Captive-in-Chief (19 page)

The memorial service for Alabama’s two senators, three congressmen, and two congresswomen killed in the attack on the US Capitol was led by Governor Eric Warner. On a hastily erected stage in the grounds of the Alabama State Capitol, Eric had addressed thousands of his fellow Alabamians. It had been a somber and heartfelt farewell to a group of men and women who had served their state admirably for almost one hundred and fifty years collectively. Governor Warner had not forgotten to remember the other Alabamans who had fallen that day; in total eighty-five had been lost in the tragedy, including staffers and tourists.

Any doubts anyone had about the ability of their new governor to govern their state were once and for all dismissed. His command of the audience, his ability to control and drive their emotions throughout his speech, was masterful. A tear ran from his eye as he talked of the youngest victim, only seven years old. Kylie had been so excited to visit Washington, she hadn’t slept for nights prior to her trip. The audience reacted to every inflection, every nuance of his words and actions. He shared moments of joy and laughter he had shared with his fallen political colleagues. The audience laughed with him. It was a poignant and most perfect sendoff to people held dear in Alabamians’ hearts.

Despite the occasion, applause followed his performance. As incongruous as it felt to clap at such a sad occasion, the outstanding performance merited reaction.

The president’s voice interrupted the applause. His voice boomed across the audience as the audio of him addressing the nation was looped into the PA system.

“My fellow Americans…”

The crowd instantly fell silent. What followed was a detailed reasoning behind an announcement nobody was anticipating. America was pulling her forces back to the US. The world was going to have to police itself. America had worried enough about what happened elsewhere, it was now time to focus and look after number one. The president explained how, as a result, America would strengthen, not weaken its military. Monies would be spent on defending America, not other territories, and America would be safer as a result.

“…and God bless the United States of America,” the president finished.

A cheer followed. Few had issue with what had been said, and the few that did were soon shouted down. The president was making America safer, more secure, what was there to argue about?

Eric stepped back onto the stage and with the audience in the palm of his hand, they awaited his response. He simply started to sing, booming out the first few words of the
Star Spangled Banner
, and every one of the audience members joined in.

Tears flowed during one of the most heart rendering versions of the national anthem ever sung. As the last words died down, Eric once more stepped forward. Again the audience were held in his rapture. He started to sing again,
Alabama, Alabama,
the state song, and the audience boomed it out with him.

As the events of the evening concluded, the crowd began to disperse. It was an evening few of them would ever forget. Many discussed how incredibly their governor had performed throughout the event and recognized his leading the charge against the rioters. Few mentioned he was the president’s nephew.

“Guys,” said Eric, turning to his protection team. “Good job tonight. I think my wife and I can manage from here, it’s a beautiful night for a walk.”

“Are you sure, Sir?”

“I’m surrounded by the good people of Alabama. I’ve never been more sure!” he replied with a wave and took his wife’s hand, setting off for the mile and a half walk back to the governor’s mansion. It was to be a long walk. Congratulations and well-wishers delayed them every few hundred yards. The Warners had won the hearts of the people hook, line, and sinker. Mrs. Warner’s exquisite outfit not only showed off her beauty, it allowed the first hint of her recently announced pregnancy to show. The two radiated hope and belief in the state that few had felt in a long time, nor believed they could have following the recent events that had rocked the nation.

Elsa dropped the four men off on South Court Street, pointing to the wall that belonged to the target house. She reiterated her threat, none of the men doubted her for a second. None had met a more coldhearted bitch in their lives. Utterly emotionless, she had taken a knife to slit the throat of the youngest child in front of their eyes. None had doubted she would happily have done so had they not accepted her demand.

None were unaccustomed to violence. All four had served time in prison for various crimes up to and including murder; it was how they had survived in Mexico and one of the reasons they had made the move to America. They desperately wanted their children to have a life free from the violence and gang culture that had been the norm for them. Killing a man to save one of their own was no great leap. They had done so before to protect and provide for their families and they would do so again.

