Pedestals of Ash (28 page)

Five
minutes later, a civilian SUV screeched to a halt
,
and this time two men in suits hopped out. They joined the two army officers and began yet another review of Bishop’s papers. The older one eventually walked over to Bishop and offered his hand. “Agent Powell, United States Secret Service.”

Bishop shook the man’s hand, expecting bravado via a crushing grip. There was none of that, just a firm, businesslike handshake. Agent Powell looked at Bishop with a tr
ained eye and
inquired
, “So, how’s t
he Colonel doing?”

Bishop was a little surprised by the question. “He wasn’t in good shape when I last saw him. I don’t know if he’s still alive or not. I’ve been traveling for three days
,
trying to get here and deliver his report.”

Agent Powell thought about Bishop’s remark for a second. “Did the Colonel’s wife make it out of Houston with him?”

Bishop smirked at the weak attempt to ve
rify his story. “Agent Powell, t
he Colonel’s wife died over eight
years ago from colon cancer. As far as I know, he didn’t dig up her body and bring it with him. Now, sir, while I appreciate your diligence, I would like to deliver my report and be on my way. I have a pregnant wife who is alone at the moment
,
and in case you haven’t noticed, the world isn’t such a safe place these days.”

Agent Powell smiled at Bishop. “Sorry, you just never know.
I can’t let you meet the p
resident while you are armed. You’ll have to check in all of your weapons and gear
,
and we’ll have to search you before the meeting. I might be able to arrange a hot shower beforehand though.”

Bishop smiled at the agent
’
s offer, “How hot?”

Both men laughed
,
and then Powell motioned for Bishop to follow him to their SUV. The president’s
bodyguard
stopped at the back of the vehicle and opened the rear hatch. “You can store your gear in here.”

Bishop paused and then shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose if I had your job, I’d be paranoid too. No problem.” After unloading all of his kit, Bishop sat in the backseat and was driven to a building with a sign on the well-manicured lawn indicating they had ar
rived at the “Visiting Officers’
Quarters.”

After the SUV was parked, Bishop walked to the back and stood waiting. Agent Powell commented, “I’ll have someone bring you
r
gear inside for you. Let’s
get you some food
and a shower. I have some influence around here and might even be able to drum up some of our famous White House coffee – it’s considered the best in the world by many.”

Bishop’s face brightened, “Coffee? Oh my god…I haven’t had a good cup of joe in….” Agent Powell patted Bishop on the back
,
and the three men started walking to the entrance. Bishop stopped and turned back toward the SUV. “I need to get the Colonel’s report out of my pack. He
asked me to deliver it to the p
resident personally.”

Closely supervised by both agents, Bishop retrieved the packet of papers. After they verified the package contained nothing more dangerous than a paper cut, the party again proceeded to the building.

Bishop and the agents walked through a small, featureless lobby and then down a long hallway painted in government standard
,
light green. The mystery agent opened the door marked #11
, and all three men entered
. Bishop found himself standing in what amounted to a very small hotel room. As he looked aro
und, Agent Powell returned
to the hallway and could be heard talking on his radio. Bishop took the opportunity to size up his other escort. The agent was about 6’2” and probably tipped the scales at around 240.
God had forgotten his neck
while
issuing the
gentleman shoulders that were almost twice as wide as his mid-section. The dark suit and
sunglasses
did little to disguise the fact that the fellow was obviously in very good shape.
No doubt an ex-football player
, thought Bishop,
probably a linebacker for a Division I school
. Bishop couldn’t help himself and said, “I bet you’ve never been accused of talking anyone’s ear off.” The comment met with zero reaction
,
and after an uncomfortable moment, Bishop decided to busy himself by inventorying the shampoo and soap in the bathroom. There was even shaving crème and a disposable razor. Deciding he had nothing to lose, Bishop looked back at the
stone-faced
bodyguard and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not the type of guy to steal
towels,
and the shampoo isn’t my brand.” As expected, he received no reaction.
I’ve always heard building all those muscles makes your dick shrink
Bishop smirked to himself
.

About then A
gent Powell returned and informed Bishop that it wo
uld be a
while
before the p
resident could see him. It was suggested Bishop “freshen up,” while he waited. Eyeing the shampoo and razor, Bishop agreed.

The two agents left the room
,
and Bishop had no doubt one of them remained in the hallway. He turned on the showe
r and undressed
while the water warmed. Standing under the hot spray, the world suddenly became a better place. While he and Terri had their solar shower at the camper, being able to control the temperature with the simple twist of a knob was an extravagance he hadn’t experienced in months. He embraced the shampoo to the extreme, lathering and rinsing his entire body no less than three times.

