Gordon exhaled deeply and said, “Respectfully sir, you are one crazy son of a bitch.”
“Good morning, Pat!” Conner said happily as he walked into the coffee shop.
“Good morning, Mr. President. The usual?”
“Of course.”
Handing him his hot cup of coffee, Pat said, “Thank you so much for the MREs and milk. What a gift!”
“You’re welcome! You earned it.”
“Mr. President, we need to go,” Dylan said, sticking his head into the shop.
“Wait a minute,” he shot back to Dylan.
“Mr. President, you need to go.”
Conner eyed Dylan, but knew that his tone signaled that something was wrong. He thanked Pat again and left quickly. After stepping into the Humvee, it sped off abruptly, throwing him forcibly against the seat.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked urgently.
“We just received credible word of an assassination plot against you,” Dylan said.
“What?”
“I just got the call; we didn’t want to alarm Pat and the others in the shop. So that’s why I went in.”
“How do you know?”
“We caught a group of people attempting to access the federal zone north gate. When one of the police asked them their business, a guy took off running. We arrested them all. During the interrogation, one told us they and two other kill teams were sent to assassinate you.”
Conner took a deep breath and asked, “Who are they?”
“We don’t know what group yet, but we’ll get that information soon enough. They’ve been sent to Warren for further interrogation.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“This will prompt a discussion about getting a new vice president.”
“I don’t need another VP. Cruz is mine.”
“But—”
“No buts, we made the deal. He’ll be back here soon.”
“So are these assassins American?”
“No, sir, they’re Venezuelan.”
Isabelle awoke to find Pablo staring at her.
“Hi,” she said softly as she stretched.
“Good morning, my love, how did you sleep?” he asked.
Their relationship had grown into an intimate one after their third dinner together. Isabelle’s affair with the “Butcher of Sacramento,” the moniker that her father had given him, had driven a wedge between the normally close father and daughter. She didn’t like many of the things Pablo had done, but she rationalized that what she was doing was surviving. She tried to reason with her father that allying with Pablo would protect the two of them, but he wouldn’t hear it.
“I slept great,” she purred as she placed her long, slender arms around his neck and drew him closer.
“Ah, you tease. I can’t. I have an important meeting with General Pasqual.”
“Ugh, General Pasqual,” she mocked, rolling her eyes.
Pablo slid out of bed and walked to the large window, opening the blinds. Sunlight splashed across the large bedroom, formerly the governor’s master suite.
“Why that tone about the general?” Pablo asked curiously.
“I just don’t like him,” she said, twirling her hair.
“Why? He’s a trusted commander. I specifically had him handpicked. He has an impeccable record, and he’s brilliant,” Pablo said in his defense.
“I don’t trust him. I don’t think it’s wise to trust anyone, but I specifically wouldn’t trust him.”
Pablo looked at her oddly. He was always taught by his father not to trust anyone. And if what he did to his own father wasn’t a lesson enough, you can’t even trust family. Once again, he felt as if Isabelle knew him intimately.
“Why don’t you trust him?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I feel like he’s always whispering to others, and when you’re not looking, he’s throwing nasty looks at you.”
“I think you’re seeing things. I trust him. He’s a valuable part of my command; besides, what exactly do you think he’d do?” Pablo said, now attempting to brush off suspicion of his top commander.
“Do his men love him? Will they do whatever he says?” she asked.
Pablo thought about the question for a second, then dismissed it. “He is loyal. He’d never work against me.”
“Next time you see him among the others officers, watch how he interacts with them.”
Pablo thought even longer but decided to not have his mind clouded by doubt. He looked at her leg sticking out of the sheets and rubbed it. “I forgot that you’re a woman. Women’s minds are always contemplating sinister and mischievous things. I think you’re bored. You need to find something to do besides conjuring up such petty and childish things.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said in a bored tone. “Why would he challenge you? What would he gain?”
Her last two questions resonated with him. He needed Pasqual, but did Pasqual need him? Fear gripped him when this concept announced itself. He stood up quickly and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
He slammed the door, turned on the battery-powered lantern, and poured a bottle of water into the plugged sink. He splashed the water on his face and stopped to look at himself in the mirror.
