Shadow Command

the history in this place is so strong you can feel it. The Treaty Room has been used as a Cabinet meeting room, reception and waiting room, and as the President’s study. It’s historically been the place in the White House where the real political business gets done, even more so than the Oval Office.”

“I’ve had a few informal meetings in here, but mostly the staff uses it.”

“The staff is usually too busy to appreciate the energy that flows through this room, Joe,” Barbeau said. “You should take the time to sense it.” With her arms still outstretched, she closed her eyes. “Imagine: Ulysses S. Grant conducting his half-drunken Cabinet meetings here, followed by a card game and arm-wrestling matches with his friends; Teddy Roosevelt nailing animal hides to the walls; Kennedy signing the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty here, then days later seducing Marilyn Monroe in the same place, right down the hall from where his wife and children slept.”

Gardner stepped behind her and lightly put his hands on her waist. “I never heard that story before, Stacy.”

She took his hands and pulled them around her waist, drawing him closer. “I just made that last one up, Joe,” she said in a whisper, so quiet that he moved his cheek to hers and pulled her tightly to him to hear. “But I’ll bet it happened. And who knows what a man like Kevin Martindale did in here after his divorce — the divorce that should have wrecked his political career but only enhanced it — with all his Hollywood starlets flitting in and out of here all the time at all hours?” She took his hands, swirled them around her belly, then took his fingers and gently lifted them to her breasts, encircling her nipples. She could feel his body stiffen and could practically hear his mind whirring as he tried to decide what to do about her sudden advance. “He probably had a different bitch in here every night of the year.”

“Stacy…” She could feel Gardner’s breath on her neck, his hands gently caressing her breasts, barely touching…

Barbeau whirled around toward him and roughly pushed him away. “Martindale was an imbecile, Joe, but he spent two terms as president and two terms as vice president and became a damned fixture in the White House — and he got to fuck Hollywood starlets in here! What are you going to do to beat that, Joe?”

Gardner was frozen in shock. “What the hell is wrong with you, Stacy?” he finally managed to blurt out.

“What is it you want, Mr. President?” Barbeau asked loudly. “What is your game plan? Why are you here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re the President of the United States of America. You live in the White House…but you’ve only used three bathrooms? You don’t know what’s been done in this room, this house, the enormous history of this place? You have a three-star general under your command that has twice the voter approval rating you do, with a heart condition no less, and he’s still in uniform? There’s a space station orbiting the planet that you don’t want and it’s still up there? You have a woman in your arms but you touch her like some sweaty lovestruck adolescent on his first date trying to get to second base? Maybe all you really did with Maureen Hershel is ‘business,’ is that it?”

Gardner was flustered, then angry, then indignant. “Listen, Senator, this is no damned game. You’re hot as hell, but I came here to discuss business.”

“You’ve been honest with me since I called you for this meeting, Joe — don’t fucking lie to me now,” Barbeau snapped, taking one step away from him and letting her green eyes bore into him. Her sudden change in persona, from seductress to barracuda, startled him. “I didn’t have to threaten you to invite me to the residence; I didn’t drag you down that hallway and into this room. We’re not children here. We’re talking about joining forces to get an important job done, even if it means siding with the Russians and ruining a distinguished military career. What did you think we’d do — shake hands on it? Sign a contract? Cross our hearts and hope to die? Not on your life. Now, if you don’t want to do this, you let me know right now, and we’ll both go back to our offices and responsibilities and forget this meeting ever took place.”

“What is this shit—?”

“Don’t give me the innocent-waif routine either, Gardner. I know this is the way politics is played in Louisiana — don’t tell me you’ve never played it like this in Florida or Washington. We’re going to do it, right here, right now, or you can just tuck your tail between your legs and crawl back to your nice safe cozy apartment down the hall. What’s it going to be?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed, shook her head, and tried to step around him…

…but when she felt his arm across her chest and his hand on her breast, she knew she had him. He pulled her close, grasped her behind the head with his other hand, and pulled her lips to his, kissing her deeply, roughly. She returned the kiss just as forcibly, her hand finding his crotch, massaging him impatiently. Their lips parted, and she smiled at him confidently, assuredly. “That’s not going to be enough, Mr. President, and you know it,” she said. She smiled at his quizzical expression, darkly this time, confidently, and his mouth opened when he realized what she meant, what she wanted. “Well?”

He scowled at her, then moved his hands back to her breasts, then to her shoulders, pushing her down. “Let’s seal the deal, Senator,” he said, leaning back against the Grant conference table, steadying himself.

“Good boy. Get over here.” She dropped to her knees and quickly began to undo his belt and pants. “My, my, look what we have here. Are you sure you don’t have a little coonass in you, Mr. President?” He didn’t reply as she began her vigorous, rhythmic ministrations.

CHAPTER FOUR

A man who has to be convinced to act before he acts is not a man of action…. You must act as you breathe.

— GEORGE CLEMENCEAU

ABOARD ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION

THE NEXT MORNING, EAST COAST TIME

“Joining us live from Armstrong Space Station, orbiting two hundred some odd miles above Earth, is a man that needs no introduction: Air Force Lieutenant General Patrick McLanahan,” the cable news morning show host began. “General, thanks for joining us today. The question everyone wants an answer to, of course, is: How are you, sir?”

There was a second or two delay because of the satellite relay, but Patrick was accustomed to waiting those few seconds to make sure he wasn’t talking over the host. “It’s nice to be with you, Megyn,” Patrick responded. He was Velcroed as usual to the station commander’s console, wearing his trademark black flight suit with black insignia. “Thanks for having me on the show again. I’m doing fine, thank you. I feel pretty good.”

“All of America is relieved to see you up and around, General. Have they determined what exactly happened?”

“According to Navy Captain George Summers at Walter Reed National Medical Center, who reviewed all my tests remotely from up here, it’s called long-QT syndrome, Megyn,” Patrick replied. “That’s an infrequent prolongation of the electrical activation and inactivation of the heart’s ventricles, caused by stress or shock. Apparently, other than eyesight, it’s one of the most common disqualifying conditions in the astronaut corps.”

“So you’ve been disqualified from flying ever again?”

“Well, I hope I won’t be,” Patrick said. “Officially I’m not really an astronaut in the conventional sense. I’m hoping that the docs will determine that incapacitation due to long-QT syndrome is most likely to occur just while traveling in space and won’t stop me from all other flying activities.”

“You do have a history of heart disease, is that correct?”

“My dad did die of heart problems, yes,” Patrick replied somberly. “Dad suffered from what they used to call ‘heart flutters’ and was treated for anxiety and stress. Long-QT is hereditary. Apparently in my dad’s case it was the police department and running a family business that triggered it; in my case, it was flying in space.”

“And he died around the same age as you are now?”

A cloud passed briefly over Patrick’s face that was clearly visible to millions of viewers around the world.