National Burden (2 page)

One of the secrets to SSI’s success was the tight knit relationships of its men. Even a lot of the guys in tech and development came from the military, led by the genius world class hacker and Vice President of R&D Neil Patel. They were the best of the best, patriots to the core. They stayed because they were well cared for and because of the feeling of family, first instilled by Cal’s father, and now carried on by him and his cousin. There wasn’t a thing any of SSI’s leaders would ask their men to do that they hadn’t done themselves. Leadership by example.

Cal stomped the snow from his boots before stepping into the cafeteria. It was one of many modern, yet Spartan facilities built on the 2,000-odd acre SSI campus. There was The Lodge, the VIP quarters with the rustic log cabin facade, its interior spanning thousands of square feet. The headquarters and support buildings were clustered in a simple grid, allowing each division privacy, much like military regiments and battalions. Again, yet another piece of Col. Stokes’s vision.

The chow hall was nearly empty, most employees opting to stay home. Laughter directed Cal and Trent to their friends. A slightly portly man with glasses, Dr. Alvin Higgins, was telling a story to the rest of the bunch. Dr. Higgins was SSI’s in-house shrink and expert interrogator. Originally on loan from the CIA, Higgins was now a permanent fixture at SSI. He looked more like an English professor, but he’d proven himself time after time with SSI’s operators. They knew him and trusted him completely.

The men at the table turned as the two Marines approached.

“Would you look at what the snow blew in,” said a squat, almost burly man with his beard neatly tied in twin braids.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere closer to the equator, Gaucho?” asked MSgt Trent. “The last time you saw snow you almost froze your little Mexican ass off.”

“Hey, Top, can you blame me?”

Trent walked up behind Gaucho and picked him up in a bear hug. The tough Hispanic squirmed as the others laughed. The Marine and former Delta soldier were relentless in their ribbing. Cal often wondered where other than in the military, or at SSI, two men with such different backgrounds could become best friends.

There were three others at the table. Neil Patel was SSI’s head of technology and development. The Indian-American was the smartest man most of them had ever met. He kept SSI at the forefront of the world’s technological advances while also bringing in millions of dollars from licensing newly developed inventions. Always the most stylish man in the room, today Neil had opted for a pink and aqua checkered shirt and a pair of white pants. Not exactly what you might call appropriate for the weather, but Neil wasn’t a field guy.

The other man sitting next to Neil was SSI’s head of Internal Security. Todd Dunn was a former Army Ranger and Travis Haden’s right hand. The brawny yet brainy sentinel sat smiling, but didn’t say much.

The last man pointed to the seat next to him, motioning Cal over. Daniel Briggs kept his shoulder length blonde hair in a neat pony tail. The former Marine sniper was to Cal Stokes what Dunn was to SSI’s CEO. If Cal went anywhere, Daniel was with him. Part bodyguard, part advisor, part guardian angel, Daniel had become one of Cal’s closest friends despite their short acquaintance. There had been more than one occasion where the dead calm sniper the men called Snake Eyes had saved Cal’s life.

Everyone took their seats as Cal joined Trent to grab some food. As the unofficial head of food services, Trent inspected the line with a practiced eye. A new line cook looked on nervously. “Looks good today, Vince,” said Trent.

“Thanks, Master Sergeant. I used the bread pudding recipe you showed me. I think it turned out pretty good.”

Trent took a spoonful of the bread pudding in his mouth, chewing slowly. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

The line cook smiled proudly.

As he took his seat, Cal asked, “Where’s Travis?”

Dunn spoke up for the first time. “He and The Hammer flew to D.C.”

The Hammer was SSI’s sole female employee, Marge Haines. As the company’s lead attorney, Haines had attained the moniker by destroying opposition in and out of the courtroom, as well as on the training mats. Haines was not only brilliant and beautiful; she was also a black belt in three martial arts disciplines. She could go toe-to-toe with the best that SSI had.

Cal’s eyebrow rose. “He didn’t tell me about that. What’s up?”

“President Zimmer wanted to talk to him about something,” said Dunn.

“And you didn’t go with him?”

The question obviously struck a nerve, as the normally unflappable Dunn scowled slightly. “He said he wanted me to keep an eye on things here.”

Cal let it go, not wanting to annoy Dunn further. The group spent the rest of their meal listening to more new tales from Dr. Higgins’s time with the Agency.

The normal buzz of activity vibrated around them as they made their way to the heart of the American government. There seemed to be an added level of tension thrown into the mix. A huff here or a withdrawn look there. The White House staff looked tired. Exhausted, actually.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise what with the recent upheaval within the presidency. Anytime you change leadership, and especially if the change involved scandalous tidings, there’s sure to be more than enough bedlam to go around.

Travis Haden, attired in a gray suit, sans tie, stepped into the Oval Office, Marge Haines on his heels. “I’m sorry we’re late, Mr. President. The weather almost kept us from getting here.”

President Brandon Zimmer, a Democrat from Massachusetts, now sporting a line of gray hair he hadn’t had months before, stepped from behind his desk. In his mid-thirties, the bachelor who had become president overnight was considered by the world as one of the newest most eligible. With near movie star good looks and a political pedigree that spanned back decades, Zimmer reminded many of Jack Kennedy. “Come on, Trav, you know you can call still call me Brandon.”

Their handshake turned into a brotherly embrace. “What can I say, I’m a little awed by your new digs.”

Zimmer rolled his eyes, knowing the former SEAL well. Not much awed Travis Haden, except maybe the woman standing next to him. “Ms. Haines, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Not you too!” The President laughed, and directed them to the couches in front of the roaring fireplace. They exchanged pleasantries as they got situated. Now up to speed, Zimmer said, “I’ll bet you’re wondering why I asked you to come.”

