Presidential Shift Read online

  The president’s chief of staff was the first to speak. “You think that was real?”

  National Security Adviser Ivan Winger nodded gravely. “I don’t think there can be any doubt.”

  “What does this do for us?” asked the president.

  His chief of staff, a tall scrawny former environmental lawyer named Rick Vance, scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know if it really makes us look bad. America already thinks politicians are a bunch of criminals. I don’t think Congressman Erling will be in office much longer. What I’m really worried about is what they have on our Louisiana boy. He’s been co-author of more than one bill that you’ve endorsed in the last year. The press and Republicans will find some way to pin this back on you.”

  “We’ll deal with it,” said the president.

  “But, sir…”

  “I said we’ll deal with it, Rick.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rick Vance frowned as he directed his attention back to his phone. He’d missed over twenty calls.

  “Anything you’d like me to do, sir?” asked Ivan Winger.

  “Let’s just wait and see what the second bombshell is. Can’t imagine it could be much worse.”

  Winger shifted his focus to his own constantly buzzing phone. It was going to be another long day.

  A moment later, the news returned and the second video played. It was no less shocking than the first. The recording showed Congressman Peter Quailen, naked with private parts blurred, accompanied by another nude male, purportedly the CEO of a Louisiana barge company, surrounded by eight naked women frolicking in sexual fever. Not only did the voyeuristic angle capture the carnal appetites of the two men and their partners, along with copious use of some white powdery substance that stuck stubbornly to the Congressman’s red face, it also showed a rather detailed discussion where the politician promised to torpedo any and all legislation that would aid the competition of his undressed friend.

  From the looks on their faces, the men sitting in the Oval Office didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. The shear audacity of the act shocked them all, including the president. How could the man be so stupid?

  The news anchor’s face returned to the screen.

  We would like to reiterate that the identities of the individuals you have just seen are still under investigation. NBC is already cooperating with FBI and White House officials to further their own analysis of the evidence provided to our offices this morning.

  Coming up next, I will be interviewing former Attorney General—

  The president clicked off the television and turned to his two closest advisers.

  “Well, gentlemen, looks like it’s going be another great day in Washington.”

  Chapter 10

  Orange Beach, Alabama

  1:26pm, December 17th

  Cal couldn’t stop his steady chuckle. They’d bounced from radio show to radio show listening to hosts and pundits talk up, over and around the new scandal. While there were a few that recommended the two congressmen be given the chance to explain, it was plain that America had already made up its mind. The politicians were guilty.

  “How did Neil find that stuff?” Daniel asked as the radio station went to a commercial.

  “Haven’t you learned not to ask? I don’t understand half the stuff he says he’s doing.”

  “And there’s no way they can trace this back to us?”

  Cal shook his head. “Sounds like this was a total cakewalk. Neil said it was like strolling into an unlocked convenience store with no clerk and no security camera, and taking anything he wanted. These guys were so fucking arrogant that they led us straight to it. I can’t wait until the next one.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll have to talk to the president, but I’m thinking we hit them again in a couple days.”

  Daniel knew nothing could ever be as easy as Cal made it sound. He just hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite them.

  +++

  “Where the fuck did that video come from?” boomed Congressman Peter Quailen. He’d been in the middle of a charity golf tournament when his aide called with the breaking news. Speeding home in his chauffeured Cadillac Escalade, Quailen watched in open-mouthed shock as the video played on his phone. It had been easy to find on YouTube and already had over three hundred thousand views in less than an hour.

  Unlike the brazen recording made by his colleague from Colorado, Quailen knew nothing about his video. He had no way of knowing that SSI had connected the dots with the help of facial recognition and the contact list in the congressman’s phone. Neil’s software had dug the rest of the way.

  Of course, the congressman remembered the cocaine-filled orgy that his old friend put together three years before. It had been a pre-celebration for a huge block of Post-Katrina aid Quailen pushed through Congress and was set to make his high school pal a very wealthy man.

  It was that very wealthy man that was now on the other end of the call.

  “I don’t know, Pete. It must’ve been one of them hookers we got.”

  “Listen and listen good you fucking jackass. Don’t say a thing to anyone. Let me find out what else they know and I’ll be in touch. Keep your phone on!”

  Quailen slammed his phone down onto the leather seat. Things were dire at the moment, but the twenty-year congressman was a veteran of more than his share of controversy. He’d risen through the ranks of Louisiana politics clawing, bribing, bullying and squashing his opponents all the way to the top.

  Congressman Peter Quailen’s eyes closed as he prepared a counterattack.

  +++

  In his posh Georgetown suite, Colorado Congressman Joel Erling was the exact opposite of his Louisiana colleague. The brash man featured in his private home video had vanished. Erling sobbed into his soiled suit coat and wriggled in his piss-soaked Armani pants.

  Like other men of power, a little more than an hour ago, Erling had felt invincible. A year into his first term in Congress, he’d put out feelers to potential private ‘donors.’ With Colorado being a haven for marijuana growers, and with legislation already moving toward legalization, the coming crop of pot CEOs were his first target.

