National Burden (12 page)

She looked through the peep hole and saw three men, maybe more behind, all wearing suits and trench coats.

“May I help you?” she said through the door, not wanting to open it for just anyone.

“FBI, Mrs. Stricklin. We’d like to have a word with your son.”

Mrs. Stricklin’s ears perked up. Her Stevie had been so happy over the past week. Maybe he was getting his job back. She quickly opened the door and let the men in, each man flashing their ID badge as they entered.

“Stevie! You have visitors!” Mrs. Stricklin called, rushing to put on a pot of coffee.

Almost a minute later, Steve Stricklin stepped into the kitchen, freezing at the entryway. “What’s--”

Three of the four agents lifted guns that Mrs. Stricklin hadn’t even noticed them carrying at their sides.

“We’re here to take you into custody, Stricklin.”

Stricklin put his hands over his head, all color drained from his face. He started to sob, much as he’d done throughout his childhood and teenage years. Stevie, always so innocent and tender with her. Stevie, always so quick to take offense, especially with his classmates. He never had many friends, no sleepovers, a thought that flared in her mind like a warning sign she’d missed. 

The agents handcuffed her son and moved to the exit.

“Stevie? What’s going on?”

Stricklin ignored his mother, instead almost slipping on the piss running down his leg and onto the linoleum floor.

“Stevie?”

No one said a word. No one answered her. All thoughts of returning to the nightly news gone, Mrs. Stricklin stood at the open doorway, tears streaming down her face, landing silently on the frozen ground.

+++

It took every ounce of restraint in his body for Secretary of State Geoffrey Dryburgh to keep from raising his voice. He squeezed his phone, staring at the off-white carpet now gripped by his bare feet. The sound of the television in the next room, his wife catching-up on the weekly shows they’d missed on their latest trip overseas, barely registering through the pounding in his head.

How the hell could Southgate have been wrong? He was never wrong! He’d taken the old bastard on his word, taken steps to secure his own footing. And now Southgate was saying that Zimmer was clean?

Dryburgh wanted to punch something. In his youth he might have torn the Carolina beach decorated sitting room to shreds. But that wasn’t him anymore. He had changed, matured, like a fine wine, or better yet, an aged whiskey.

Everything had been planned in his head. He hadn’t told Southgate about his role in the Lithuania incursion. That was something he planned on keeping to himself, and Bukov would never say a word. He knew better. And besides, it wasn’t like Dryburgh had told Russia to do it. He’d only nudged them in the right direction.

He had to find another way. The presidency had been so close, within reach of his oversized hands that now clenched open and closed. He was sick of reporting to the ineffectual Zimmer. He, Geoffrey Dryburgh, former United States Senator and now Secretary of State, should be the man leading the country.

Not one to feel sorry for himself, always looking for the silver lining, or at least an angle to weasel a win out of defeat, Geoffrey Dryburgh stood slowly. As the face of American foreign policy, the Scot knew every hot spot in the world. He’d thought the Russians the perfect ploy, but he’d underestimated Zimmer’s newfound resolve.
Maybe there’s another way
. Just as the thought pierced his subconscious, another took its place, adding depth, layers building already, a plan. He had to hit Zimmer where it hurt, where he had no choice but to react the way Dryburgh wanted. The perfect entrapment.

Dryburgh’s lips curled into a wry smile. He called into the master bedroom. “Honey, I’ll be in the office. Don’t wait up.”

Cal had been so ready to get out of D.C. that he’d ignored his frugal ways and chartered a private jet for himself and Daniel. The pair was enjoying a leisurely room service breakfast (another splurge) in Cal’s permanent suite in The Lodge, neither saying a word as they crammed huge bites of pancake and sausage in their mouths, all the while admiring the blessedly sun-soaked fields of snow through the oversized windows of the VIP quarters.

“Have you talked to Marge yet?”

Cal shook his head. “I thought we could head over later today.”

“I’ll bet she’s revolutionizing the place.” Daniel had come to respect SSI’s only female employee turned CEO from the first moment he’d met her. Sharp. Beautiful. Cunning. Honest. He’d only heard the rumors of her past courtroom exploits. It was said that her name still sent shivers down many a CEO’s spine.

“I can’t wait to tell Travis that we should’ve given her the job a long time ago.”

“I’d wait on that if I were you. I think he’s got his hands full for a while.” Sometimes all Daniel could do was sit back and shake his head at the constant ribbing between the two cousins. The situation didn’t matter; one of them was always hounding the other, in a cousinly way, of course.

“Whatever. He stepped in that shit sandwich himself.” Cal pushed his licked-clean plate away, rubbing his toned stomach. “Besides, when did you become such a Travis Haden groupie?” He said it with a grin. Cal never let up. It was his style. Always the Marine.

Daniel let out a rare laugh. “You two really should seek counseling.”

Cal laughed, getting a tiny glimpse of the sniper’s sense of humor, something he usually kept hidden. Before he could throw a comment back at his friend, his phone chirped, indicating an incoming text. “It’s Marge. She wants to see me.”

“Speak of the devil. Do me a favor and try not to piss off The Hammer.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Cal flipped Daniel a friendly middle finger. Always the Marine.

+++

“How was your trip?” asked SSI’s newly appointed CEO.

Cal looked around The Hammer’s spotless office. Somehow every glass top, including her desk, was smudge-less. Two small file folders graced her working space, perfectly aligned to the edge. “It was okay. Trav fill you in?”

Haines nodded. “What are you doing now?”

“Lots of shitbags out there, Marge. Me and Daniel were going to spend the day scoping out our database to see what we could rustle up.”

