THE PRESIDENT 2 (11 page)

“She signed a prenuptial agreement.
 
Ralph Caswell dies and she’ll have
nothing,
or at least next to nothing.
 
His grown children, who can’t stand her, saw to that.
 
That’s why she’s fighting so hard.
 
It’s richer for her to keep him.”

“Well,” Dutch said, still staring at the door Jennifer had just vacated, as if fearing that she would unceremoniously reappear, “at least I know where I stand.”

Max agreed, although Gina wasn’t at all sure.
 
Because that woman, as they often said in her neighborhood, had trouble written all over her.
 
Force of nature was right, because that was truly her.
 
She came like the wind, but Gina felt as if it would be her husband, if he wasn’t careful, who would get caught up in her whirlwind.

***

It wasn’t until nearly midnight before Dutch could finish his meetings with his various administration officials and make it to bed.
 
By then Gina was fast asleep.
 
She had tried to remain awake and wait for him, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.
  
Besides, she assumed he wouldn’t come to their bed at all, given the late hour, but would sleep in the adjacent room.
 

Dutch, however, needed Gina.
 
He needed to hold her, to feel her, to lie next to her.
 
So he did.
 
He knew it was selfish on his part, he hated bringing his job to their bed, but he needed her too badly.
 
And she did indeed wake up as soon as his weight bore down on the bed, as she always did, and he gathered her naked body into his arms.
 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said to her, rubbing his lips across her forehead, his penis jutting limply against her vagina, “but I couldn’t be without you tonight.”

Gina snuggled closer to his naked body, rubbing her mound against his manhood.
 
“I’m glad you couldn’t,” she said, kissing him back, thrilled to be in his arms.
 

They continued kissing for a good long time, but more in a series of pecks rather than one long, fluid passionate kiss.
 
The elephant in the room was Jennifer Caswell and her threat to “ruin” him, as if there was more that she had in her bag of tricks than she was letting on, but neither broached the subject.
 
They just kissed.
 

When Gina took Dutch’s silky black hair that had fallen over his forehead and smoothed every strand out of his gorgeous face, she saw an understated but burning need deep within his big, green eyes that made her know instinctively what would cure that need.
 
She turned her curvaceous body opposite his, her butt now pressed against his stomach.
 
And he reacted immediately, sliding first his fingers into her folds, lubricating her, and then sliding his rod into her with a sureness that made her sigh in a loving relief, as she felt the touch of his head penetrate her folds.

He pushed into her with slow, prodding motions, his penis not in its usual instantaneous readiness, but requiring a longer, focused nurturing.
 
But they both knew that his erection wasn’t the issue this time.
 
Their love was.
 
The fact that they often felt as if it was the two of them against the world was what was driving their passion this time.
 
And that was why they kept it slow, as Gina continued to lubricate them both.
 
For the longest time they just lay there, as his penis slid gently into her wetness and then slid back toward her entrance tip, over and over again; as the lustful sound of their mating echoed with sloshing sensuality throughout the massive bedroom.
 

Gina closed her eyes as he made love to her.
 
And Dutch closed his eyes too, that feeling of safety, of being with who he was supposed to be with, of knowing that the entire world may consider him and his administration a failure, but Gina would have his back.
 
And just the thought of her, of her love and his love for her, lulled him into a peaceful, restful, unbelievably lustful fuck.
 
They rarely did it this way, but it was needful tonight.

And even when they both eventually came to orgasm, it wasn’t their usual mountain summit moment, but was more of a quiet, wonderful quaintness; the kind of release that spilled out in a drip rather than a splash, her folds tightening around his penis as he engorged, and she filled up, and both stretched out in a wonderful sweetness.
 
A sweetness that bespoke of togetherness, of an unshakeable union, of a kind of quiet knowing that, despite the odds, they were both in this for the long haul.

Within minutes after their climax, they were both fast asleep.

But their peaceful sleep was barely an hour old when the president’s secure telephone began to ring.
 
Although it used to be known as the Washington-Moscow red phone during the dark days of the cold war, it was now known in the Harber Administration as the Hotline.
 
And whenever it rang it was certain to be a call serious enough that the national security team deemed it worth waking the president over, even as late as three a.m.
 

Dutch, upon awakening, answered the call.

Gina woke up too, surprised to find that she was lying on top of Dutch.
 
Sometime after she had fallen asleep, Dutch had apparently pulled her on top of him and rested her head against his bare chest.
 
She looked up from that chest as he answered the call.

