Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

“Exactamundo,” Gatlin said cheerfully. “We’ll hump the duffel bags up the ramp while you’re away.”

Sims took the yacht out and returned forty-five minutes later. The rest of the team was waiting at the top of the ramp. “Okay,” Bo said. “Stage one is complete. Stage two begins now. Mr. Posey, or should I say Mr. Owen, will start to play his part now. That includes showing the members of the Secret Service advance team around the island when they arrive.

“The rest of us will spend the next couple of days camping in the ruins on island one. There’s a basement under what’s left of the lighthouse, and that’s where we’ll stay. Are there any questions? No? All right then… The hard part is over. The rest will be easy. We’d better get going before the tide comes in over the sandbar.”

ABOARD MARINE ONE

Even though Mac had been on Marine One before, it felt strange to ride on a helicopter that didn’t have door gunners. That was another reminder that the war was over, and the killing had ended. But the country faced a different kind of challenge now. After suffering multiple meteor hits, and the extensive damage resulting from a civil war, the reconstituted United States of America faced a rebuilding project so immense that it boggled Mac’s mind. And that was why President Samuel T. Sloan continued to work twelve-hour days. He was on a phone call and winked as their eyes met.

That was emblematic of the way in which things had changed. As the war came to an end, their relationship blossomed. Sloan wanted to get married. And, after giving the matter an hour’s worth of thought, Mac realized that she did, too. So they were engaged. Even if it seemed to confirm past rumors and gave the president’s critics something to carp about.

But for the most part, Sloan was quite popular, in the North at least, and why not? He was the Fighting President. The man who had won the war. But could he win the peace? That remained to be seen since millions of Southerners hated him and resented the troops who patrolled their streets.

Sloan was determined to ignore that, however… And to earn the Southerners’ trust, if not their affection, by convincing Congress to enact the sort of even-handed initiatives that would help the entire country to recover. Sloan’s decision to reintegrate the military was a good example. Mac thought the measure was risky, but brilliant, too, since the only thing worse than having a quarter million ex–Confederate soldiers in the military—was to have them sitting around with nothing to do.

As for Mac, she couldn’t remain in the army while engaged to the commander in chief. So she had requested a transfer to the inactive reserves. And that was likely to be helpful in another way as well… In spite of her impressive war record, there were those who sought to link Mac, and therefore Sloan, with her fugitive father. Where was he? Mac wondered. In Africa? Like some people said? Or down in South America? Not that it made much difference. The authorities would find Bo Macintyre and put him on trial for war crimes. And, once that day came, it would be best if Mac was back in civilian life.

Mac looked out the window as a layer of wispy clouds dissipated, and an island was revealed. Two islands, really, which when taken together and viewed from above, looked like a bowtie. Three days. That’s what Sloan had promised her. With very few phone calls to interrupt their time together. “A penny for your thoughts,” Sloan said.

Mac turned to discover that the phone call was over. “Only a penny?”

He laughed. “All that I have then.”

Mac smiled. “I guess that will have to do.”

Marine One swooped in for a perfect landing. Secret Service agents were present, but only one person came forward to meet the helicopter. He was the island’s sixtysomething caretaker. “Mr. President… Major Macintyre… This is an honor. My name is George Owen. Welcome to Bowtie Island! My job is to make sure that you enjoy your stay. Did you bring any staff?”

“No,” Sloan replied, as the two men shook hands. “We’re going to do our own cooking.”

“Which means he’s going to cook,” Mac interjected. “I don’t know how.”

Owen chuckled. “Let me know if you change your minds. I can bring a cook and a maid in from Bar Harbor if you want me to. Please follow me. I’ll give you the tour.”

Mac had seen the four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and chef’s kitchen online. So she knew what to expect. Fortunately, they didn’t have to share the house with the Secret Service. Three shifts consisting of eight agents each were going to commute in from Bar Harbor.

Once the tour was over, Owen left them alone. Groceries had been brought in the previous day, and Sloan made good on his promise to prepare what he called, “A great American lunch.” It consisted of grilled cheese sandwiches, Campbell’s tomato soup, and a veggie plate—all of which was delicious. “You’re a master chef,” Mac assured him. “What can I expect for dinner? A Totino’s pizza?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sloan said as he swept Mac off her feet and carried her away. The master bedroom was large, and beautifully furnished. Mac landed on the white bedspread first—immediately followed by Sloan. They kissed.

“You have soup breath,” Mac noted.

“And you are delicious,” Sloan countered.

What followed wasn’t the first, but it was the best , and deeply satisfying. A nap came next. Mac awoke first and was drinking a cup of coffee in the living room when Sloan appeared. He made the white tee and jeans look good as he padded over to give her a kiss. “You let me sleep.”

“You needed it.”

“I guess I did. Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Absolutely.”

A narrow path circled the island, and they followed it. The sky was gray, gulls rode the incoming wind, and waves crashed below. Sloan’s hand felt warm. Here, Mac thought, with him. This is where I want to be. And for the first time in her life, Mac knew what it was to feel complete.

After the walk, some drinks, and a long conversation about their future plans—it was time to eat dinner. Sloan rose to the occasion. Much to Mac’s amazement, he served Parmesan-crusted halibut, along with broccoli and wild rice. Dessert consisted of a scoop of coconut ice cream accompanied by a vanilla wafer. Coffee followed. “That was amazing,” Mac told him. “You’re hired.”

Sloan laughed. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a call. Then I’ll be back.” And he was. They snuggled, watched a comedian do his best Sam Sloan imitation, and went to bed.

Sloan fell asleep within minutes, but Mac didn’t. She lay there for a while before getting up and making her way into the living room. Maybe it was the coffee. Or maybe she was keyed up. Her life was so completely different from what it had been.

The house wasn’t entirely dark thanks to the strategically placed night-lights the owners had put in place. And Mac saw no need to turn on more lights as she passed the kitchen and entered the living room. Huge windows provided sweeping views of the Atlantic. The moon was up and only partially obscured by a thin layer of clouds.

The vista had a ghostly feel—like something in a storybook. And as Mac looked out across the front deck, she saw a figure appear and pause to look around. A uniformed Secret Service agent? Yes, judging from the assault weapon he was carrying.

Was the agent enjoying the view, too? Or focused on the job? That’s what Mac was thinking when another figure appeared behind the first. A second agent? No, this one had a long-barreled pistol… And it was pointed at the first man’s head! Mac was about to shout a warning when the assailant fired, and the agent collapsed.