Mr. President 2016 -Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

ARMY SPECIALIST OPERATIONS OFFICER Roy Johnson, was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while keeping an eye on his new target. But, he was clearly irritated by Director Loudoun’s questions. Did she really think that he’d deliberately gotten the old man killed?

If he hadn’t already figured it out, this call from Director Loudoun was making it crystal clear that former President Noah Daniels was not the FBI’s nor the CIA’s most wanted target. No, it was Ruyah al-Basir bint al-Aziz bin al-Saba. She was who they really wanted. And he, unfortunately had left her unguarded at the hotel, assuming her to be a no value target as he’d chased after Daniels. After all, they – him, Madison, Blaine, and Alvarez – had destroyed that damn weather machine her and her terrorist husband, Youssef bin Caneer, had made. And the weather of late, had been just fine.

But he knew as he listened to FBI Director Loudoun’s angry restrained voice, that if Daniels had been their main target, she would have sidelined him by now and had the boys in Public Affairs make up some cock and bull story about how the former President had had a heart attack while running along the Potomac’s shoreline trying to avoid arrest. And as a result had fallen in. But they hadn’t and he was still active.

“Ma’am,” he snarled into the phone, “I was trailing him as instructed. And after trailing him to the Brookmont house, I waited outside for backup, from the hotel to arrive. I did not engage the subject at any time, before or afterwards.”

“Did you see the former President’s killer enter the condo?”

“No ma’am. His killer must have gotten there before me and had been waiting inside.”

“How long was former President Daniels in the house before you realized he was in trouble”

“About half an hour or so, ma’am.”

“What happened?”

“Like I said, I was outside the house in Brookmont on Ridge Drive when I heard a panic alarm, inside the house, go off. Then one shot.

I raced into the house. However, I didn’t see anyone when I entered. After which, I made sure the first floor was clear before making my way up to the second floor.

Broaching the second floor landing, I noted that the lights on the entire second floor were off. I swept right towards the bedrooms at the front of the house. All of them were empty.

I turned left and made my way towards the rear bedrooms. That’s when I saw that there was a small red blinking light coming from one of the rear bedrooms, I thought it was the master bedroom. It was not. It was an office connected to the master bedroom. I made a quick visual sweep of the room and that’s when I saw him lying, on his side beneath an open safe.”

“Wait a minute! You’re telling me his body was still in the house? How can that be? He was found floating face down in the Potomac River.”

“Probably because I didn’t wait for back-up ma’am. Seeing the former President lying on the floor, I quickly made entry into the room without any interference. I bent down to check to see if he was still alive and I got a boot to the head”

“So, his killer was still in the house?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where are you, now, Specialist Johnson?”

“Jamaica Station, in New York ma’am.”

“Why?”

“I believe Lisa Miller was once former President Noah Daniels assistant and confidant.”

“Yes. But the two of them had a rather ugly falling out over Miss Miller’s oversharing of information.”

“Yes ma’am. But since the house the Former President visited tonight was registered under a dummy corporation filed by Miss Miller, I staked out Miss Miller’s real address figuring that once she heard the News she’d be up. And I was right. I captured something very interesting, ma’am. I’m sending you the picture right now.”

Marlene looked down at her phone’s screen, then asked, “Is there anything you need?”

“The rest of the team, ma’am. If you want to capture Former President Noah Daniels’ killer.

“I was going to do that anyway, Specialist,” Marlene answered, before pressing the end call button on her phone.

Yes. I’m going to do just that. But not for the reason you suggested, she thought to herself.

https://mrpresident2016.wordpress.com

By
Eliza D. Ankum
Author of
Flight 404 – A Novel of Aviation Disaster
Ruby Sanders (The Ruby and Jared Saga Book 1)
Jared Anderson (The Ruby and Jared Saga Book 2)
Ruby and Jared (The Ruby and Jared saga Book 3)
OneThreeThirteen – A Presidential Agent Novel Series Book 1
The Hunt For Red November A Presidential Agent Novel Series Book 2
Dancing With The Fat Woman
Thou Shalt Eat Dust – A Second Chance Love Story
Eleanor Grunsback – An Ugly Woman’s Love Story
https://mrpresident2016.wordpress.com
A Woman’s Voice: A Little Book of Poems
STALKED! By Voices
A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth
https://mystalkingblog.wordpress.com

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 7

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Chapter 7

FBI DIRECTOR MARLENE LOUDOUN, is a woman of short stature, but her ram-rod straight posture and three inch heels made people perceive her as being taller than she was. She had a delicate heart shaped face that spoke well of her African heritage and a lithe sinewy body that she kept in perfect condition with daily six a.m. strenuous workouts. And as Demyan Zakharov had noted, she had a brown sugar colored skin tone that complimented her flashing brown eyes. An although she’d been called a bitch, to her face, on many occasions during her meteoric career, she envisioned herself more as a lioness protecting her cub; the Republic of the United States of America.

