Reilly couldn’t believe his misfortune. He couldn’t make it to the Oval Office, his office, without running into whining stalkers in the hallway. He put up his plastic smile and braced for the problematic chatter that would chill his bones. “Good morning, First Lady, oh, forgive me, Ms. Connors.” He gave a pleasant smile and slight bow before kissing her hand in high praise.
Her eyes were not the tear-filled sockets he imagined. She spread her lips in a thin smile and nodded. “I wanted to catch you before you began your day.”
He chuckled lightly, wondering why she wasn’t at Number One Observatory Circle, being humble.
“What on Earth may I have the honor of doing for you? Madam, I mean, Ms. Connors.” Reilly took great pleasure letting her know she no longer held the title. It bothered him to see her taking it so well, he would have to hit harder, he thought.
“I need my husband’s body. With all the resources at your disposal, such a minor thing can be done overnight, quite possibly.”
Her smile was pristine as she stared with piercing gray eyes into Reilly.
Reilly shook, internally. He took her hand again and with the charm of a snake trainer, kissed her thinning hand while in a light bow. False humility was not unheard of, just not becoming of a man of his station. This would be the last of it she would see. She had better like it and go away.
“I shall give the order at once. Before the week is out, you shall have your slain husband’s remains.”
With another bow, he quickly extricated himself from her clutches in a dash for the sanctuary of his Oval Office.
Reilly made it past his secretary and to long, sought after peace. With a sigh of relief, he walked to and sat behind his large desk. Every time he ran his hand across the desk, he found it hard to believe he was President of the United States. Often, dreams remain dreams, but for once in his life, the outlandish dream had manifested itself into reality. His hand caressed the top of the oak desk. The texture was something he found sensual, a contrast to the ancient desk he had been given as Vice President. Even now, he cursed James Connors for the mockery.
A knock came from the door.
“Yes?” he said.
A head appeared from the doorway. “Mr. Keenly to see you, sir,” said his secretary.
A chill came over him. “Show him in.”
Reilly waddled from behind the big desk and walked across the rug with the President’s seal on it. He thought he should change it, it belonging to the previous president. He was president and his office should reflect that fact with only his tastes. He extended a hand to the man, knowing, Janis, his secretary, would not close the door until then.
“Mr. President.”
“What brings you by, Fred?”
They sat on the brown couch, pleasantly smiling at each other.
“Not everyone believes terrorist assassins, the BLP, are in the mountains or are to blame for President Connors’ demise. Can I get a comment as to these rumors, Mr. President?” he gave a casual glance.
Reilly didn’t like the man or his glance. He knew the man to be no better than all reporting scum he had to placate. This one was slightly more powerful and would require a delicate hand. Still, he could easily outwit the fool, seeing he had little to match him with. Reilly put on the public face he assumed with ease over the last thirty-odd years. It took great effort to control his face to seem passive. His bulky frame didn’t allow for too passive of a position. He cleared his throat. “The Bridgewood Liberation Party has always been a plague in our sides. We finally have the means to put them away and I intend to do just that. America is now safer, stronger, and has vanquished another enemy.”
Keenly opened a notepad he pulled from his pocket. “I’m told your office was contacted by a Mr. Roseland and Mr. Peeks regarding a mountain expedition to retrieve President Connors’ remains. Has the White House commented on their expedition?”
“You know I can’t go into details about ongoing missions.”
“So. It is a mission?”
“Very clever,” said Reilly, with disdain in his eye.
“Off the record, sir?”
“The White House doesn’t comment on such things. I’m sorry to be brash, but I have a meeting to prepare for. I’m sure you are well aware of its focus.”
“Indeed, Mr. President. I will let you prepare.”
President Reilly escorted the man to the door, eyeing him up and down. What nerve he had, he will let me prepare. When they reached the door, Reilly had resumed his gracious smile and with a shaking of his hand, bid the man farewell in good fashion. He returned to his desk to ponder the day’s revelations.
