Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

“Close the door, Derek,” Franklin said, “and see that we’re not disturbed.”

“Yes, sir.” Derek backed out and pulled the door shut.

“Hooker,” Franklin said, “what do you have to report?” He didn’t offer Hooker a seat. The man was a hired gun, muscle. Necessary, but not part of his inner circle. He paid him well, and that was all that mattered.

“I’ve got a contact with the connections we need in DC,” Hooker said. “It won’t be cheap.”

“Money is not a factor,” Franklin said, “but discretion is.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. He doesn’t know who I’m working for. He doesn’t want to know.”

“All the better.” Franklin leaned back in his leather swivel chair and steepled his hands in front of his chest, regarding Hooker carefully. His presidential campaign was gaining strength in the heartland, but Andrew Powell was a popular incumbent. He needed to cast doubt on Powell’s ability to lead the country through increasingly troubled times. He needed insurance. This man promised it to him. “What about obtaining the material?”

“He’ll set me up.” Hooker shrugged. “But we might have to get in bed with the militia to accomplish the actual acquisition.”

Franklin shook his head. “I don’t like exposing ourselves to hotheads, and after the fiasco at Matheson’s compound, the whole bunch of them are going to be under surveillance. I can’t afford to be linked to them.”

“That’s what you hired me for—I’ll run interference and make sure nothing blows back on you.”

Hooker smiled, a slow just-short-of-ugly smile that set off warning blips on Franklin’s radar. If Hooker hoped to put him in his debt, he was wrong. Throughout his rapid rise to power in the senate and on the path to winning the presidential nomination, he’d had to make deals and promise paybacks, but he was always careful not to give anyone leverage on him. He never let anyone other than Nora Fleming know the whole of his plans. Nora Fleming was more than his campaign manager. She was the only one who shared his vision—not his wife, not his children, not his staff. As the leader of the Patriot Party, he was running for president on a platform of reinstating traditional American values of family, morality, and religion. His family was an essential element of his image—but Nora was his true support.

“Just remember—plausible deniability,” Franklin said. “We need a lot of distance between my campaign and the activities of these radicals.”

“Not to worry. The inside man at Eugen Corp—”

Franklin held up his hand. “I don’t want to know names or details. Just get it done.”

“Of course.”

“And when it’s over, everyone involved needs to disappear.”

Hooker winced as if Franklin had breached some unspoken rule about what could be spoken out loud. Franklin almost laughed. As if his security wasn’t the best in the world. Even Andrew Powell’s inner sanctum wasn’t as secure as he thought.

“The only way to ensure secrecy is by guaranteeing silence,” Franklin said softly. “I don’t care how you do it.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hooker finally said. “And the targets?”

“I want the country to know Andrew Powell is not only soft on terrorism and foreign affairs, his whole government is soft. When the people see he can’t protect them, even within our own borders, they’ll make the right and logical choice at the polls.” Franklin lifted a shoulder. “I want a public forum, with media coverage.”

“Civilian casualties could backfire. Look at what happened in Oklahoma.”

“The threat alone will be enough. And if there are casualties…” Franklin waved a hand. “McVeigh and Nichols were amateurs. Hotheads. That’s exactly the reason I don’t want to get involved with another one of these militia groups.”

“You still need foot soldiers—more than that, you need followers who are willing to sacrifice for the cause. You don’t have much choice.”

“Then I want absolute containment. No breaches. No leaks. Nothing that ties us to them or the events.”

“I understand.” Hooker’s eyes went flat. “You don’t need to worry.”

“If we time this right,” Franklin said, “Powell’s standing will plummet before his campaign even gets started. The groundswell of negative publicity will bury him.”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

“Contact me by phone when you have more for me. Good night.”

Hooker let himself out, and Franklin turned off his desk light, letting the room fall into shadow. Through half-closed eyes, he watched the dim glow of Hooker’s taillights recede down the mountain into the darkness. He was forced to consort with unsavory characters in order to achieve his goals. That didn’t bother him. His was the path of righteousness. Someone needed to take back control of the nation, to redirect America’s course and restore her to greatness and power. Someone needed to remind Americans of the true path. Andrew Powell needed to be removed from office. His daughter, who Powell flaunted in the face of God-fearing people, was a sinner, even more so for her insistence on pushing her unholy relationship in the faces of good Americans. Blair Powell was becoming a national icon, and that too must end. He wouldn’t rest until both were gone.

*

“So,” Evyn said, pushing her empty dishes aside and drawing her coffee cup nearer, “do you come from a family of doctors?”

Wes carefully placed her fork beside her plate and reached for her espresso. They’d spent most of the meal talking about the job—the daily briefings between PPD and the WHMU, coordinating schedules, protocol when POTUS traveled, security and medical preparation for potential threats—safe topics. This one wasn’t so safe, and she was a little surprised that Evyn, who had maintained a cool professional distance all night, breached the neutral zone into something personal.

“Sorry,” Evyn said with no inflection, “is that a sensitive subject?”

Wes shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Sorry. I was just thinking.” She waited while the server cleared their places. “I’m the middle child, more or less, of four, and the first in my family to go to college. My mother and father were blue-collar workers. My mother in the garment industry, my father on the docks. He died in an accident when I was six.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. If this is—”

“No, that’s okay. I have a great family. I grew up in my grandmother’s house in South Philadelphia with my mother and my sisters. It was pretty crowded, but it was…” She thought about the shared bedrooms, the squabbles over the bathroom in the morning, the big wooden table in the sunny kitchen smelling of home-cooked food, counters crowded with dishes and everyone jostling for a place at the table. “It was noisy and warm and full of life.” She smiled. “It was great.” She looked up from her espresso. Evyn was staring at her as if she were a stranger. She wondered what she had just revealed and then realized it didn’t matter. She had nothing to hide.

“You miss them,” Evyn said softly.

“Every day.” Wes’s chest tightened, as much from the tenderness in Evyn’s eyes as from the memories.

Evyn sipped her coffee. “Okay—not following in the family mold like me. Why did you want to be a doctor?”

Wes laughed. “You know, I practiced that answer a hundred times when I was applying to medical school, knowing I would be asked about it over and over again. I never did have a very good answer. I just knew I wanted to touch people. Make a difference somehow.” She looked out across the empty restaurant. They were the last ones at a table, but the servers hadn’t rushed them and none were in sight now. They were alone. She hadn’t been alone with a woman in longer than she could remember. She didn’t date—given her circumstances it wasn’t that easy. She might not necessarily agree with all the navy’s regulations, but she followed them. Most women she might have connected with were below her rank and off-limits. She sometimes thought that might be a convenient excuse, but then, what did that matter. If she was fooling anyone, it was only herself. No harm, no foul. And those rare nights when she was restless and vaguely unsettled, she went for a run until she was tired enough to sleep.