Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

said. “It won’t be cheap.”

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“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.”

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Oath Of hOnOr

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

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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.

v

“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.

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“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.

Wes caught herself up short. This wasn’t a date, even if the whole

evening was something out of the ordinary. Evyn was still watching

her. What had Evyn asked? Oh, the “why a doctor?” question. She

almost gave a stock reply, but the intensity of Evyn’s gaze derailed her.

“Maybe I thought if I made a difference in someone else’s life, it would

make mine mean more.”

“Sounds like you got your wish, then. You’re about to have a

patient whose health affects the whole world.” Evyn paused. “Does

that make the job harder?”

“No,” Wes said instantly. “If and when the time comes he’s my

patient—and hopefully that day never comes—I’ll be taking care of

Andrew Powell, not the president.”

“His office doesn’t intimidate you?”

“No, but Lucinda Washburn does,” Wes said, laughing.

“You and everyone else.” Evyn grinned.

“What about you? You said you always knew what you wanted to

do?” For a few seconds, Wes thought Evyn wouldn’t answer. Sometimes

Evyn’s face closed so quickly it was like watching shutters slam against

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a window in a storm. Then Evyn’s posture relaxed and she smiled, and

the shutters opened once again and sunlight streamed through. “Well,

come on. In my family? Like there was really anything else to consider.

Don’t we all want to grow up like our heroes?”

“So who was yours?”

“Oh, my father, no question. He’s big and blustery and solid and

brave. I didn’t get to be big, but I hope…” Even in the dim candlelight,

her blush was apparent. “Never mind.”

“You hope you’re solid and brave?”

“Geez, forget I said that, will you?”

“I’ll pretend I’ve forgotten, if you’d like.”

“Okay,” Evyn said, blowing out a breath. “Change of subject.”

“Fair enough.”

“So…what about…besides your mother and grandmother and

sisters. Anyone else…close?”

“My grandmother passed on at the grand old age of ninety-six,”

Wes said, sorting through the obscure question and deciding Evyn was

asking whether she was single or not. While trying to formulate an

answer, she was saved by her phone signaling a text message. At this

hour, it had to be important. “Excuse me.”

She fished her phone out of her pocket and checked the message.

“Someone keeps late hours. I’ve just been informed by the duty officer

at the House to report at zero eight hundred tomorrow.”

“WST.”

“I’m sorry?” Wes shoved her phone back in her pocket.

“Washburn Standard Time. Which means pretty much any time.”

“Well, I guess I’m going to get the last of my security clearance

taken care of.”

“Formality. You wouldn’t be here if there was any question.” Evyn