“This is the president,” he said into the phone.

“It’s Ed Drake, Mr. President.”

Ed, the president’s national security advisor, sounded almost solemn.
 
“What is it, Ed?” Dutch asked him.

“The captors, sir, whom we are now certain is an Al-Qaeda affiliate, has killed a hostage.”

The anguish swept through Dutch like a raging sea.
 
He removed the phone from his ear, to steady himself, and then replaced it.
 
“Who did they get?”

“Mary Beth Kappers, sir, a nineteen year old student.”

Dutch closed his eyes, pinched his temple, and then reopened them.
 
“Have they provided a message?”

“Yes, sir.
 
They want us to know that they will continue to kill hostages if Ben-al-Alawaiki isn’t released from Gitmo and placed into their hands immediately.
 
That is their only demand and they’re sticking to it.”

“Can we get this Al-Alawaiki character to record a counter message condemning their tactics and making clear he’ll refuse to go even if they win his freedom?”

“We have tried everything, and I mean everything, sir, to get him to do just that.
 
But he will not.
 
We could do a whole lot more, of course, if Congress hadn’t tied our hands---”

“That’s a fight for another day, Eddie.
 
But do what you have to do.
 
These are kids we’re talking about.
 
And keep me posted,” Dutch ordered and hung up the phone.
 
He wrapped his arms around Gina, who was still staring at him.
 

“What’s happened?” she asked.

Dutch was so disgusted by the news that he first needed to compose himself.
 
“They’ve killed a hostage,” he finally said.

Gina deflated.
 
“Oh, no, Dutch.
 
One of the students?”

“Of course a student.
 
They’re terrorists; it’s their job to terrorize.
 
And they can expect far more outrage from the American public if they kill a bright eyed nineteen year old rather than some rich, middle-aged businessman.
 
So they go for the shock value.”

Gina’s eyes studied his.
 
“Are you all right?”

Dutch thought about this.
 
“When this job is over, and I can take my wife as far away from this environment as I can possibly get her, yes, I will be,” he said, and laid her head back down on his chest.

FIVE

The president stood behind a makeshift podium in the White House Rose Garden with the Prime Minister of Israel, Benjamin Shamir, flanking him.
 
Given that it was the morning after the murder of a hostage, it was to be a simple photo-op, with the president thanking Mr. Shamir for his visit to the United States and the prime minister thanking the president for his friendship with Israel and his undying commitment to the Israeli-Palestinian peace process.
 
No questions, they decided and had already alerted the press, would be taken.
 
The assembled press, however, had other ideas.

Their questions came before the men could even finish their greetings.
 
And not one of those questions concerned the peace process or how the prime minister was enjoying his stay in the United States.
 
But every one of their questions concerned the hostage crisis and what they viewed as the president’s lackadaisical response.
 
It became so contentious that the leaders had to end their prepared remarks early, shake hands and give the obligatory camera wave, and then get ushered back into the White House as if they were being forced along.
 

One reporter, however, still was able to get in what would become the sound bite for the entire appearance: “Mr. President, they’re killing Americans!” he was able to yell above the rest.
 
“What are you and your lame administration going to do about it?”

Once back inside the Oval Office, even the prime minister, a man who had been in and around politics for nearly forty years, could hardly believe the level of disrespect.
 
“Did that reporter just call your administration
lame
?” he asked Dutch in astonishment.
 
Dutch, however, smiled, placed his hand on the prime minister’s back, and thanked him once again for his visit.

***

That level of disrespect, as noted by the Israeli Prime Minister and fueled by the fact that that reporter’s question was being played over and over all morning and now late into the afternoon on the various cable news channels, wasn’t lost on Gina, either, as she sat behind her desk in her small office inside the East Wing of the White House.
 
She had a long line of meetings already scheduled by the president’s staff to enhance what they called her “softer” side.
 
This particular meeting was with members of the Society for the Prevention of Pit Bull Cruelty and she listened as they pleaded with her to get behind their cause.
 
How supporting better treatment of pit bulls would make her appear “softer,” was a mystery to her.

But even as she listened to their spiel, all she could think about was Dutch.
 
He was adept at handling every crisis they threw his way, and could take those punches of blame, but she knew in many ways it was beginning to tear him apart.
 
He used to joke, during the last campaign, that he didn’t even want a second term.
 
She assumed it was just the jitters and the fact that he was in a tough reelection fight.
 
But now she wasn’t so sure if it was a joke at all.
 
She now believed, in many respects, that he sometimes hated his job.