July 9th, 7:57 a.m.
“Please show him in, Courtney.” President James Conklin hung up the phone and continued his conversation with his White House Chief of Staff, Peter Whittaker.
Peter Whittaker was a short, lean man in his late forties. His black hair was parted on the left side. A thin mustache lay beneath his long, narrow nose. His eyes were small and close together. When he spoke, he had a very distinct Ivy League accent, having grown up in Massachusetts. His words were always carefully chosen. The President had tapped Whittaker to be his chief of staff, because of his attention to detail. Nothing made it to the President without Whittaker’s knowledge. The President respected and trusted Whittaker and allowed him a great deal of latitude in all things related to the Presidency.
“Are you absolutely sure about this, Mr. President.” Whittaker sat in a chair across from the President’s desk in the Oval Office, his legs crossed. “We know nothing about him.”
“The events of this past week have made it perfectly clear to me that we need a man with his talents.” The President spun his chair a quarter-turn and stared into the distance. “This war on terror has been no war at all. The terrorists attack and we go on the defensive. In the military, if you’re not advancing, then you’re retreating. We must go on the offensive. We must act swiftly and we must act now!” The President pounded his fist on the desk.
The door to Oval Office opened. A young woman appeared and held the door open. A moment later, Aaron Hardy walked into the Oval Office, wearing a gray suit, white shirt and a red tie. A handkerchief in his left breast pocket matched the color of his tie, which was held in place by a gold clip. A collar bar under the knot of the tie drew the points of his shirt collar closer together. Striding across the room, his black shoes were without blemish.
The President stood and met Hardy halfway. The two men shook hands in front of the couch, standing on the rug, emblazoned with the seal of the President of the United States. Whittaker stood behind the President.
“It’s a pleasure to you meet you, Aaron. May I call you Aaron?”
“Of course, Mr. President,” replied Hardy. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
The President extended his arm toward Whittaker. “This is my Chief of Staff, Peter Whittaker. I’ve asked him to join us for this meeting.”
Whittaker stepped forward and shook Hardy’s hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Hardy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whittaker.”
“Please, sit down.” The President motioned Hardy toward the couch, while Whittaker sat on the opposite end of the couch. Across from Hardy, the President sat in a wooden straight back chair with leather trim, and crossed his legs.
The commander in chief clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap. “First of all, let me say how truly sorry I am for your loss. I want you to know I personally read the file of every member of your team. Those were fine American patriots. I wish I could have attended the memorial service, but I didn’t want my presence to disrupt the service and take away from the grieving family members.”
Hardy nodded his head. “I understand, sir. Thank you for everything you did to clear their service records.”
The President waved his hand. “It was the least I could do.”
Hardy was waiting for the President to get to the reason for the meeting. As busy as the President was, a face-to-face meeting to extend condolences was a little odd. Ever since Hardy had gotten the call from his secretary, Courtney, arranging the meeting, Hardy questioned what was going to take place. He did not have to wait long to find out.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked to meet with you. So, I’m going to get right to the point. The war on terror isn’t going exactly as I had planned. During the first two years of my presidency, I have been bogged down in bureaucratic bullsh—” the President stopped. “Pardon me—bureaucratic red tape.”
Hardy smiled. That’s getting to the point, all right.
“Members of Congress are afraid of offending…well…everyone these days, but especially the Muslim population. It’s precisely because of this political correctness that I haven’t been able to gain any traction in this war. I campaigned on a tough-on-crime/national security platform and I plan to keep the promise I made to those who elected me.” The President uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair.
Without realizing it, Hardy leaned forward and mirrored the President’s posture.
The President pointed at Hardy. “That is where you come in, Aaron. I’ve read your service record and I’ve seen what you’re capable of, both abroad and on American soil. Your actions last week, helping bring Senator Hastings and The Tucker Group to justice were icing on the cake, if you will.” The President paused. “I need a man like you. This country needs a man like you. A man who’s not afraid to take action and do whatever is necessary to get the job done…to take the fight to the terrorists.” The President leaned back in his chair. “So, what do you say? I’m offering you a job, putting your special skills and talents to work, keeping the American people safe from terrorists around the world.”
Hardy’s eyes widened. He felt his lower jaw hanging open slightly. He quickly shut it and glanced at Whittaker. In one week, Hardy had gone from Special Forces operator, to unsanctioned patriot, to being offered a job by the President of the United States. Before he could say anything, the President leaned forward and continued.
“This would have to be kept top-secret.” He held up his index finger. “You would have one boss,” he pointed his thumb at his chest, “who would report directly to me. At your disposal, you would have all the resources necessary to get the job done…”
Hardy listened to the details of the job. After the President had finished, he fielded questions from Hardy before standing, his body language indicating the meeting was done. “I’m sure you’d like some time to think it over, so take the weekend and contact Courtney on Monday. She’ll put you through to me.” The President held out his hand.
Standing, Hardy did not take the hand. He stared at the Presidential Seal on the rug, his mind replaying everything the President had said. Hardy had been reconciling the things he had done over the past three years, while believing he was doing those things in the service of his country. Was this his chance at redemption, his chance to honor his men? Or, would it be a constant reminder of his deeds? He wanted to put the past behind him and start fresh. He thought of Special Agent Cruz. The time they spent together had been fantastic. He wanted a relationship with her. How would this job offer affect that relationship? While he was mulling over the President’s words, the final blessing the priest gave at the memorial service resounded in his mind—‘Above all, never let the fire of the love within them burn out.’
Hardy raised his head. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t need the weekend to think it over.”
The President’s hand dropped a bit. He had learned that whenever anyone started a sentence with ‘with all due respect’ bad news usually followed.
Hardy grasped the President’s hand and said, “I accept. When do I start?”
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