Captive-in-Chief (22 page)

The cell buzzed as he reentered the Oval Office, his watchers weren’t happy.

“Don’t leave your cell behind again!”

He pocketed the cell. They were getting sloppy. Or too cocky. That message told him all he needed to know and confirmed what he had thought, they were listening to everything he did through his cell. Leaving it behind had saved Joe’s life and potentially Clara’s, although as soon as they made good their promise to kill her, they would know he’d no longer be their puppet.

No sooner had he put it in his pocket than it buzzed again. He looked at the message. They really were pushing it. The American public would only bend so far. The cell buzzed again before he had even got his head around the first action. He opened the second message, it was a far easier sell, especially given the news media’s portrayal of the attack on his nephew Eric. Four illegal immigrants, all hardened criminals having served many years in prison in Mexico and completely unknown to local enforcement in Alabama. There was mention of the weapons they used but the media was focusing on their residency status.

Ramona buzzed him on the intercom. “I’ve got the president of the NRA holding for you, says you’re expecting his call?”

Clay reread the first message on his cell and picked up the handset:
Enact stricter firearm control with a requirement to hold a federal license.
The license would require proficiency testing, background checks, and a mental health status.

“William,” said Clay answering the call.

“Mr. President, my condolences for all those close to you that you lost.”

“Thank you, William, that’s very kind of you. How can I help?”

“I was asked to call you. I believe you want to move forward with the findings of the working group you set up with us.”

Clay wasn’t aware of any working group he had initiated with the NRA, nor any he would conceivably think of that he’d have wanted to. However, uttering those words would more than likely be the nail in William’s coffin. As much as he disagreed with some of William’s views on gun ownership, he was as moderate a president the NRA had seen in many years.

“Give me a quick recap of the findings, would you, please? Ramona’s mislaid the report.”

William laid out the findings and to say Clay was stunned the NRA was going to support some of them was an understatement. However, the more William spoke the more he understood why. The NRA was going to be at the heart of controlling gun ownership. William understood the impact of guns falling into the wrong hands and at some time in the future those lone wolves that had caused so many headaches for law abiding gun owners were going to ruin it for everyone, unless action was taken. Action that President Clay Caldwell was taking with the NRA’s assistance and support.

“The people can have guns, they just have to know how to use them, be law abiding, and of sound mind. I don’t think anyone here at the NRA can argue with any of that, Mr. President.”

“And you are confident you have the facilities to train everybody and issue the licenses?”

“Mr. President, I believe with the ATF and the FPS’s support in the initial phase, we can more than meet the requirements as the new licensing body for firearm control.”

Clay had to physically pinch himself, the National Rifle Association, the one body he thought would go ballistic when he had first read the instruction, was going to be his biggest ally in delivering a message to the American people that would have, he was sure, started an uprising. The federal government was about to enforce gun control in a way never before conceived possible and with the full support and cooperation of the group most supportive of the Second Amendment.

“I’ll get the AG onto it and get it across to the Houses as soon as possible. Hopefully the representatives and senators will see the merits of the plan.”

“They may be the few that are left but to be honest, Mr. President, I don’t think we’ll have a problem. Of all the Democrats and Republicans that were saved the tragedy, they are some of our biggest supporters.”

Clay shuddered as William spoke. He hadn’t even considered the prospect that the surviving representatives had survived for any other reason than chance. William’s words suddenly brought the idea that they had deliberately and not by luck, through illness, travel plans, or for whatever other reason not been in the Capitol when it was destroyed. William’s words of support for all surviving representatives put them on the list for Joe to investigate and left an incredibly sour and unpleasant taste in Clay’s mouth. The depth of the conspiracy against the country seemed endless and utterly ruthless.

Ironically, his next call was filled with far less concern. He knew the American people cared more about their guns than their housekeepers, nannies, gardeners, and millions of underpaid workers. He was calling time on illegal aliens. All twelve million would be sent back to where they had come from. There’d be no more sanctuary cities or excuses. If people were entitled to be in the US, they were welcome, and if not, they weren’t.

Twelve million people ripped from their homes, their jobs, families torn apart, all to save his child. He looked around his office. Yet again they had pushed him. Lives would be endangered and no doubt lost through the turmoil. Was his daughter’s life worth that? His family’s lives? To him personally, yes, but as president, that was an entirely different matter. Announcing the plans were one thing, seeing them through was another. Joe was finally there. He had some help. Joe would do something. Even if he failed and Clay’s daughter died as a result, he was doing something, fighting back in some way. To let her die without fighting back was inconceivable. Twelve million people, a gargantuan task. It wasn’t going to happen overnight. He had time. He lifted the phone.