She walked briskly out of Dr. Ken’s autopsy room that had smelled strongly of disinfectant and death. She had waited until the doors had closed behind her before pressing the number five button on her phone. While it rang, she paced up and down the cold gray hallway that Ken – she smiled at the thought of his silly and harmless flirtatious antics – made sure were kept in pristine condition.

“Hello,” responded the man on the other end.

“It’s Loudoun. I’m guessing you know by now why I’m calling.”

“Director. I thought I had both of them. And then things took an unexpected turn.”

“To the point that the man’s dead. And we don’t have a clue where the woman is. You call that an unexpected turn? I call it a botched mission!”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now, tell me what the hell happened.”

“The old guy …”

“Pardon me!”

“Excuse me ma’am. I meant, Former President Daniels.

“Go ahead.”

“As you know, ma’am we got a hit on the facial recognition software installed on the traffic lights on Pennsylvania Avenue near the White House.

“You’d think the man would know better.”

“He probably thought, that after two years, we’d stopped looking for them.”

“Never,” quipped Loudoun. “Where did he go after paying a visit to his old residence?”

“The city’s CCTVs have him driving into a Days Inn on Connecticut Avenue. By the time I made it there, he was getting into a cab and heading northwest.”

“Where did he go?”

“A small house out in Brookmont. Maryland.”

“Brookmont, Maryland. Near Bethesda?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What could he possibly have been up to in Brookmont,” Marlene asked more to herself than to the man on the other end of the phone. “There’s nothing but woods and houses out there.” And then the light came on in her head. Brookmont is close to the Potomac. “Continue,” she barked.

“The house he visited, is registered in Tom Lennox’s name. We think the Former President was after cash that he’d hidden there. It was a perfect place to hide an emergency stash of cash, ma’am. It’s close by, where he could get his hands on it without getting noticed. That is, if he hadn’t taken a sentimental drive up Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Well then agent, I have only one questions for you and you’d better tell me the truth. How did Former President Noah Daniels end up shot in the back of the head and floating face down in the Potomac under your watch,” Marlene snapped into the phone.

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Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 6

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Chapter 6

“SO, WHAT CAN YOU tell me Ken?”

Dr. Kenneth Wilson, Deputy Chief Medical Examiner, i.e. the Coroner, for the Washington, DC area FBI and the Metro Division Police, held a PhD in Forensic Pathology from the University of California at Irvine. He’d graduated tops in his class from John Hopkins University, obtaining a Bachelor’s degree in Internal Medicine. Upon which, he was matched with Rush University Medical Center in Chicago, Illinois. At Rush, he’d done a two year residency in their Internal Medicine Department before transferring to John H. Stroger Hospital’s Emergency Room treating mostly traumatic gunshot wounds. It was his experience at Stroger that had motivated him to return to school, the University of California at Irvine, where he’d obtained his coveted PhD in Forensic Pathology. The FBI had come calling before the ink had finished drying on his diploma.

And he’d been infatuated with Marlene Loudoun from the first day she’d walked through his laboratory doors. Six years ago.

“Well, for starters, he’s dead.”

Marlene pursed her mouth and rolled her eyes skyward.

“The facts, Ken.”

“Well, the facts are, that I think you’re one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met. And he’s dead.”

“Ken. Am I going to have to write you up on sexual harassment charges,” she asked, knowing full well that she’d never actually do it.

“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said, smiling at her. Moving around to the other side of the cold gray steel autopsy table, so that he couldn’t smell the crisp clean scent of her perfume that mixed perfectly with her unique body’s pheromones, he pulled the crisp white sheet down revealing former President Daniels’ ashen gray face.

“As I said earlier, you were right. Almost.”

“Almost?” Marlene questioned.

“Our distinguished gentleman here, is, in fact, former President Noah Daniels. The DNA confirms that. But, he continued, stepping away from the autopsy table over to a long bank of steel gray counters and picking up a small clear plastic baggy, “he did not die from drowning,’ he emphasized, dangling the clear plastic baggy.