When he had soaked to the point where the skin on his fingers was wrinkled, Bishop turned off the water and grabbed a fresh, clean smelling towel. While the linen would have been insulting at a five star establishment, to Bishop it was as if he was drying his skin with soft clouds of luxury. The shave bordered on orgasmic.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he exited the foggy bathroom to find his clothes were missing. A tray of
food accompanied by
a large pot of steaming coffee was sitting in their place on the bed along with a note that read, “You clothes will be returned to you shortly - Powell.” Next to the food was a robe, which Bishop used to replace the
damp
towel.

His lunch
consisted of sandwiches and a cup of clam chowder that obviously had never seen the inside of a can. Bishop
consumed every last crumb with the
gusto of a man who hadn’t eaten anything but what he had killed or gathered in some time. It was the coffee
,
however, that was just shy of a miracle.

To the select few who had ever experienced it, the White House’s coffee was known all around the world as unquestionably the finest anywhere. Grown in the Kona rainforest and shipped fresh from Hawaii, only a small percentage of the beans were chosen for the nation’s first family. While everyday citizens could purchase a similar mix, the absolute best was saved for the
C
ommander
in
C
hief. Bishop had never tasted anything so smooth and delicious in his life.

Drinking the excellent brew reminded Bishop of something a co-worker had once said. “Drinking a good cup of java is like making love to a beautiful woman. It starts off hot and sharp. The middle is smooth,
warm,
and rhythmical. T
he end leaves a glow of satiation
.” Bishop smiled at the memory and had to agree with the man.

He was on his third cup when a quiet knock disturbed the experience. Before he could even move his legs off the bed, the door opened
,
and a small Asian man entered
,
carrying Bishop’s freshly laundered clothes. His boots had even been cleaned. Bishop started to ask if they had applied the proper amount of starch, but before he could speak the man left, closing the door behind him.

Five minutes later, Bishop stood
,
admiring his new image in the mirror. Another knock, follow
ed by an immediate entrance of A
gents Powell and
What’s
-his-name
,
signaled it was time to meet the most powerful man in the world. Bishop was surprised that he actually felt a twitter of nerves in his stomach.

The three men
crossed
the base’s parade grounds and up the steps of the clearly marked headquarters building. As they approached, Bishop noticed the outline of two snipers on the building’s roof. There was another agent at the front door
, and the military police, by sheer number, indicated a strong, secure presence all
around the general vicinity. Bishop started to make a snide remark about feeling like a rock star with an entourage, but thought better of it.
Mr. Microdick wouldn’t think it was funny anyway.

Agent Jabber-Mouth stood and held open the beautiful
doors, which
were trimmed in thick
brass and polished to a mirror-
like luster. The ornate entrance reminded Bishop that he wasn’t out in the field anymore
,
and the thought occurred to him that he should probably clean up his act.

The escorts guided them to a door marked as the Commanding General’s Conference Room A. Mr. No-neck knocked precisely three times
,
and then his hands immediately returned to his sides.
Now I know the secret knock
, thought Bishop. A moment later the door opened
,
and Bishop was ushered inside.

The carpeting on the other side of the threshold was the first thing he noticed. His boots seemed to
sink deeply into the plush flooring,
and the effect almost caused him to lose his balance. The dim room contained a conference table about the size of a tennis court and several flat panel displays were mounted flush into the walls.
I wonder if they have any popcorn
, thought Bishop. Sitting at the far end was a single man. The light from the various wall displays was enough to make out his outline
, and Bishop recognized that
it was the President of the United States.

Slowly, the
C
ommander
in
C
hief
stood and walked around the table toward Bishop. When he was a few steps away, he held out his hand
,
and for the first time, Bishop could clearly see his face. Bishop almost betrayed his shock at how “o
ld” the nation’s leader
had become. While it had only been a few months since he had last seen this man on television, the change was drastic. His hair was almost completely silver
,
a
nd his facial features betrayed
exhaustion. The eyes were sunken deeply behind his taunt cheekbones
,
and his skin looked stretched and veiny. Normally, the tall, thin politician stood ramrod straight with squared shoulders for the television cameras. Today, he was slightly bent at the waist
,
and his shoulders slumped as if he was carrying a heavy pack.

Bishop managed his reaction and shook the
president
’s
hand. The leader
’s grip was weak
,
and his hands were cold. After the handshake, the
older gentleman
gestured toward a chair, and said, “Please, please have a seat.” Bishop waited until the president had returned to his cha
ir
,
before sitting down himself.
At least the man will know I wasn’t born in a barn
, he thought. After settling in, the
man
looked at Bishop and said, “I understand you have so
me information for me from the C
olonel.”

Bishop nodded and handed across the papers he had been carrying.
The p
resident cleared his throat
before pulling
out a pair of eyeglasses. The specs were another revelation, but not surprising after he thought about it for a minute. The
statesman
pushed the glasses further up his nose, and then looked up at the ceiling. To his right, several buttons were installed in the surface of the table. After a few moments of indecision,
the chief executive looked at A
gent Powell with a helpless expression on his face. The bodyguard immediately moved to his boss’s side and hit a button that turned on a sma
ll, directed overhead light toward
the president’s seating area.