He had thought he’d have time before the troop withdrawals. Thousands were arriving home already. Calls from heads of state around the world were begging him to change his mind, begging for more time to fix their depleted defenses. Defenses that they had run down at the American taxpayers’ expense, comfortable in the knowledge their borders were secure thanks to the US. The more they whined, the more resolve he felt towards the plan. However, that was a very different situation. These were people who had fled poverty and oppression for a better life for them and their families and in the vast majority, worked hard and strengthened the country they had adopted illegally.

A buzz of his cell, a new photo of Clara. That day’s TV news was on in the background, a placard around her neck made his decision instantly. “
They will kill me…
”

It was as though they were reading his mind.

He wasn’t even surprised when the heads of the three agencies within Homeland had been working on plans for just such an eventuality, as per his alleged previous instructions. Customs & Border Protection, Immigration & Customs Enforcement, and Citizenship & Immigration Services had plans in place to deliver what he wanted, beginning immediately.

Contractors could begin building a wall along the length of the Mexican/US Border, one that would once and for all stem the flow and ensure America was safe within its own borders.

He replaced the handset. What the hell was he doing? Where was it going to end? He stood and looked out across the lawn. He couldn’t see the swimming pool from there but wondered if Joe realized just how much was expected of him.

Joe Francis Kelly
, thought Clay,
you have one hell of a promise to live up to!

“Ramona, get me the AG and the chief justice in here ASAP, please.”

Joe had finished work early, not that he had any real work to do. Check the pool levels and keep the area clean and tidy. Not hard when nobody was there to either dirty it or make it untidy. Arriving back at the apartment before Amy, he turned on the TV to more breaking news. Gun and immigration control topped the headlines, which explained the significant increase in the number of FPS forces on his walk home. Trouble was expected, trouble that the FPS would deal with, with relative ease, he was sure, given their previous performances.

He popped a Librium and a pint of water. Although he needed to get to work, he also needed to cover his tracks. Accepting the apartment with Amy was a mistake. He needed to be anonymous. He had a weekend to investigate Clara’s husband in New York yet wanted to ensure nobody realized he had left Washington. He looked at Sandy.

“Manhattan is no place for a dog,” he said out loud. Her head tilted from side to side as he spoke. She had no idea what he was saying. He opened a few cans of food and laid them out and filled numerous bowls with water. He left the back door ajar, wide enough for Sandy to get in, and wedged the bottom of the door. No matter how hard he pushed, the door wouldn’t open any more, the wedge was doing its job perfectly. No human would fit through the gap. The garden was secure and with Sandy coming and going as she pleased, he simply needed an excuse for why he wasn’t around.

Amy wasn’t the brightest, so he didn’t need it to be too extravagant an excuse. He looked around for a piece of paper, easier said than done in the apartment, and eventually had to make do with a napkin to write on.

“Really sorry, have to cancel shopping trip, have a migraine and need to stay in darkened room. Usually lasts a day or two, will hopefully see you over the weekend as soon as better.”

He closed the blinds in his bedroom and locked the front door, using the security chain to ensure nobody, even with keys, could get in. No one could get in or out unless they were as skinny as Sandy. Of course, it did leave him the problem of getting out himself. The bathroom awning window had looked bigger when he had thought up the plan, and as he tried in vain to squeeze though the narrow gap, he realized it wasn’t the window that was the issue it was his gut. He breathed in and pulled hard on every muscle he could muster and finally he made it. The window fell back on itself and to the outside world, looked closed. Only on close inspection would anybody know the lock on the inside wasn’t engaged.

After a final pat on Sandy’s head, who had, much to his chagrin, walked out of the back door and stood watching him with some amusement, he leapt over the wall and headed to the train station. A stop at a clothes store on the way had him wearing a pair of chinos and a polo top for the first time in, well, he couldn’t even remember when.

Next stop New York.

The arrival of Governor Eric Warner and his wife Maria was kept from the press and as far as Val and Clay were concerned, was a private family visit. Clay greeted his favorite nephew with a hearty man hug while Val and Tess fussed over the pregnant Maria. Jack looked on in awe as his cousin walked into the residence. To Jack Caldwell, his big cousin was as near to a superhero as you could get.

Despite their best efforts, it took the press less than thirty minutes to discover the governor was visiting. The news broke that the all new American hero was visiting the president and the rumor mill spun out of control. The family connection that had all too easily followed Eric was once again absent as the speculation surrounding the visit escalated from the sublime to the outright ridiculous. It seemed the idea that a nephew could simply visit his aunt and uncle was lost to the nation.