Elsa tossed a bag from the nondescript Chevy van, a hundred yards further down the road. The men jogged to collect it as Elsa pulled away, leaving the men armed and ready to fulfill their mission. Grabbing the bag and checking for prying eyes, they scaled the wall and dropped into the grounds. The sensors that should have alerted security had already been disarmed ahead of their entry. A later investigation would identify a faulty sensor and not the technical wizard that Elsa had employed.

Under the cover of the tree line, they checked the bag to find a selection of weapons, four submachine guns and four pistols, all with attached suppressors and numerous extra ammo clips for each. All different models and devoid of serial numbers, it was an overwhelming amount of firepower to deal with one person. They had been shown a photo of the target, none of them knew who it was. Not speaking English, they had little time for local news and instead watched Mexican TV.

As darkness fell they came out of the treeline and worked quietly around the tennis court at the back of the property. A large white house with a pool lay ahead.

“
Alto
!” hissed the older of the Mexicans, José. They all stopped as the armed guard in uniform walked into view from around the side of the house.

They ducked down and cursed between themselves in Spanish. It was not the easy in and out killing they had anticipated. Whatever the case, they had no option other than to proceed, their families’ lives depended on them.

When the guard disappeared once again from sight, Jose signaled for them to move. All four crept forward. Whether there was one man or fifty in the house they’d do what was needed. These men meant nothing to them, their families meant everything.

Nearing the back of the house, Jose once again signaled for them to stop. The crunch of the guard’s feet on the gravel at the side of the house alerted them to his coming. The guard had no chance. When he rounded the rear of the house, two of the Mexicans fired, their raised and ready MP5 and Uzi, three-round bursts, six rounds ended the guard’s life instantly.

“What was that?” asked Governor Warner as he greeted the state trooper at the gatehouse protecting their home.

“I didn’t hear anything,” replied the guard. Eric had no doubt he hadn’t, since he hadn’t taken his eyes off of his wife. He was used to men appreciating his wife, it came with the territory of having beautiful wife. However, he expected a lot more from a trooper who was protecting their home.

“It sounded like gunshots, suppressed gunshots,” Eric snapped angrily, motioning for his wife to move into the stone gatehouse and get down.

Eric had grown up with guns. He was a strong believer in the Second Amendment and open carried a gun wherever he went. He had experience of firing almost every weapon ever made. He knew a gunshot, suppressed or not, when he heard it. He drew his Korth .357 custom made revolver and signaled for the guard to back him up and call it in.

They moved slowly and carefully forward.

“Where’s the other trooper?” asked Eric.

“Walking the grounds.”

Not any more
, thought Eric. He signaled for the trooper to follow him around the right side of the house. Eric considered moving back to the relative safety of the gatehouse and waiting for back-up, but events spiraled out of control quickly when sirens sounded in the distance as the local police force reacted to the news of an attack on their governor. The first sound brought two men racing around the side of the house, their weapons up at the ready.

Eric didn’t hesitate. He spent hours each week practicing with his guns, in particular his Korth. Everything about the Korth had been customized for him - the grip, the trigger pressure, even the weight and balance. He fired two shots, sounding almost as one, catching both men before they had a chance to react. The powerful .357 magnum bullets stopped them both in their tracks, center upper mass, slightly to the left. Both perfect shots to the heart. The men fell, both dead before they hit the ground.

“Holy shit!” the trooper exclaimed at Eric’s gun skills. The trooper was still trying to understand how Eric had felled both men with apparently one shot, while Eric rushed onwards and rounded the rear of the house just as a man disappeared around the other side, heading towards the front of the property. His wife was in the gatehouse, alone at the front. Eric sprinted after him across the rear of the house and rounding the side. The man once again disappeared out of sight. He was at the front and heading towards his wife. Eric tore after him, urging the trooper on behind him.