  Through mutual friends he met Jeremiah Stevens, a kind of folk hero in the legalization movement, at a fundraiser for some children’s charity. The relationship started casually with larger and larger cash payments going to Congressman Erling as his efforts in the state legislature and in Washington escalated. Erling’s greed and hunger for power outmatched the pace of the bribes. He’d always been a bully as a teenager, aided by his size, and now had the added benefit of being a United States congressman. The last two years he’d lived like a movie star and even had Hollywood elites clamoring to spend time with him. He was the face of the legal marijuana movement, although he never touched the stuff himself. His vanity ran deep, and he refused any foreign substance that took away from his near perfect physique, honed from years in the gym.

  He palmed the silver revolver in his hand and almost laughed at the irony. It had been a ‘donor’ who’d given the Congressman the weapon after a weekend of wining and dining in Los Angeles. Grabbing the pistol in his right hand, Joel Erling lifted it to his temple.

  +++

  Cal was just unpacking his bag when Daniel walked into the hotel room dressed in a t-shirt, running shorts and running shoes. The sniper had taken a quick jog to scope out the venue for the first lady’s coming appearance. Although the run had been just over four miles, the ponytailed Marine was barely winded.

  “See anything interesting?” asked Cal. He’d wanted to go along on the recon, but chose to stay back and check in with Neil back at headquarters. They’d lain out the particulars of the next two stories being leaked to the media the following week.

  “There was Secret Service crawling all over the place. Helos overhead and roving patrols. They’re not taking any chances.”

  Knowing security would be high, they’d planned accordingly. The president personally requested that Ca
l and Daniel be given unlimited access in and around The Amphitheatre at the Wharf, the venue for the first lady’s concert. The protection detail was expecting them.

  Cal appreciated the gesture, but did not want to overstay his welcome. He knew what it was like to have outsiders messing around a volatile situation. Besides, the fewer people that knew about the two Marines’ movement the better. They’d make an appearance as close to the live event as possible.

  “What time is the show?” Cal asked.

  “The concert starts at ten tomorrow morning.”

  “How many people do you think they can cram in?”

  The concert had been a popular draw since its inception three years earlier. With the friends the first lady fostered in Hollywood, her public events became increasingly noteworthy. At least two big music stars were always in attendance and usually singing for her benefit, free of charge. That meant big numbers.

  “The venue website says ten thousand.”

  Cal shook his head. “Crap. Well, nobody said we were in charge of protecting her. That’s the Secret Service’s job. I hope they’re pulling out all the stops, though. Sounds like a goat rope to me.”

  Daniel shrugged. To him it was just another day.

  Chapter 11

  Orange Beach, Alabama

  4:26pm, December 17th

  Special Agent Steve Stricklin glanced over the ‘hot list’ the agent in charge had given him upon arrival. He’d been in town most of the day and had already interviewed eight of the ten people on the list. Nothing special so far. Just the usual weirdos and felons. Stricklin got the feeling that each and every one had been through the process before. They’d looked bored as he’d asked his canned questions.

  With darkness already descending on the off-season beach town, Stricklin thought about what to do next. He could either chase down the last two guys on his list or go back to the hotel, get changed, and grab a bite to eat. The remaining suspects were probably the same as the rest and Stricklin doubted anyone would be following up to see if he’d checked on them. He could always come up with an excuse. He was good at that.

  His mind made up, Stricklin flipped the assignment sheet over to where the Secret Service and FBI contacts were listed for the event. Below the switchboard phone number was another list of outside authorities given high-level access to the site. Most were local law enforcement officials. Stricklin’s eyes stopped on the fifth name on the list: Calvin Stokes, Jr. It couldn’t be the same guy. The only Calvin Stokes he knew had served as one of his very first squad leaders in the Marine Corps. He still remembered how his company commander had bragged about Sergeant Stokes. “You need anything done pronto, you give it to Stokes, Steve. That kid is sharp. Take care of him.”

  Lt. Stricklin had tried to do just that. When they’d first met, like any good infantry officer, he’d outlined his philosophy and stressed the point that he was in command. He’d made it plain that enlisted Marines were beneath him, not just in rank, but also as men. Stokes hadn’t said much in that first meeting, but had said plenty in the months to come. In Stricklin’s eyes, Sgt. Stokes had gone rogue by leading the coup that had eventually seen the platoon commander shipped to S-3.

  No, it couldn’t be the same person. Stricklin figured that the Stokes he knew had probably been killed in Iraq or ended up in the Portsmouth brig. Regardless, he circled the contact number next to Calvin Stokes, Jr. and promised to call the VIP later.

  Heading back to his hotel room to get changed, he scanned the strip for a decent place to eat.

  +++

  Daniel led the way into the local restaurant. The smell of fried seafood greeted them as they opened the door. As was his duty, Daniel glanced around the dining room before motioning Cal in. He made it look like a casual diner checking out a new eatery, but the sniper had actually mentally noted all entrances and dark spots in the room. He took his collateral duty of bodyguard very seriously. Cal knew better than to object.

  A pretty blond hostess walked toward them in tight cutoff jeans and a red t-shirt provocatively tied in the front. She glanced at the two Marines and smiled seductively.

