Rojas carefully selected his answer. “Of course I am, Señor Presidente. Anytime history is being made so near me, I would be curious. But I am content to wait until I am told what part I may play or to simply watch and admire the outcome,” he said with a smile. A hint of praise and reverence never hurt with Parente.
Parente sat back and smiled. “And I have decided to share this with you tonight,” he said as he sat back in the chair. “You see, tonight I have begun the process of shaping the world,” he said smiling. “Tonight I have set things in motion which will place me in the position of selecting the next President of the United States.”
Rojas’ eyes shot upward in surprise. The President of the United States, he thought. It was something which even he had not imagined could happen. Rojas quickly framed his response. “I cannot imagine something so vast in scope, Señor Presidente. I doubt even Bolivar could accomplish such a thing,” he said, citing Parente’s favorite hero. “What things must we do to help you carry out such a plan?” Rojas asked.
The level of praise and flattery appeared to work. A broad smile appeared on Parente’s face. “That is why I have decided to keep you with me, Rojas. Never a question, just a willingness to help your presidente,” Parente said as he leaned forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Beginning now, I want you as a permanent member of my staff. I usually promote my aides just to get them out of my sight, but you are different. I know you are not like the others, hungry for promotion and power. I know all you wish to do is serve your presidente. You will get that wish and together we shall achieve great things,” he said in a lofty tone.
Rojas fought the urge to scream. Working for this man was the least desirable thing he could imagine. In a brief instant, all his plans and aspirations had vanished, and he was stuck serving a lunatic. Now all he concerned himself with was staying alive. Any show of displeasure could evoke El Presidente’s wrath.
“What? Can you not speak, Rojas?” Parente asked.
He must think quickly. Already Parente had a questioning look on his face. “I am too stunned Señor Presidente. I never imagined you would honor me so,” Rojas exclaimed.
The look on Parente’s face returned to a wide smile. “Of course. Please forgive me for surprising you so, but I will need you with me to make my plans work and I wanted you to know before we begin in earnest.” Parente glanced at his watch. “I see we have worked late enough. Go home and get some rest. Be back here tomorrow morning at 6 am. You and I will go on a short trip together and I will explain it all to you.” The two men stood and Parente placed his hand on Rojas’ shoulder. “You have proved to me you are a trusted servant, Rojas. It is time you should be working even closer to me,” he said. “Now go get some rest.”
Rojas straightened. “Yes, Señor Presidente, and thank you,” he said in a strong tone. He took a step back and saluted sharply. After receiving one in return he quickly made his way to the door and exited quietly. As he turned to open the door, Parente appeared to be watching him closely, with a smile still on his face.
Once outside the door Rojas seemed to deflate. His mind could not imagine how catastrophic his life had suddenly become. Everything he had worked for was now a shambles and he was stuck at his current rank and in this position for possibly the rest of his days. He sighed deeply as he made his way to his desk and put his things away. The walk to his car was usually refreshing, but not on this night. He drove through the streets under a cloud, wondering in his mind what he could possibly do to get out of this situation. Everything he came up with ended either in one of El Presidente’s work camps or with a bullet in his head. His mind turned to what Parente had said. Select the next President of the United States? The mere thought brought chills to his spine. The United States was not a nation to trifle with. Not only did they possess one of the best militaries of the world but its influence could ruin a nation like Venezuela. Nothing he could imagine would be good.
Almost mechanically he pulled the car into his parking garage. After locking the gate he made his way to his apartment. There would be no sleep tonight. He turned on his computer and pulled up the internet. Within four hours he had his answers.
Chapter 3
Allegiances
Roger Hammond couldn’t sleep. He felt as if the wind had been taken from him. His marriage to Patricia Crowell had been his second, and although he had loved his first wife, Patricia meant much more to him. From day one, she had been a loving, supporting partner. They did things together instead of separately. Where his first wife had been a tag along, Patricia had been a willing participant. Likewise, Hammond had come to enjoy going to the political functions Patricia enjoyed. They discussed policies for the city and ideas for Navy events with equal enthusiasm. But the best part was that both were having fun with everything they did together. Roger was extremely happy.
The news of Patricia’s kidnapping had been a staggering blow. For three hours he tossed and turned in the cabin obsessing over her loss. Then slowly, his mind began to return to the analytical machine he was so well known for. Beginning with why it might have been done he began to sift through possibilities. Soon he began to focus on one avenue which seemed to make sense. Then he began to ponder what could be done about it. After another two hours he grew frustrated. There were too many unanswered questions.
Hammond reached over and turned on the light. The cabin was all new and somewhat sterile. Although the furnishings were similar to other ships, it was unfamiliar. Hammond needed something else. He rose from the bed and put his white uniform back on. He went to the head and splashed water on his face. Checking the mirror, he noticed the age lines which had grown deeper in the past few years. The current situation wouldn’t help but it really didn’t matter. He was growing older and life was taking its toll. He grinned at the thought.
Grabbing his cap, Hammond opened the door to the cabin nearly scaring the posted sentry to death.
“Can I help you, sir?” the petty officer asked.
Hammond smiled at the young woman. “No, I just can’t sleep. I thought I’d go over to my ship and just walk around a little,” he said.
“Sir, I was ordered not to let you go anywhere without escort,” the petty officer said. “And there are some Secret Service guys outside who should be back in a minute.”
Hammond placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “That’s okay, I could use the company. Call down to the others and let them know we are going to the Iowa for a few minutes. We’ll come back in a while.”
“Aye, aye sir,” she said as she grabbed the radio and let people know what was going on. The two walked down the passageway and aft through the King’s Mountain’s messdecks exiting on the starboard side then going forward to the brow. They were met by a member of the detail who followed at a respectful distance since the petty officer was with Hammond. He was invited to join them on their trek. Informing the quarterdeck watch, they then left the ship and stepped aboard Iowa.
The evening air felt cool and refreshing. Stepping aboard the familiar wooden decks, Hammond began feeling more at ease. This was his ship, the ship he and his crew had taken into harm’s way. She and the crew had performed what many said were miracles in a modern age. But there was more than that. In many ways this ship was a living, breathing thing. You could feel it when you came aboard. Hammond was feeling it again now.