Shadow Command

I certainly hope you don’t see me as an adversary, Joe. I’m anything but. I have been an admirer of yours for years, as was my father. Your political skills are exceeded only by your intelligence, charm, and true dedication to the service of the nation.”

“Thank you, Stacy.” He let his eyes drift across Barbeau’s body as she took another sip. Even as it appeared that she was concentrating on enjoying her drink, she noticed he was looking her over…again. “I knew your father when we were in the Senate together. He was one powerful man, very strong-willed and passionate in his pursuits.”

“He counted you among his most trusted friends, even though you and he were on opposite sides of the political and ideological aisle then,” Barbeau said. “After I was elected to the Senate, he often reminded me that if I wanted some straight talk from the other side, I shouldn’t hesitate to come to you.” She paused, adopting a rather wistful expression. “I wish he was still here now. I could use his strength and wisdom. I love him so much.”

“He was a fighter. A tough opponent. You knew where he stood and he wasn’t afraid to tell you. He was one hell of a man.”

Barbeau put her hand on Gardner’s and pressed it. “Thank you, Joe. You’re a sweet man.” She took an instant to look at him deeply, then let her lips part slightly. “You…look very much like I remember him in his younger, more fiery years, Joe. We had a dining room very much like this in Shreveport, and we used to spend endless hours together, just like this. I wanted to talk politics and he wanted to find out about who I was dating.”

“Daddies and daughters always stay close, eh?”

“He made me tell him my most intimate secrets,” she said, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “I couldn’t deny him anything. He made me tell him everything — and I was a very naughty girl growing up. I dated all the politicians’ boys. I wanted to learn everything about politics: strategies, planning, fund-raising, candidates, issues, alliances. They wanted…” She paused, giving him another sly smile and a bat of her eyes. “…well, you know what they wanted.” Gardner swallowed hard as he imagined what they got from her. “It was a mutually beneficial relationship. Sometimes I think my daddy set me up on some of those dates just so I could be his spy — the Cajun political version of turning your daughter out, I suppose.”

Gardner chuckled, and unconsciously let his eyes roam her body again, and this time Barbeau allowed herself to show that she noticed, smiled, and blushed — she was one of those women who could blush anytime, anywhere, in any situation, at will. He sat back in his chair, wanting to get this meeting under way so they could concentrate on other things, if the opportunity presented itself. “So, Stacy, we both know the issue before us. Where does the White House stand with the Armed Services Committee? Are we going to have a fight over the military budget, or can we come to an agreement and form a united front?”

“Unfortunately we’re more confused than ever, I’m afraid, Joe,” Barbeau replied. She took her hand away, watching a sudden pang of loss cloud his face. “This is all confidential, Mr. President?”

“Of course.” He touched her hand, and her eyes fluttered. “On both sides. Strictly confidential.”

“My lips are sealed.” Barbeau smiled, then put her red lips together, made a locking motion with her long fingers, and tucked the invisible key in the ample cleavage between her breasts. Gardner took that as open permission to look at her chest this time, and he did so liberally. “The committee is in an uproar, Joe. They’re concerned about General McLanahan’s health and well-being, of course. Have you heard anything more about him?”

“Not much. The doctors originally told me not to expect him back to duty for several months. Some kind of heart thing.”

That jibed with what her sources at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center told her, she thought — so far, Gardner wasn’t lying to her. That was a good sign. “For such a strong young man to be suddenly rendered unconscious like that, the stresses of living on that space station and making repeated trips back and forth in the Black Stallion spaceplane must be enormous, far more than anyone could have possibly anticipated.”

“McLanahan’s a tough guy, but you’re right — although he is over fifty and has a family history of heart disease, he was incredibly fit. Shuttle astronauts usually get several days between liftoff and re-entry — McLanahan has taken five round-trips to the space station in the past four weeks. That’s unprecedented, but for the past few months it’s been the norm. We’re restricting travel to the space station and are in the process of doing extensive physicals on everyone involved. We need answers as to what’s happened.”

“But that’s exactly my point, Joe. McLanahan is tough and strong, especially for a middle-aged man, and he’s a combat veteran and national military figure — my God, he’s a hero! — who I’m sure gets regular fitness checkups. Yet he was still incapacitated and God knows what sort of injury he has sustained. It calls into question the safety and utility of the proposed military space plan. For heaven’s sake, Joe, why are we risking good men on such a project? I grant you it’s modern and exotic and exciting, but it’s technology that just hasn’t been perfected and probably won’t be for another ten years — not to mention the fact that it’s four-fifths fewer aircraft and one-tenth the payload for the same money. If a strong guy like General McLanahan is knocked senseless by flying the thing, is it safe for other crewmembers?”

“What does the committee think, Stacy?”

“It’s simple and logical, Joe,” Barbeau said. “It’s not about impressing the folks with global Internet access or half-meter resolution photographs of everyone’s backyards — it’s about creating value and benefit for our country’s defense. As far as I can see, the spaceplanes benefit only the handful of contractors assigned to the project, namely Sky Masters and their subcompanies. We have a dozen different space booster systems with proven track records that can do a better job than the Black Stallion.” She rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Joe, who else is McLanahan in bed with?”

“Certainly not Maureen Hershel anymore,” Gardner chuckled.

Barbeau rolled her eyes in dramatized disbelief. “Oh, that dreadful woman — I’ll never understand why President Martindale chose her of all people to be his Vice President,” Barbeau retorted. She looked inquisitively, then playfully at Gardner over the rim of her glass, then asked, “Or was the cold-fish routine just for public consumption, Joe?”

“We became close friends because of the demands of the job, Stacy, just business. All the rumors floating around about us are completely bogus.”

Now he was lying, Barbeau thought, but she expected nothing less than a complete and outright denial. “I completely understand how the working conditions in Washington thrust two people together, especially ones who seem complete opposites,” Barbeau said. “Combine power politics with a brewing war in the Middle East and long nights attending briefings and planning sessions, and sparks can fly.”

“Not to mention McLanahan was obviously not getting business done back at home,” Gardner added. They both laughed, and Gardner used that opportunity to clasp Barbeau’s hand again. “He was too busy playing space cadet to pay any attention to her.” He affixed Barbeau with a deep, serious stare. “Look, Stacy, let’s get right down to it, okay? I know what you want — you’ve been lobbying for it since you set foot inside the Beltway. With most of the rest of the Air Force bomber bases destroyed by the Russians in the ’04 Holocaust nuclear attacks, Barksdale Air Force Base is the natural home for a new long-range bomber fleet—”

“If the Pentagon doesn’t keep on dumping money into that dust-bowl desert base in Battle Mountain, black programs in Dreamland — another Nevada base that mostly falls outside congressional oversight, I might point out — or the space station.”

“It’s no secret McLanahan’s stock rose to all-time highs after his actions in the counterattacks against Russia,” Gardner said, “and his pet projects were the unmanned bombers at Battle Mountain, his high-tech laser gizmos at Dreamland, and now the space station. It gave Martindale something to point at and brag to the American people that he devised and supported—”

“Even though President Thomas Thorn was the one who authorized their construction, not Martindale,” Barbeau pointed out.

“Unfortunately, President Thorn will always and forever be known as the president who allowed the Russians to pull off a sneak attack against the United States that killed thirty thousand men, women, and children and injured another quarter million,” Gardner said. “It won’t matter that he was just as interested in high-tech toys as Martindale: Thorn will always be thought of as the weaker president.

“But the question is, what do we think is in the best interest of the American people and national defense, Stacy — these fancy spaceplanes that can’t carry as much as the Secret Service’s Suburbans, or proven technology