The Senator's Choice

THE

SENATOR’S

CHOICE

The White Knights Series

Book 1

NOEL NASH

THE SENATOR’S CHOICE

© Copyright 2015 Noel Nash

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Print Edition 2015

Cover Design by Dan Pitts

Published in the United States of America

Green E-Books

Boise, Idaho 83714

For 
my children, Tom, Heidi and Kyle. Being your parent has been my greatest adventure!

CHAPTER 1

“WE
’
VE GOT A PROBLEM, Matthews,”
Davis Shepherd said.
“Four extra guards patrolling the building. That
’
s twelve to three.”

Seth Matthews adjusted his earpiece and responded. “How many times do I have to tell you, Shepherd, that we don
’
t have
problems
in this business, we have
challenges
? But I
’
m glad you
’
re on our team. What would we do without a boy genius who can add faster than lightning while sitting in the van?”

“That
’
s not funny.”

“I
’
m not laughing.”

“I was just trying to be helpful.”

“I know you were, Shepherd. I was joking.”

“It wasn
’
t funny. Nobody laughed.”

“OK, it
’
s cool. Thanks for the heads up. We
’
ll proceed accordingly. And let us know if you see anything else worth mentioning.”

Crouching low, Matthews turned to the rest of his team and signaled for them to take their positions. Rich Hammond and Greg Zellers took precautions to avoid the shine of the building
’
s floodlights. Near the front door, Matthews grabbed one half of the battering ram while Nick Jones grabbed the other.

“Ready?” Matthews asked.

Jones nodded.
“Now that you
’
re a card-carrying member of AARP, wouldn
’
t you prefer to knock? I wouldn’t want you to throw your back out.”

Matthews grinned. “On three.”

When the count hit three, the door shattered and sprayed glass shards throughout the lobby. Matthews tossed a smoke bomb into the lobby and fired off a few rounds to ensure he arrested the guards
’
attention.

Jones moved to the other side of the door.

“Stay low,” Matthews whispered to Jones. “This shouldn
’
t take long.”

In less than a minute, six armed guards spilled into the foyer and waved the smoke away. Matthews and Jones fired tranquilizer shots at them, putting them all on the floor.

“What
’
s your status, Hammond?”

“Five hostiles down. Only one left guarding the target.”

“Excellent. Save him for me.”

Moments later, Matthews and Jones raced down the stairs to the basement level and joined their counterparts outside the entrance to the makeshift prison cell.

“Great. A steel door. I really wanted to kick something down today. Zellers? She
’
s all yours.”

Zellers broke open his brown leather bag and went to work on the lock.

“What
’
s going on?” Shepherd asked over the com link.

“Zellers is picking the lock to the employee lobby so we can watch Oprah,” Matthews answered.

“How come I can
’
t ever get a straight answer from you?”

“Start asking the right questions.”

“OK, how is it going?”

“
Much better. We
’
re all alive and we only have one more guard—unless you forgot to carry the one earlier.”

“Nope, you
’
re good. I
’
ll get the truck ready.”

Shepherd checked his watch. “Can we hurry this up?”

Zellers paused and looked up. “
You can
’
t rush an artist.”

“
Not lookin
’
for a masterpiece. Just an unlocked door.
”

Zellers grunted and moments later the lock clicked. “After you,” he said to Matthews.

Matthews stormed into the room to discover a new challenge: The guard held a knife to the target
’
s neck.

An opaque light streamed into the room through the street level window near the ceiling. It was enough for Matthews to realize the gravity of the situation. He trained his gun on the guard.

“
Ne dvigat
’
sya
!” the guard yelled.

Matthews eyed the target, now personified. Tears streaked down the young woman
’
s face.

“Please don
’
t let him hurt me,” she said while she struggled to break free.

He then eyed the guard, who held her tight. Other than the guard
’
s crazy eyes that darted about the room, Matthews could have been staring into a mirror. Six feet tall, ripped, and still plenty of hair. This might prove to be more of a challenge than he initially believed. “
Jones?
”

“Russian,” Jones answered.

“
I don’
t care about the language—translation, please.”

“He shouted the universal phrase, ‘Don
’
t move.
’”

“Tell him, we don
’
t want to hurt him but we need the girl.”

Jones translated the message before receiving one himself. He paused.

“Well, what did he say?” Matthews demanded.

