If he does that, will I be able to shoot him?
Easily.
The answer surprised Turk, yet as soon as it formed in his brain, he knew it was true. He was angry, deeply angry — not at the rebel, not the way the Malaysians were. Their anger was immediate. It made sense — they were mad at the people who had killed their friends.
Turk’s rage ran deeper. He was mad at Breanna for ordering him killed. He was mad at the Iranians for cheating on their nuclear agreement and making the attack that had killed so many lives necessary. He was mad at the senselessness of the rebel movement, angry beyond reason at whoever was helping them with cutting-edge technology.
He was mad at mankind in general for being so thoughtless, so careless with life.
And he was mad at himself for not being able to do anything about any of it.
The sergeant came back with the handcuffs. Glancing at Turk to make sure he was watching carefully, he dropped to a knee behind the prisoner and quickly trussed his hands. Then he pulled him to his feet and pushed him in the direction of two of his men.
“Hey, Captain, you all right?” Gunny Smith asked Turk as the prisoner was led away.
“I’m OK. Why?”
“I thought for a minute you were going to shoot me, too,” said the Marine. He laughed and reached into one of his pockets for a tin of chew. Wadding the tobacco, he tucked it into the corner of his lip. “Dip?”
“Nah.”
“Dirty habit.” The Marine smiled. “Best keep away from it.” He worked the plug a bit. “You seen a lot of action?”
Turk shrugged.
“I heard you were in Iran,” added the Marine. “Top secret shit.”
“I was over there,” admitted Turk. “How’d you hear that?”
“Word gets around.” Gunny Smith worked the plug of tobacco in his mouth. “You don’t think we’d work with just any Air Force punk, do you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t work with just any Marines,” said Turk.
The sergeant laughed, then spit. “You sure you don’t want some chew?”
“No thanks.”
“Let’s go try talking to another of these guys, right?”
As Turk started to follow, the radio buzzed. It was Cowboy, in Basher Two.
“Ground, I have more of those UAVs en route,” he said. “Six of them, two hundred miles away. And they are moving! Twelve hundred knots, right at my face.”
10
Unable to sleep, Zen lay faceup on the bed. Breanna wasn’t home, and had told him she might not be until sometime the next day. It was worse than when they both worked at Dreamland.
Not really. For all the pressure, things were a lot less stressful now. And safer.
He thought of getting up but knew he needed sleep. He tried diverting his thoughts, but inevitably they came back to his meeting with the President.
She was in campaign mode… for him, not her.
“Senator Stockard is here, Madam President.”
“Show him in, and bring the coffee, please.”
He’d been waiting at the door. He started wheeling in; she met him a few steps inside the Oval Office.
“Jeff, so good to see you. Come on in. Tracey’ll bring us some coffee.”
“No beer?”
It took Todd a moment to realize he was pulling her leg. She shook her head and took a seat in front of her desk, waiting as he maneuvered his wheelchair. Her aide came in with a tray of coffee and cookies.
“Raspberry filled,” said Zen, picking one up. “My favorite.”
Raspberry cookies. They’d be worth getting out of bed for. But they didn’t have any.
No?
No.
“Tracey’s very good at remembering things,” said Todd, loud enough to make sure her aide heard as she left the office.
“So what vote am I being asked for here?” said Zen.
“Vote?”
“Come on, Madam President. I know you don’t engage in cookie diplomacy for no reason.”
“Actually, I wanted to say that I appreciated your vote on the NSA bill,” said Todd. “Your voice was important in the committee, and it was critical in the Senate. Thank you.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
Zen picked up his coffee — black — and took a sip. Todd put hers down and plunged ahead.
“I ran into your wife the other day, and I mentioned that I thought you would make an excellent President,” she said. “I wanted to follow up on that.”
“You’re not planning on resigning, are you?”
The remark caught her by surprise. She wasn’t, but she wondered if there were rumors.
“No, no,” said Todd. “But… if I were to decide not to run again, I wonder if you would be the sort of person who would toss their hat in the ring.”
Had she said that? It didn’t sound like her.
Something along those lines, at least.
“Because I for one would want to be in a position to help that along,” she continued. “I think you’d be excellent. And I think you could get the nomination.”
“You’re not planning on running for reelection?”
“I’m giving it a lot of thought, and will be giving it a lot more thought,” she told him. “If I knew someone like you — you specifically — were interested in running, that would certainly be a factor. And, candidly, I would work to make sure that you were in the best position to do that. If I stayed on for a second term, one way or the other, it would certainly help, I think, not hurt you.”
That was as close as any politician would ever come to urging someone else to run. It was an admission — but an admission of what, exactly?
That she was giving up power. And who did that?
Willingly, anyway.
But Todd was different. Todd — well, they’d had disagreements, but at the end of the day she was a strong, moral person, someone with integrity. And a good President.
“Wouldn’t Vice President Mantis be the party’s likely candidate?” asked Zen.
“Preying Mantis?” She made a face.
They certainly shared that opinion. Her vice president was the most despicable, lying, conniving politician he’d ever met, and that was saying quite a lot.
“I think he can be defeated in a primary,” said Todd.
“I wonder if the country’s ready for someone in a wheelchair,” said Zen.
“We’ve already had a President in a wheelchair,” she said. “Franklin Roosevelt.”
“Yes, but the public didn’t know.”
“I think the public is ready. Certainly in your case.” She rose. “Let’s have another discussion in a few weeks. There are people whom I’d like you to speak to.”
“Why exactly aren’t you going to run?”
“If I decide not to run,” she said, “it won’t be because of a scandal, or anything to do with the job.”
“No?” He stared at her; she met it.
“I think you know me well enough on that score.”