug lord who’s blackmailing you, maybe I can stop it. If I stop it, the
Core won’t have any reason to go after you because the threat of you reopening
the borders to the Columbians will be ended.  Sure, you took all of that money
and we can trace some of the deposits, but I also noticed on your tax returns
from the late ‘90’s that you donated almost six hundred thousand dollar to the
National Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.  Of the nine hundred thousand that you
took from the Columbians, what didn’t go to pay for treatment for your kids
went to the CF Foundation.  You didn’t keep the money for yourself. It was to
help your boys and kids like them.  Even if it was illegal, it wasn’t selfish.
You did it to save your children. I just can’t condemn you for that.”

Russ was
staring at him, his expression ashen and morose. “That’s a compassionate
statement coming from a man whose reputation doesn’t include that trait.”