Marine One
En route for Camp David
President Donald Kempt sat back, reading over a file that had been hurriedly handed to him by his chief of staff before boarding the Marine helicopter bound for a weekend at Camp David. The president and his wife were planning to spend a quiet weekend away from the troubles of his office with their daughter, her husband, and their newborn child. Putting the file on the latest budget figures aside, President Kempt removed his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He knew the press would make his time away from Washington into something it was not. Undoubtedly, his chief rival would be on TV tonight, complaining that not enough was being done to help Russia. He would expound that an administration run by him would naturally do things better. He shook his head at the non-stop spin that was the news these days. President Kempt felt tired. He needed forty-eight hours away to recharge his batteries. His staff had assured him that nothing else could be done right now to help President Ivankov, and with Vice President Grant getting ready to meet Romanov in Iceland, all he could do was sit back, try to relax, and wait.
Kempt was about to close his eyes and get a few minutes’ rest when his cell phone buzzed. It was Dan Leonard, his National Security Advisor, calling him. Barely thirty seconds into the call Kempt was wide awake, his jaw clenched tight. He had been played; they had all been played for fools. Quickly ending the call, the president turned to the head of his security detail and told him that they were returning to Washington immediately. His wife, Deborah, would just have to entertain without him.
Quickly calling his chief of staff, Kempt ordered the National Security Council to convene immediately, and any ships they had in the North Atlantic needed to be steaming for Iceland immediately.
He sat back in his leather-bound chair. President Kempt turned his head and looked out the window at the lights of the homes passing by underneath his chopper as it raced back to the capital, wondering how many millions of lives they could save, or if he was already too late to do anything about it.
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