“No. Former President Daniels – the man who almost started World War 3 – Dr. Ken said, winking at Marlene, “took a beating before he was killed. Note the tell-tale bruising on the face and upper body. But the actual mode of death was a single shot to the back of the head with a Sig Sauer 226. Which, I’ve confirmed, is not the one registered to the victim. Ballistics confirms that,” he said, once again holding up the clear baggy so that the FBI Director could see the bullet he’d, personally, removed from Daniels’ head.

“Humph,” uttered Marlene as she wondered who had motive enough to kill a former president. That is, besides the present President.

“As I said, earlier, you were almost right.”

Marlene ignored his obvious attempts at stroking her ego and asked, “Could a woman have done this?”

“The shooting to the back of the head. Most definitely. But the beating, no.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m assuming that you’re asking me if the woman he was accused of helping to avoid capture could have been the one to deliver the blows that caused the bruising.

“Yes. That is what I’m asking you.”

“From what I understand she is a somewhat petite woman.”

“Yes. Around five three about a hundred and ten pounds.”

“And you my dear Marlene are five six about one hundred and twenty –five pounds.”

“About that,” Marlene smiled, knowing that he’d weighed and measured her every time she’d had occasion to visit his lab. Which these days, was often.

“If you’d form your beautiful and delicate right hand into a fist and place it over the bruise on his cheek, you’ll see why it couldn’t have been that particular woman.”

Marlene did as Dr. Kenneth Wilson, Deputy Chief Medical Examiner, i.e. Coroner, for the Washington, DC area FBI and the Metro Division Police, asked, and saw for herself that even her hand was too small to have made the large bruise on the left side of Former President Noah Daniels’ face.

“It was a man. And a big one at that,” Marlene ventured.

“I’m very sure it was,” answered Dr. Ken.

“Were you able to pull any DNA from the bruise?”

“No, I’m afraid he was in the water too long for that.”

“Then why are you so sure it was a man? It could have been a big woman.”

“Could have, but Ballistics confirms that the owner of the Sig that killed former President Noah Daniels belongs to Colonel Jim Madison, who, according to his medical file stands six-two.”

“Are you sure,” Marlene asked. Stunned to her core.

“Yes. Says here, he’s six-two,” Dr. Ken answered again, tapping Madison’s open medical file with his index finger.

But Madison was a patriot and a hero, Marlene thought. There had to be an explanation.

“Thanks Ken,” Loudoun said, turning to leave.

“Marlene. When you’re ready for us, let me know.”

“I will,” she said smiling, before hurrying from the room.”

Powers Boothe as Noah Daniels on the TV Series 24

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 5

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Chapter 5

“MISSY, MY LOVE, I’m afraid we’re going to have to continue this at another time,” Stone said, helping Missy to extricate herself from beneath his authentic replica of John F. Kennedy’s famous Oval Office desk. The one with the famous picture of John-John hiding in it.

As soon as Missy had redressed and left, Stone sat alone in the Oval Office, chewing on the news Malcolm had just delivered. The likely death of former President Noah Daniels

He tucked in his shirt, re-zipped his trousers, and padded back over to the room’s hidden bar and poured himself another drink. He was conflicted as to how he should feel. A former President and a good man was dead. But honestly, all he felt was relief.

It had been Daniel’s arrogance that had put him in the White House. Something that he could have never done on his own.

He was aware of what the American people thought of him. He knew that most political insiders had thought that he was a joke. A clown. A reality star who’d lost his grip on reality. And that most Americans, his wife included, figured he wasn’t capable of handling the job. And that at some point – after he’d made some God awful mistake, like Zhamis had – that he’d realize it and relinquish the Presidency back to someone with political experience who knew what they were doing, like Noah Daniels. Taking a sip of his drink, he laughed aloud at that, thinking, The now disgraced and very dead Noah Daniels, he laughed again, with a smile.

But, where the hell was that girl, Ruyah bin Caneer? And how much had Daniels told her?

He crossed back over to the desk where he and Missy and been enjoying themselves – he could still smell her perfume – and pulled the Red phone from the bottom desk drawer.

He’d dialed six of the eleven numbers of his foreign collaborator in all of this, then stopped.