“You don
’
t wanna know.”

Before Matthews could respond, the window shattered and a cylindrical object clinked on the floor. In seconds, a gaseous substance filled the room.

“What the—” Matthews said before he and everyone else passed out.

***

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Matthews awoke with the rest of his team in the van along with the young lady they
’
d been tasked to retrieve.

“What — what happened?” asked Matthews, still groggy from the gas.

“You had a … challenge,” Shepherd said from the driver
’
s seat of the box van. “I solved it.”

Matthews stumbled toward the front and stepped over the woman and the rest of his team. “It would
’
ve been nice of you to let us know what you had in mind.”

“I got bored adding numbers in the van,” Shepherd said while he veered onto the interstate.

“Pull over now.”

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You
’
re driving.”

Shepherd pulled off on the shoulder. He banged on the steering wheel. “Why don
’
t you ever let me drive? It
’
s not fair. Everyone else gets to drive.” He opened the door and walked around the front of the van and climbed into the front passenger seat.

Matthews slid into the driver
’
s seat and buckled his seat belt while he waited for his team member.

“Everyone else has a license,” Matthews said once Shepherd latched his buckle.

“You don
’
t have a license for half the things you do.”

“
I don’
t ask for permission. Now, let
’
s get this woman to the safe house.”

CHAPTER 2

SENATOR JEFFREY DANIELS viewed his life like he did his politics — straight-forward and to the point. He stood up and walked around his desk toward one of the plaques on his office wall. It was a silly award from a free weekly paper in Washington, something he
’
d usually toss in a box somewhere and have an aide dispose of it. But this one actually meant something to him. Etched onto the black plate were the words: “Washington
’
s Most Loved and Hated Senator.” He smiled as he looked at it. That little award reminded him of the promise he made to himself and the people of Ohio when he first won his senate seat over thirty years ago: Negotiate in the spirit of statesmanship, but never compromise.

He then gazed into the glass doors of his office hutch. Out of habit, he adjusted his red tie then lingered as he stared at his reflection. His crow
’
s feet and gray hair betrayed his age as did the cracked leather on the displayed football. In 1971, he caught the game-winning touchdown pass on a tipped ball to beat Minnesota. He never let anyone forget it, especially Howard Blackledge, the Minnesota senator who played for the Gophers that season. But Senator Daniels wanted to accomplish something that he wouldn
’
t have to tell people about.

Documents requiring his signature sat stacked on one corner of his desk. On the other was
The Washington Times,
open to an article detailing the rampant corruption in the Environmental Protection Agency. Next to it — the most important bill he would ever sign: Bradley Briner
’
s New England Energy Access Act.

Several months ago, Briner reached out to Daniels in an attempt to garner support and create a power alliance that stretched across both sides of the political aisle. With Maine
’
s economy sagging, Briner saw an opportunity to bolster job creation for his constituents through a New England gas pipeline. With Canada and nearby U.S. states Montana and Wyoming unleashing restrictions that once suppressed oil companies
’
ability to prospect there, an economic boon resulted. However, transporting all the new oil to refineries was expensive, and most existing refineries couldn
’
t handle the volume. Zolcorp, an oil company that owned most of these burgeoning fields, contacted Briner first about building state-of-the-art refineries in Maine and Ohio. With a plan that proved strategic in rallying support for the plan and skirting stringent federal regulations, Zolcorp remained one step away from securing a windfall for its investors. Zolcorp selected Maine because of its seaport access and the fact that it sent all its natural gas back to Canada for refining. Ohio seemed like the next easy target after a new law brought stifling restrictions on coal energy production. It all but eliminated the natural resource that accounted for producing more than sixty percent of Ohio
’
s energy. Natural gas was the second-leading energy producing resource in the state — and out of work Ohioans would welcome both the cheaper energy prices and the new jobs.

“We
’
re gonna write the book on bipartisanship,” Briner told him over lunch once they shook hands in agreement. “
Maybe we
’
ll even change the face of politics in America.”

Once word leaked out what Briner was supporting, the preliminary polls indicated just the opposite — typical Washington gridlock. Party line voting seemed to be the destiny of Briner
’
s amendment. But at the President
’
s request, Briner and Daniels worked hard to get the votes they needed to pass the bill. It gave the President confidence to sign the bill, knowing that he would be enacting the will of the people.