With all talk of politics and the events of one of the worst weeks in US history banned, dinner was as uneventful an occasion as they could have hoped for. Clay appreciated the breather, although his mind was constantly wandering to where exactly Joe was and what he was up to. On more than one occasion, he had to ask for a question to be repeated, Val glaring at him on each occasion and excusing his rudeness. He had a lot on his mind. Mainly, the lives of the people around this table and the one person who couldn’t be there but he dearly wished was, Clara.

“Clay, you should ask Eric to represent the country at the summit.”

“Sorry?” said Clay.

“I’m so sorry, he’s really not with us tonight,” Val apologized. “I was saying, dear, that Eric could represent the country at the Summit of the Americas.”

“I haven’t even thought about the summit. Charles mentioned something about it yesterday,” replied Clay non-committedly.

“With no vice president or secretary of state, who else were you going to ask?”

Clay could think of many, many qualified people to ask to represent the country. However, given Val’s mood with him for his lack of concentration, he thought better of the smart-assed response and nodded halfheartedly. “I’ll speak to Charles in the morning.”

Val beamed. “You know, it’s Eric’s birthday tomorrow, perhaps we should do something for…”

Clay held up his hand. “Perhaps we should calm things down a little, I’m sorry to be an old—”

“No, you’re right,” Val admonished herself. “It was just a nice thought, given what’s happened.”

“We can still do something, although just for us,” Clay said.

“Thanks, guys, I really don’t feel like celebrating. Being here with family, having you guys and Maria by my side with our beautiful baby on the way…” he patted his wife’s stomach, “…is all I need. Tomorrow is only another day, nothing special.”

Val walked over and kissed her nephew on the head while placing a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Clay, why don’t you and Eric go have a cigar? We ladies are going to talk babies.”

“What about me?” asked Jack.

“You’re too young for cigars. Go play COD, or whatever you call it.”

“Call of Duty. Do you play?” he asked Eric eagerly.

Eric shook his head. “No, but I believe you’ve got a gun range downstairs. Perhaps tomorrow?” He looked at Clay, who nodded approval.

Jack raced around the table, hugged his older cousin, and with a shout of “So cool!” left the room.

With the ladies leaving Clay and Eric alone, Clay guided Eric out onto the Truman balcony overlooking the South Lawn and the Washington Monument, only half-lit as a mark of respect for all those lost in the tragedy.

“The illegal immigrant announcement…” said Eric, lighting his cigar, “…not a bit of an overreaction?”

Clay wanted to say yes, totally, but he couldn’t, he had to justify his decisions, if only to keep Eric safe.

“Four guys tried to kill you. We had no idea there were four highly dangerous individuals in the area. How many others are there? Pedophiles, murderers, rapists, who knows what else? They come over and we have no idea they’re here, and who we’re placing in danger, all because we don’t secure our borders.”

“We’re talking about a tiny minority. Families will be torn apart. Parents with naturally born US citizen children.”

Clay couldn’t agree more, though he couldn’t say so without killing Eric as certainly as if he had shot him himself.

“Loopholes. Two of your attackers had naturally born US citizen children. If we start from the position all go back, it makes our job easier. Who knows? Perhaps it does need tweaking. Let’s get the broad principles in place first, set up a proper and secure border for the first time in our history.”

Eric shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue with his president when his mind was made up.

“I’ve been surprised at a few things this week.”

“So have I, son. I didn’t expect the Capitol to be destroyed and hundreds of people I cared for to be killed. I didn’t expect hitmen to target me and my advisors in the White House, I could go on although I think you get my point.

A silence fell between them. Clay took a long drag of his cigar, blowing the smoke slowly and deliberately out into the night sky.

“I wasn’t criticizing,” said Eric. “I have no idea how it must feel to be in your shoes but…”

“Not criticizing but,” Clay said. “Okay, give me your but.”

“Okay.” Eric rose to the bait. “I fail to comprehend why you are pulling our troops back to the US. It benefits no one other than the Russians and Chinese. Stopping governors from nominating senators for the vacant seats will take months of organizing elections and re-electing a legislature. Federal gun licenses or face terrorist charges for holding unlicensed weapons? Licenses to be issued by the NRA, seriously?”

“What can I say?” Clay shrugged, taking another drag. He couldn’t argue so instead remained silent. Eric took a drag on his cigar. “Perhaps you
should
represent us at the Summit of the Americas.”

“If my president is asking me to help him, I will do whatever I can for him.”

Clay smiled. “Your Uncle Clay is asking.”

“Then I’ll be there for him. And my president too,” he laughed.