Jack Mars - President Elect

“Are you in therapy now?”

Swann nodded. “Twice a week. I found a guy who will do it over a video feed. He’s in his office, I’m here. It’s pretty good.”

“What does he tell you?”

Swann smiled. “He says whatever you do, don’t buy a gun. I tell him I live on the twenty-eighth floor with an open balcony. I don’t need a gun. I can die any time I want.”

Luke decided to change the subject. Talking about ways that Swann could commit suicide… it wasn’t cheerful.

“You see Ed much?”

Swann shrugged. “Not in a while. He’s busy with work. He’s a commander with the Hostage Rescue Team. He’s out of the country a lot. We used to see each other more. He’s pretty much the same, though.”

“Do you feel up for doing some work?” Luke said.

“I don’t know,” Swann said. “I think that would depend on what it was. The demands, what I would have to do. I also don’t want to jeopardize my disability. Are you paying under the table?”

“I’m working for the President,” Luke said. “Susan Hopkins.”

“That’s cute. What does she need you for?”

“She thinks the election was stolen.”

Swann nodded. “I heard that. The news cycles zip by at the speed of light these days, but that’s a story with legs. She doesn’t want to step down. So where do you fit in? And more importantly, where would I fit in?”

“Well, she’s probably going to want some intel gathering from us. I imagine she wants to do some kind of takedown on these guys. I don’t have any details right now.”

“Can I work from here?” Swann said.

“I suppose. Why not?”

Luke paused. “But the truth is I’m a little concerned about this conversation. You’re different from before. You know that. I would want to make sure you’ve still got your old chops.”

Swann didn’t seem bothered by that. “Test me any way you like. I’m in here day and night, Luke. What do you think I do with my time? I hack. I’ve got all my old chops, and some new ones. I might even be better than before. And as long as I don’t have to go outside…”

Now Swann paused for a moment. He stared down at the beer in his hands, then looked up at Luke. His eyes were serious.

“I hate Nazis,” he said.

November 12

8:53 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time

The West Wing

The White House, Washington DC

“There was violence all through the night,” Kat Lopez said. “Kurt has the details, but the worst of it was in Boston, San Francisco, and Seattle.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Susan said.

They walked along the halls of the West Wing toward the Oval Office. Their heels clacked on the marble floor. Susan felt better than she had in a while – well rested from a long night’s sleep. She had eaten breakfast in the Family Kitchen without checking the news once. She was beginning to believe that events were taking a turn for the positive. Until a minute ago.

Kat shrugged. “I wanted you to get some sleep. There was nothing you could do about it in the middle of the night, and I figured today was going to be another hell of a day. Kurt agreed with me.”

“Okay,” Susan said. She supposed she meant it.

A Secret Service man opened the doors for them and they passed into the Oval Office. Kurt Kimball stood there, sleeves rolled up, ready to go. Luke Stone sat in one of the armchairs, in almost the same position he was in the night before.

Stone wore a plain black T-shirt with a leather jacket, jeans, and fancy leather boots. He looked fresher, less distant, more in the here and now than yesterday. His eyes were alive. Stone was a space cowboy, Susan decided. Sometimes he was just gone, out in the ether. That’s where he went when he disappeared. But now he was back.

“Hi, Kurt,” Susan said.

Kurt turned to her. “Susan. Good morning.”

“Nice boots, Agent Stone.”

Stone pulled his jeans leg up a couple of inches to reveal more of the boot for her. “Ferragamo,” he said. “My wife gave them to me once upon a time. They have sentimental value.”

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

Stone nodded. “Thank you.”

An awkward pause settled in. If she could, part of Susan – the emotional part, you might even call it the female part – would spend the next twenty minutes asking Stone about his wife, his relationship with her, how he had processed her death, and what he was doing to take care of himself. But Susan didn’t have that kind of time right now. The hard-headed, practical part of her – would she call that her masculine part? – pushed on with today’s agenda.

“Okay, Kurt, what do you have for me?”

Kurt indicated the TV screen. “Events have been moving fast. No surprise there. We had a mass shooting in New York City’s Chinatown last night. A large group of operatives from Gathering Storm emerged out of a convoy of black vans at around eight thirty p.m., and went on a march south from Canal Street. It was a provocation, of course. Within minutes, they were engaged in fistfights with neighborhood residents.”

“Gathering Storm, huh?” Gathering Storm was one of the Monroe-funded organizations that made Susan sick to her stomach. She often wondered exactly what it was these people thought they were doing. Of course, up until now the violence had been almost entirely threats made over the internet. Now it was real.

Kurt nodded. “Yes. They seem to recruit their activists based on size. The fist fights were completely one-sided for several minutes, until two contract killers from the Hong Kong Triads – apparently in New York on a murder assignment – opened up with Uzi submachine guns. The latest tally is thirty-six wounded, including a dozen Chinese, likely shot by accident, and seven dead, all of whom were members of Gathering Storm. Another three members are expected to die.”

Susan wasn’t sure what to say to all this. Good? That came to mind.

“The Triad members?”

“In NYPD custody, on multiple murder, attempted murder, and weapons charges. They have court-appointed translators, and last I heard a legal team is en route from Hong Kong. The Triads are well funded, to put it mildly, and the expectation is the lawyers will try to build a case for self-defense on the murders, and plead out the weapons.”

“What do you think of that approach?” Susan said.

Kurt smiled and shook his head. “New York doesn’t have the death penalty. That’s about the only thing those guys have going for them right now.”

“How about if I pardon them and send them home with medals?”

“I think we’ve got enough problems.”

“Tell me more,” she said.

“Well, once the news came out about New York, it seems the gloves came off. Groups of young men started entering Boston’s Chinatown around ten p.m. and attacking people on the street. They seemed to be men who were drinking in nearby bars, as the four men arrested were all drunk.”

“Four men were arrested? You said groups – ”

“Yes. It appears the Boston police were somewhat more lenient than one might hope, and let the majority of the offenders go with a simple warning.”

“What else?”

“A group from the Oakland branch of the motorcycle gang Nazi Lowriders entered the Chinatown in San Francisco and attacked people on the streets with sawed off pool cues and billy clubs. More than forty of them were arrested. Two of the victims in those attacks are in critical condition at area hospitals.”

Susan sighed and shook her head. “Great. Anything else?”

“Yes. Probably the most exciting news. Jefferson Monroe is scheduled to speak at a rally of his followers this morning, perhaps to address the violence last night, perhaps to call for you to concede again. No one is quite sure what his script is going to be. The best part is where the rally is going to take place.”