  “Just the two of y’all, or are your girlfriends coming?” she asked.

  “Just us,” said Cal with a smile.

  The young girl’s grin widened at the prospect of wooing the two good-looking diners.

  “Why don’t y’all follow me.” She grabbed two menus and a small stack of napkin-wrapped silverware. “I’ll get you a seat with a view.”

  It turned out that the only view the two Marines would have for the night was the flirty hostess who flitted by whenever she wasn’t seating customers or helping bus tables.

  Cal nursed a beer and Daniel sipped an unsweetened ice tea as they waited for their food. The place was packed and the din of the other customers easily masked their conversation. They’d managed to finalize their plans for the following day when Cal’s face reddened.

  “No fucking way,” Cal said through gritted teeth.

  “What?”

  Cal looked down at the table and slouched, minimizing his silhouette. “That guy that just walked in by the bar,” Daniel casually looked over his shoulder. A good-looking man stood waiting for the hostess. He was wearing a linen shirt over crisply creased khakis.

  “You know him?”

  Cal nodded and chugged the rest of his beer. “Steve Stricklin. He was one of my platoon commanders. Fucking asshole.”

  Before Daniel could probe, the unwanted intruder locked eyes on Cal.

  “Shit,” grimaced Cal.

  Marching over like he was on the parade deck, Stricklin stepped up to the table.

  “Good evening, Stokes.”

  With a tone laced with contempt, Cal replied, “Hello, Steve.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you here. This must be your friend Mr. Briggs.”

  Cal and Daniel’s heads whipped around.

  “How did you know that?” Cal snapped.

  Stricklin smirked at Cal’s discomfiture. “I’m with the FBI now.”

  “What does that have to do with us?” asked Cal.

  “You’re on a watch list that hit my desk today,” said Stricklin. He grinned. “I thought I’d stop by and make sure you were staying out of trouble.”

  Cal moved to stand and confront the man. Daniel grabbed his arm and shook his head. Cal glared at his friend and forced himself to take a deep breath.

  “We were actually just leaving,” said Cal, turning to face Stricklin. Daniel withdrew a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the table.

  “I’ll be seeing you around, Stokes.”

  Without another word, Daniel followed Cal out the back door of the restaurant..

  +++

  Cal hadn’t said a thing as he marched his way back to their rental and taken off. He drove, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

  “You wanna tell me what that was all about?” asked Daniel.

  Cal grumbled something under his breath and exhaled. “The last time I saw Lieutenant Stricklin, the guy was hiding under a folding table covered in C rations while the Taliban lobbed mortars at the CP. I happened to be there with Andy as his acting platoon sergeant. (Andy, now Capt. Bartholemew Andrews, was one of Cal’s best friends, former platoon commander and fellow Navy Cross winner.) While me and Andy ran around helping the headquarters staff call in a counter battery strike, Lieutenant Stricklin hid under that fucking table shitting his pants.”

  “How’d he end up in the FBI?”

  “I have no fucking idea. The bigger question is how he found out about us. I don’t want that prick on my ass. He’s all about stepping on others to advance his career. I can’t wait to tell Andy about this.” Cal shook his head, still in disbelief over the sighting.

  Capt. Andrews was currently stationed at Eighth & I with the Marine Corps Silent Drill Team. Cal had repeatedly offered his old friend a position at SSI, but the salty Marine always politely declined, saying his time in the Corps wasn’t up yet.r />
  Cal was sure that Andy would be a general some day. That was if he could put up with the bullshit and the career-builders that seemed to cling to the Corps like babies on a teat. They’d had numerous conversations about the talent exodus after officers attained the rank of captain. A rock star officer had the option of either leaving for a good job in the civilian world or sticking it out in a Marine Corps that was increasingly political and notorious for riding good officers and enlisted Marines until they broke.

  “Is Andy still at Eighth and I?” asked Daniel.

  “Yeah. I think his time’s about up. He should be heading back to The Fleet soon. He’ll make a great company commander, if I can’t convince him to join us.”

  Daniel smiled. He might’ve been the same as Andy if it hadn’t been for his PTSD and the ‘almost’ Medal of Honor. SSgt Daniel Briggs was considered a shoe-in for the nation’s highest award until the president stopped the process. Unknown to all but Daniel, Cal and the president, it had been Daniel who’d personally requested he not receive the medal. The president couldn’t really refuse since Daniel had just been part of the team who saved the president’s life.

  Like Cal, Daniel still loved the Marine Corps. Unlike Cal, if things had been different, Daniel might now be Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Briggs. It didn’t matter now. He was at peace with his decision. More than that, he was happy being part of the SSI family.

  “I don’t know if you’ll have much luck getting him out, Cal.”

  “I know. He’s a hard-headed knuckle-dragger.”

  Both Marines laughed.

  “What do you want to do about this Stricklin guy?”

  Cal’s smile disappeared. “Let me think about it. Unfortunately, I think Lady Luck just shat in our Cheerios. I’m pretty sure the president’s call to the Secret Service got us on some list.”

  “And then serendipity gave Stricklin access to that list,” finished Daniel. “You think we can call the president and get this guy off our tail?”