From his conversations with Keenly, Connors, and previously, with Fanmer, Reilly had to reopen the mountain. He smiled at the deliciousness of his emerging plan. He would recover the body of President Connors, but not for his doodling wife or the others. He would garner worship from the masses for his heroism. He would be elevated so high he would ride out the remainder of the term and sweep the next election in a landslide. At the same time, he would plant evidence gathered from the BLP raid to seal their fate. Yes, going to the mountain would be the answer.
Another brilliant thought tantalized him. He would personally lead the team into the mountain. The thought of cameras snapping as he carried the limp body of Connors to his widow. Yes, that would be the ticket! Reilly’s face brimmed with excitement, eagerness. How could one man be as fortunate as he?
With the gods smiling down on him, he exited the room to make his grand plans. Though he had plans to rid himself of the man, Fanmer would be his next stop. He was a useful lacky and when he needed him, the scoundrel was more than willing to lick his boots in an effort to gain his approval. Reilly’s smile widened as he reveled in his control of those beneath him. Many times they had lorded themselves over him and now, they were his subjects, his playthings to do with as he wished. The power he held was intoxicating.
Not too far from the Oval Office he found privacy. From the outside, he entered what looked to be a normal closet that held linens. Anyone opening the door would instantly close it out of embarrassment for entering the wrong room, a perfect cover. Reilly walked to the far right and pulled a hidden lever built into the side of the long wooden shelf. The portrait of President Connors, a fitting exile, slid down to reveal a hand scanner. Once he placed his palm to the machine, it glowed red and then a small door opened to its left. Reilly slid his large frame through the narrow fitting and emerged into a large communication room.
He marveled at his ingenuity. He regarded himself as the first competent president to outwit all surveillance and shaft local media. After fortuitous gloating, he waddled across the floor thinking it needed the Presidential seal. Everywhere he walked should don his Holy seal. He came to a mahogany desk emblazoned with his family crest on its top and centered on each drawer. Running his hand across the etched insignia produced a gruesome smile. Admiring his desk wasn’t thrilling enough, he needed more. Reilly ran his fingers along the seal on the top drawer then closed his eyes in ecstasy. He was home. He was powerful. At last, the ruler of the Free World.
Reilly swiveled in his chair to his left to face a computer screen. Flicking a button, it sprang to life. The image of a weary Fanmer came into focus.
“Mr. President?”
“Fanmer. Where are we on this notion of yours?” his grim features made his point clear.
“It’s more than a notion, Mr. President. We have burned dozens of bodies, most whole,” he said to emphasize his point.
President Reilly rolled his eyes in an obvious manner. Fanmer was filth, another loose end to tie up in time. “Put it in your report.”
“Sir?”
“Enough!” the redness in his face was clear. He would hear no more foolishness of zombies. Preposterous! Did the man take him for a fool? He was ruler of the Free World. The nonsense that spouted from the lips of a dead man meant nothing to him. It validated his earlier decision: Fanmer had outlived his usefulness.
&
nbsp; Fanmer’s face distorted over the screen. Reilly wondered if perhaps it was the monitor. No. It was the man he realized.
“As you wish, Mr. President.”
“Good, we are finally in agreement.” Reilly leaned his bulky frame closer to the screen to appear more intimidating. “Get your team together. We are reopening the mountain.”
“For what purpose?”
Reilly’s face reddened. He collected his thoughts, restraining himself. His voice came out soft and pleasant, to his delight. “We are going to recover my predecessor’s body. We can’t very well have a State funeral without a body, can we?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Expect me shortly. I want the opening blast saved for the accompanying press corps.”
“We have citizens under house arrest here, sir.”
“I know that, Fanmer. Keep them out of sight until the cameras leave. Then, dispose of them, quietly. Are we clear?”
“Sir?”
Reilly moved so close to the screen, he must appear a blur. “Are-we-clear?”
“Clear, sir,” said Fanmer.
“Get to it and I don’t want to hear any of your whining. When I arrive, I expect everything to go smoothly or heads will roll.”
“Yes—”
President Reilly ended the communication to keep from hearing another of Fanmer’s incessant whines. Moments later, he turned the device back on and made other clandestine calls before exiting the room for a scheduled press briefing.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Brittany