Eric reached the front of the house and his worst fear was facing him. One man held his wife with a gun to her head, while another urged him to come out into the open. He did the only thing he could, he walked into the open. The trooper rushing behind him didn’t slow, he raced into the middle of the scene, oblivious to what was happening. The Mexican who had been training his gun on Eric reacted quickly, moving to the trooper and firing off a three shot burst. The trooper fell to the ground, screaming in agony.

Eric saw his chance. He moved his wrist, and fired, the speed of his movement went unseen by the gunman holding his wife while the other Mexican saw only a flash. He hadn’t really understood what it was until the bullet tore through his chest. He fell to the ground.

Eric raised his pistol. The Mexican pushed his MP5 into Eric’s wife’s head. Eric cocked his revolver, letting the Mexican see what was coming.

“There is only one certainty here, you will die!”

The Mexican was speaking. Eric wasn’t listening. He pulled his trigger, the bullet missing the Mexican by less than an inch. Eric fired again, the speed of the second shot almost indiscernible from the first. The first struck the MP5, perfectly ruining the mechanism and rendering it useless other than as a club or a doorstop. The second caught the Mexican squarely between the eyes.

Eric rushed forward and cradled his wife before she fell to the ground under the weight of the dead Mexican.

“That was like something out of the cowboy movies!” croaked the trooper, lying on the ground nursing a bullet wound to his side and thigh. His eyes fixed on Eric and his gun slinging antics.

After checking his wife and their unborn child were okay, Eric went to the trooper’s aid.

“You saved her life,” said Eric, tying a tourniquet above the trooper’s leg wound.

“All you,” the trooper said, grimacing through the pain. “That was amazing, I’ve never seen anyone use a gun like that outside the movies.”

Eric shrugged. “A bit of a hobby of mine. Still nowhere near Bob Munden though.”

“Bob who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eric said as the police and press descended on the scene.

Governor Eric Warner was going to top the news headlines for the second time in as many days.

Joe spent the afternoon with Sandy checking out their new work area. He still had no idea what he was supposed to do although he had a lovely location in which to work out what not to do. Trees and bushes screened the large outdoor pool, giving the president and his family a private and secluded oasis among the very public grounds of the White House. A pool house offered a kitchen area, changing facilities, restrooms, and a fully stocked bar. Joe stared at the bottles of liquor. Clay had obviously become a whisky drinker. A selection of Scotch single malts adorned the top shelf.

Joe kept staring. He could taste them simply by looking at the colors speaking to him, the light amber to the dark treacle colored liquids firing his taste buds. His throat ached for the alcohol burning the back of his throat as that first hit worked its wonders. A splash from outside broke the spell. Sandy had jumped in to the pool. There hadn’t been many days in her life she hadn’t been for a swim but Joe couldn’t help feel it was her way to stop him.

“Get out of there!” he hissed, not wanting anyone to know she was swimming in the president’s pool.

Sandy came out as directed and threw him a look that said either he was a spoilsport or she knew what he had been thinking. Whichever it was, she wasn’t overly happy. She shook herself, picking a spot in the sun to dry off. Joe cast his gaze back to the bar, walking in and picking up a glass. His hand shook slightly as he held it. He looked up at the whiskies and felt in his pocket, extracting his medication. It was time for his Librium and painkillers. He filled his glass and swallowed the pills, downing them with one big gulp. He turned to see Sandy staring at him.

“Water, just water!” he said showing her the glass. “Worse than a wife!” he muttered cleaning and replacing the glass on the pristine surface.

With a final pang for the whiskies, he closed the door to the pool house and sat down on the edge of a sun lounger. He needed to try and figure out exactly what it was he was going to do to earn his forty-two grand. An hour and a half later he awoke with a start, Sandy was licking his face. Someone was coming.

“So you all set?” asked Amy Klein, rounding the pool house. Joe had managed to get to his feet before she appeared. His afternoon nap on the job had gone undetected.