Could he trust Pasqual? Nothing stood between Pasqual and him. She was right—Pasqual’s men loved him, but did they love their emperor more?
He knew the truth to that question. Of course they didn’t, but they did fear him. But was fear enough to keep them in line? His mind raced as he headed out for his meeting.
“Brandon and Luke, I want to talk with you,” Sebastian said.
The boys walked over to him. Both had their arms crossed in an attempt to stay warm. The temperatures had dipped down into the teens and it was getting colder. The overpass had provided shelter for more than a week. A snowstorm had forced them off the road and stopped their journey north.
“Can we talk after we make a fire?” Brandon asked.
“Not necessary, this won’t take long. After what happened to Brandon more than two weeks ago, I’ve decided to let you both keep guns on you.”
“Fuck yeah!” Brandon chirped with excitement.
“Just so it’s on the record, I think this is a bad idea,” Annaliese chimed in.
“I know you don’t have training, so I’m keeping it simple. I have two revolvers. Here and here,” Sebastian said, handing Brandon a Smith & Wesson model 649, and Luke an old Colt Detective.
“What is this?” Brandon snapped angrily.
“It’s a revolver.”
“Yeah, a fucking grandpa gun, I want a Glock or something badass like that.”
“Until you have training, this is what you’re going to get.”
Luke held the pistol in his hand like it was a baby bird. He didn’t know what to do with it.
“Sebastian, look! Luke looks so uncomfortable. This is a bad idea. And that one”—she said, pointing at Brandon—“will shoot us with it, probably.”
Brandon raised the pistol and pointed it at her.
Sebastian’s expression changed to anger as he slapped the gun out of his hand and stepped into Brandon’s face.
“Don’t ever, ever, point that at anyone in this group again! Do you understand me?”
“I’m sorry, I was just joking,” Brandon said sheepishly.
“You don’t point a weapon at someone unless you intend to use it!”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it!”
“See what I mean?” Annaliese exclaimed.
Sebastian picked up the revolver and put it back in his pocket. “You were right. This was a bad idea.” He reached over and snatched the gun out of Luke’s trembling hands.
The boys both stood, unsure of what to do.
Brandon, who was always so sure of himself, looked down and mumbled a few words under his breath about how stupid he was for doing that.
“Go make the fire,” Sebastian ordered.
Both boys turned around and began to assemble the materials for the fire.
Sebastian turned to Annaliese, who said, “Is this where I say, I told you so?”
“Don’t start with me.”
Sebastian walked away from her and began to unload the sleeping bags.
She walked up behind him and rubbed his back. “Hey, I’m sorry to rub it in your face.”
He turned around and said, “I have a lot of responsibility here. I have to protect you and those boys. It’s just me.”
“I think I can handle myself.”
“I’m not saying that, but I feel it’s my responsibility. These boys are old enough to handle a gun.”
“Old enough… but not mature enough,” she remarked.
Sebastian looked at her, then toward the boys. She had a point. When he was Brandon’s age, he had been shooting for years and his father had taught Gordon and him how to handle and respect a firearm. These boys didn’t have that kind of upbringing. It wasn’t right or wrong, it just was what it was. These boys needed to mature. He knew Brandon had the will and desire to use it, but was not trustworthy because of his emotional state. Luke could be trusted not to abuse it, but the reality was that he might not use it at all because he feared it.
“Why don’t you start training them properly, if you feel like they need to be armed? Get them shooting starting tomorrow morning. Then when you feel that they’re ready, let them have the guns. Just take your time with it.”
Annaliese’s reasonable suggestion felt right to him.
He leaned in and embraced her tightly. “What did I do to deserve you?”
She answered him by whispering into his ear, “Have you seen how hot you are? I’m the lucky one.”
“Fire! I made fire!” Brandon bellowed.
They both turned and saw the fun-loving child who Brandon kept hidden. Deep down he still was a twelve-year-old boy, but the new world had perverted him. Sebastian didn’t know just what kind of man he’d become.