It crossed his mind that the man was dangerous even when he wasn’t being pushed for answers. And trying to get the information he wanted to know out of him, would surely irritate him. The man, and his brother, were a set of power hungry psychopaths bent on worldwide manipulation. And in the past few months, he’d come to understand that there was not a trace of empathy in them for their fellow man, foreign or domestic. All that mattered was what they wanted.

Stone disconnected the call and put the Red phone back in the bottom desk drawer. He eased back in his big leather Presidential chair and thought for a few minutes; going over the least hazardous options. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

He leaned forward, and once again, pulled the bottom drawer of this authentic replica of John F. Kennedy’s desk open and fumbled in back of the Red phone and pulled out a burner phone – one he’d bought long before becoming a candidate for the Presidency, in order to keep in touch with his extramarital sex partners – and dialed Demyan Zakharov’s number.

“Demyan! What’s going on? My man just came back and he tells me that the job is only half done. I thought we had a deal. Daniels and that wretched girl, dead, and you get to become an American citizen, and your handlers get to continue raping Syria. What the hell happened? Malcolm tells me that there was no sign of that insufferable terrorist bitch’s body.”

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

MALCOLM MAVIS WALKED slowly down the hall on his way to the Oval Office. He was taking his time; giving the two headache tablets he’d taken as soon as his vehicle had entered the underground parking area, time to work. He had to tell the President the news.

It was nine o’clock, on a Saturday night. The First Lady, Jadona Stone was, from reports he’d received, solidly entrenched in her East Wing office with a double vodka and Sprite. So, it was highly probable that Majken Gustafson, aka Missy, Stone’s personal secretary, was face down in the President’s lap.

Therefore, Mavis took a moment to ready himself, for what he was about to witness, before he knocked lightly on the wood framed steel core door.

“Come in,” yelled a familiar voice.

There was a slight rustle of fabric and clearing of throats as Mavis entered. He hated this. Missy, on her knees under the Kennedy desk made Mavis uncomfortable, but he knew Stone reveled in it.

“Was it him?” President Stone asked.

“Before I answer that, Mr. President, could you please ask Ms. Gustafson to come from under the desk? I think we’re going to need some privacy.”

“I can’t think what for,” replied. Stone. “If it’s him, he’s dead. So he can’t object one way or the other to us discussing him and Missy hearing it. And if he’s not, he’s still a traitor on the run with a terrorist who’s committed some really terrible acts against this country. So, what does it matter?”

Mavis drew in a quick breath, and then answered, “Yes, Mr. President. Marlene Loudoun, the Director of the FBI, is sure it’s him. But she’s waiting on DNA tests before announcing it to the Press.”

“Well, that gives us something to celebrate,” President Stone said, reaching down and pushing Missy’s mouth off his penis before zipping up his pants and standing up and walking over to the fully stocked bar he’d had installed in the Oval Office.

“Join me for a drink, Malcolm?”

“No sir, I still have a lot of work to do.”

“That’s a shame, Malcolm. I’d think with Noah Daniels dead, you’d have one less thing to worry about.”

“We still don’t know the whereabouts of Ruyah al-Basir, sir. Whether she’s alive, wounded, or dead. And neither do we know the whereabouts of that damn machine of hers.”

“That’s true,” Stone said, his eyes boring into Malcolm’s.

Mavis note the little uplift at the sides of President’s Stone’s mouth. Sometimes, there was a hint of malicious understanding in a man that he considered crazy as a loon – as would most of Americans – if they knew the man the way he did.

“But then, again, she can’t get out of the country without my say so. Can she,” answered Stone.

“No, sir. She can’t.”

“Let’s keep it that way. When you go back to your office, put the DOD on high alert. No Muslims admitted into the country, at all. And those leaving, must show up-to-date and accurate IDs. Otherwise, they’re to be arrested and detained until the DOD can assure me that none of them are fronting for that al-Basir woman.

“But sir.”

“And I don’t want any of their asses admitted back into this country.”

“Sir, that’s against the law,” responded Mavis.

“I’m the law,” Stone said, shooting him that same look, again.

What had he done, Mavis thought, helping to get this man elected President.

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

THE HEAVY BLACK Chevrolet Suburban pulled up as close to the yellow crime scene tape as possible. The whole place, with the flashing emergency and police lights, was a scene straight out of a television police crime drama. Continue reading →

elizabooks

Fiction and memoir online ebooks (Authored by Eliza D. Ankum)

Chapter 8

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Chapter 7

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Chapter 6

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Chapter 5

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 3

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Chapter 2

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