Haines looked up from her laptop. “I’ve got something for you.”

Cal almost rolled his eyes, but remembered Daniel’s warning. He liked The Hammer, but he didn’t like being told what to do. Biting back a smartass remark, he asked, “What do you have?”

Haines waved him over, pointing to her computer screen. Cal stepped around the skinny glass desk, suddenly curious. There was a picture of a man, probably in his mid-fifties, posing for cameras at some black tie event. “Who’s that?”

  “Leo Martindale. He’s an old friend. I did some work for him a couple years out of law school.”

“Wait a minute, is this the billionaire?”

Haines nodded. “Leo’s done well. His company, Dale and Moon, manages close to one trillion dollars in assets. Everything from stocks to real estate.”

“I’m confused. What do you need me to do?”

“It’s delicate. Leo called yesterday, confidentially, of course. He wanted me to fly up to New York City to talk to him.”

“About what?”

“He wouldn’t say, just that it was important.”

“Marge, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but usually it works best if you tell people what you want them to do and then tell them why.”

Haines frowned, until she noticed Cal trying to hold back a smile. Her shoulder bounced slightly with a silent chuckle. “You almost had me. Is this what you do to Travis?”

Cal shrugged, his face looking like a five-year-old sheepishly telling the truth. “I had to at least try.”

SSI’s new CEO shook her head, smiling this time. “Like I was saying, he wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but it was important enough that he wanted to send his jet to pick me up.”

“And you need me to…?”

“I want you to fly up there.”

“No way, Marge. I just got home. I’ve got a lot to do.”

Haines exhaled, reminding herself that Cal was actually the boss, seeing as he was the sole owner and all. “I know Leo. He wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. I told him that I just took over here, and he suggested I send someone of equal stature, someone who could keep their mouth shut, and help if possible. Travis is with the President. That leaves you.”

Hopping on a plane to visit a spoiled billionaire was the last thing Cal wanted to do. He could feel his killer instinct going rusty, his trigger finger most of all. “What about Dunn or Neil? They’re better at that kind of stuff than I am.”

Haines didn’t budge. “No. It has to be you. You can’t tell me an all-expense paid trip to New York City wouldn’t be nice. Besides, he could end up being a client.”

“Have you looked outside, Marge? You think it’s bad here? They’ve got snow six feet deep up there.”

Crossing her arms, eyes not leaving the stubborn Marine, Haines waited, tapping her index finger like a professor waiting for a student to vocalize the only answer available.

Cal huffed. “Fine, but on one condition.”

“Name it.”

Cal snapped his fingers, a thought coming. “Two conditions.”

Haines made a “give it to me” gesture with her right hand.

“First, I take anyone I want with me.”

“Okay. And your second request?”

Cal cupped his chin, rubbing his two-day stubble. “This guy pisses me off, I leave.”

“Done.”

The faint scent of lemon, or was it orange, probably the remnants of the White House cleaning staff’s furniture polish, lingered in the air of the President’s private sitting room, a part of the residence. Senator Milton Southgate waited patiently, hands crossed on his lap. The President’s butler had delivered a decaf earl grey tea moments after he’d arrived, setting it on the hand-carved oak coffee table in front of the visitor. Southgate hadn’t touched it, worried that he might spill it with his trembling hands.

He’d had the night to think about his next steps, still wondering whether the President might simply ask for him to step down. It was not outside the realm of possibility. Stranger things had happened during his time in the senate, including a pair of senators, male and female, who’d been caught by an intern, fondling each other in a deserted hallway. Southgate had taken swift action against the two independently married senators, each of whom should’ve known better. It wasn’t that the senate leader was a prude, but to do such a thing in the hallowed halls of congress, well, it was unacceptable.

If he were president, there was no doubt what he would’ve done had he been in Zimmer’s shoes. That was what had made him reconsider his initial declaration. The President hadn’t told the Secret Service to detain him and hadn’t accepted Southgate’s resignation.

Maybe he’d misjudged the young president. He’d, of course, known Zimmer’s father, more of a conservative Democrat than Southgate, but still a good man, a worthy political ally. The information from Stricklin and McKnight had tainted his hopes for the new president. He could admit that he’d been wrong, painfully so. It had happened a handful of times over the years, but never to this degree. He’d let his elitist confidence cloud his judgment. Humbled, Southgate stood when President Zimmer entered, alone this time, looking every bit the youthful leader that JFK had been.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President.”

Zimmer strolled over, smiling, not a hint of condescension in his demeanor. “Senator Southgate, I’m glad you called.”

“Thank you for making time for me, sir.”

President Zimmer motioned to the couches where the two men sat down, Zimmer almost lounging while Southgate sat ramrod straight.

“Please tell me you’ve reconsidered your offer from last night, Senator.”

“Yes, sir. I have.”

“That’s very good to hear.”

The President could tell that Southgate wanted to say something, their recent confrontation obviously holding the man’s tongue. “I’d really like it if we could start over, Senator. I think it’s a major understatement to say that we got off on the wrong foot.”

Southgate nodded, uncomfortable in his present position. He was on unfamiliar ground, always used to having the upper hand. “Yes, sir. I would appreciate that. I cannot begin to apologize for the way I acted. If there was any way--”

Zimmer raised his hand, as if to say any past mistakes should be forgotten. “Senator, would it be okay if we spoke man-to-man for a bit?”

Another tentative nod from Southgate.

“Good. Now, the way I see it, we need to work together. I’ve always admired the way you run the Senate. A firm hand. What I would like you to understand is that although I may be new, I am not inexperienced. You knew my father. I want you to know who I am.”