Travis and Marge nodded, both having made certain assumptions on the flight over. Travis knew his friend was in a tight spot, having landed the job in the craziest way anyone could remember. 

“First, and I’m begging this time, please call me Brandon. I get enough ass-kissing around here. I thought it was bad when I was a lowly congressman.” Zimmer exhaled. He looked drained, older. Travis couldn’t imagine being thrust into the spotlight the way Zimmer had. In the span of a few months, Congressman Zimmer won his father’s seat in the Senate, followed shortly by his appointment as vice president when the former VP was assassinated. As if that weren’t enough, not weeks later, his predecessor, the first African American president, resigned in a televised address to the nation, handing the reigns to his vice president. To say Zimmer had been shocked would’ve been the understatement of the millennium.

“Second, I need your honest opinion.”

“You know us, we’re happy to help.” Travis waited for Zimmer, who seemed to be lost in thought. After a moment, his eyes refocused. The President ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, disheveling it slightly.

“I hesitated calling you. I mean, SSI has done more than its fair share of heavy lifting for me and for this country…” Again, the distant gaze.

“You’re not going to offend us, Brandon. Why don’t you just tell us what’s going on.”

Zimmer exhaled. “I remember as a kid, when my third grade teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, I said I wanted to be President of the United States. That sounds silly now.”

“Seems to me that you got what you wanted,” offered Travis, wondering where his friend was going with his nostalgic meandering. Worry crept into Travis’s chest, something that rarely happened. Two years before he wouldn’t have cared a bit for a democratic politician, but SSI had forged a lasting relationship with the man who was now the leader of the free world. Catastrophe and calamity had changed Brandon Zimmer. Once a vain and cocky career bureaucrat, Zimmer’s eyes had opened to the realities of the world.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Silence in the room. Marge coughed into her hand, causing the men to swivel their heads.

“No offense, Mr. President, but like it or not, you earned this. Call it being in the right place at the right time, or dumb luck, but you’re still the president. Now, I’m sure Travis will agree with me when I say that the two of us, along with the rest of Stokes Security International, are with you, and are ready to help in any way we can.”

The President nodded, sitting a little straighter at the honest talk from the tough lawyer. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry if I’m acting a little down in the mouth. It’s not that I’m not grateful, but I’m surrounded by the old president’s staff. I’ve made a little headway to build my own inner circle while trying not to step on people who had the rug ripped out from under them. You wouldn’t believe what this has done to morale around here. Let’s start with my second request. I need your honest opinion.”

+++

An hour later, Travis and Marge left the Oval Office, three cabinet members taking their place as they went. Neither said a word as they passed through security or even on the cab ride to their hotel. There was plenty to be said. The level of transparency shown by the President had both impressed and shocked the SSI leaders. Their minds replayed the exchange in vivid detail, extracting bits and filing them away.

After a painfully slow drive through snow-clogged streets, they made it to their hotel and stepped into one of their adjoining rooms.

Travis closed the door and set his overnight bag on the floor. “What do you think?”

Marge laughed, a hint of hysteria at the edges of it. “Are you kidding? I don’t know what you see in the guy. Seems like a--”

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say, and while I appreciate your dissection of Zimmer’s attitude, I’d prefer to focus on what he asked us about.”

It looked like Marge was going to bark back. She wanted to. “Okay. But I need to say that he should look in the mirror and grow a pair. He’s the President of the United States for God’s sake!”

Travis couldn’t disagree. The depth of Zimmer’s melancholy had surprised him. He knew Brandon Zimmer as an outgoing, confident man. Sure, he’d had a few bumps along the way, but he always came out stronger on the other side.

“What do you think about his question?”

Haines’s frown disappeared, replaced slowly by a sarcastic grin. “You’re serious? Tell me you’re not considering it.”

Travis shrugged. “I can’t say it isn’t tempting. There are obvious benefits for the company, not to mention the good it could do.”

“I think you should talk to Cal first. You know he’s not going to like it.”

A laugh escaped Travis’s lips. “You’ve got that right. I don’t want to do it over the phone, though.” He pulled his cell out of his suit pocket. “Let me see if I can find us a flight home.”

The massive building was empty. Senators and congressman were either hunkered down in their Capitol digs or already safely in their home states. Snow caked every window, casting a gray tint into hallways. A lone janitor, busy buffing the gleaming floor, nodded to Senator Milton Southgate as he walked by.

Sen. Southgate was a twenty year pillar in the Senate. As Senate Majority Leader, Southgate ruled with a firm hand. Bookish in appearance, with thick glasses that had changed little since his first term, Milton Southgate led an extremely regimented life. After losing his wife years before, his obsessive tendencies intensified. For example, his aides knew to have sticky rollers on hand should a stray piece of lint appear on the senator’s well-worn suit. If they didn’t, well, it was best not to find out.

No one would necessarily call the senator a miser, but Southgate was very particular on a great number of things, perhaps the most important being timeliness. He had fired more than his share of staff for failing to be on time. Being one minute late was a crime in the Senate Majority Leader’s office.

His meeting was the reason he was the sole senator in the building during the snowstorm that had necessitated an emergency shutdown of the entire District of Columbia. Southgate had made an appointment and he meant to keep it. Blizzard be damned.

Fully fifteen minutes early, Sen. Milton Southgate entered the reserved conference room. A patient man despite his compulsions, Southgate took a seat at the polished table, clasping his hands across his stomach.