“Think so,” said Joe. “All looks good.”

“How about Sandy, did she enjoy the pool?”

“No, definitely not, she’s not allowed in there,” said Joe, he looked down at a very guilty Sandy, she was still wet, she had obviously been back in the water while he slept.

Amy smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Not on my super cute bestie!” She tickled Sandy’s chin.

Sandy stretched her head up to allow Amy full access.

“So will I get an Uber?”

“A what?” asked Joe.

“An Uber,” she said again. She pulled out her smart phone and tapped it a few times.

Joe looked at Sandy. She wasn’t interested, she was waiting on Amy to put her phone away and continue scratching.

“Three minutes,” announced Amy, slipping her phone back in her shockingly pink handbag and rewarding Sandy’s patience.

“Three minutes for what?”

“The Uber. Come on, we can cut through here. Oh I nearly forgot, you’ll need this.” Amy handed him a pass. “White House Ground Staff. It clears you for pretty much everywhere except the main buildings.”

Amy set off in her ridiculously high heels. Joe offered her an arm to help speed her along. He was keen to see what an Uber was. A car pulled up as they walked into the car park at the side of the West Wing, and Amy’s cell buzzed in her bag. She fished around in her bag to find her cell and check the message before looking up. The driver of the car was out and holding the door open.

“That’s it,” she announced.

“That’s what?” asked Joe.

“The Uber,” she replied, walking towards the car.

“An Uber is a car? Why not just say car? And why didn’t you know this was it until after checking your phone?”

“It might not have been,” she said stepping inside.

“Mrs. Klein,” the driver said as she climbed in.

“Hey, Carl,” she replied with a smile.

“You know him?”

“Carl picks me up most nights.”

Joe shook his head as Carl shrugged in acknowledgment. “Same every night,” whispered Carl as Joe and Sandy joined Amy in the car.

“You could always ask him if he’s your Uber, right?”

“My husband says I have to check, otherwise who knows? It could be a kidnapper or rapist and they’d say they were my driver.”

“Even though it’s the same guy most nights.”

Amy shrugged. “My husband is very security conscious. If I didn’t check and he found out he’d be furious.”

An hour later, Joe and Sandy were settled in their own apartment. Neither could quite believe it. The apartment was huge, yet only a tiny part of the far bigger house. As promised, Sandy had a garden and a pool. Joe took a shower, the longest, hottest shower he’d had in over forty years, and probably his whole life. Voice controlled, he had no idea what he was doing. His wound stung but he didn’t care, the warmth of the water washed away any worries about pain. He felt like a new man. The Librium had alleviated his cravings, his hand shake was getting better and he realized he hadn’t had a headache for the last few hours. He had a job and apparently hundreds of thousands of dollars in the bank.

Life was as good as it had been for him for as long as he could remember. He switched the TV on and the world came crashing back to reality. The reason he was there. The reason he was 1,500 miles from his beach. The president, his friend, the reason he and Sandy were in D.C., looked tired and drawn. The president’s daughter was being held captive, and the Capitol had just been blown up. As Clay’s life was turning to shit, Joe’s shit life was improving. Joe dried himself off. He needed to focus, get his mind back in the game. He was there for his friend.

The president announced the military drawback. Joe hadn’t known Clay for most of his adult life but it certainly didn’t sound like anything Clay would have thought to do under the circumstances. Joe had no doubt that Clay’s strings were being pulled. They were controlling him like a puppet.

The analysis of the president’s historic announcement was interrupted by breaking news in Montgomery, Alabama. An overexcited injured state trooper was relaying the story of Governor Eric Warner and his amazing gunmanship. Footage of the governor leading the singing of the National and state anthem followed, along with his riding on the side of the truck leading the charge against the rioters. Joe was impressed. That was a young man with some serious mettle. America had itself a new rising star and a hero to boot.