Chapter Three

“My brother Bob doesn’t want to be in government—he promised Dad he’d go straight.” John F. Kennedy

“Finally, thank you all for helping me celebrate my birthday today.”

Gideon clapped along with the rest of them as President Coffell stepped down from the podium. This close, Harry looked younger than his forty-five years. Plastic surgery, Gideon presumed. He was dressed in his usual business-casual attire of khaki slacks and a white polo shirt.

Gideon supposed he could put the lack of change down to good genes; Harry’s father had never looked older than fifty. Probably still didn’t, though no one had seen him in more than ten years. He was closeted away somewhere in a private hospital, and, if the rumors were true, he was totally unaware of anything going on around him. He must be close to ninety by now.

Gideon shifted the weight from his left foot. His leg was beginning to ache, and he rubbed at his thigh. He’d taken a piece of shrapnel there five years ago, at the same time he’d gotten the scar on his face, and it still gave him problems.

How long until he could leave? Too long, at a guess.

Christ, had he actually enjoyed these events in the past? It seemed inconceivable. However, if he wanted his life back, he was going to have to suck it up and look like he belonged. Act like he belonged. And maybe if he did it long enough, he might actually feel like he belonged.

The problem was, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

When he’d first come home, he’d thought he would slide right back into the life he’d had before. Back then, he’d been fascinated by politics. He’d never believed the system was perfect, but that just made him want to be involved all the more. Growing up, he’d spent a lot of time at the White House and had been a favorite of the old president, who’d been a friend of his father’s.

Gideon had fully expected to devote his life to the Party. Had maybe even harbored secret dreams that one day, when martial law was removed and the democratic process resumed, he might run for president and lead his country to even greater things. With Stella at his side. She’d been so perfect.

And things under Harry Senior hadn’t been so bad. At that point, the rest of the world had been in chaos. The European Union had fallen apart, and Russia was at war with the Middle East, a war which threatened to engulf the rest of the world. America needed a strong president if the nation was to survive.

When his first term was up, Harry Senior had claimed that the country wasn’t ready for a democratic process, that they needed more time for his policies to bear fruit. For the traitors in their midst to be weeded out. Soon after that, the Wall had gone up. They’d started with the Mexican border. Much of it had been built with volunteer labor, by people who believed. When Gideon was eleven, his father had taken him and Aaron to visit the Wall—it had seemed a wonderful endeavor, twenty feet high and stretching as far as the eye could see.

That wasn’t the only wall, though. A firewall that blocked all incoming wireless signals had been put up around the country. America was cut off—a temporary measure, they were told, to stop enemy propaganda from infiltrating what they were trying to rebuild. It meant that all news was filtered through the government and that, from that moment on, the American people had no way of knowing what was going on in the outside world. Or within the country, for that matter, since all unnecessary travel was banned. Again, a temporary measure that had never been revoked.

But everyday life hadn’t been too bad, and they’d been assured a return to democracy was coming soon.

Then it had all changed in a moment. Well, maybe not a moment. Twelve years ago, for health reasons, Harry Senior finally stepped down as president. The promised elections had been halted until the country was more stable, and Harry Junior, as vice president, had stepped into his father’s shoes.

There had been changes, subtle at first.

Gideon had presumed that Harry was just feeling his way, testing his new powers, but he was sure he’d settle down. Become the great man his father had been.

Because Gideon had believed in the Party, believed that they were doing what was needed for the good of the people. Hell, he’d even believed in God, and that God was on the side of America. When he looked back on that life, it didn’t seem like it belonged to him; he’d been so fucking naive.

Then, within two years of Harry Junior becoming president, Gideon’s brother, Aaron, had done his vanishing act, their father had taken his own life, and Gideon had been given the choice of taking the same way out or joining the army.

He’d joined the army.

Any surviving beliefs had been wiped away on the first battlefield, where he’d watched his men ripped apart by an enemy with weapons far more advanced than theirs. But then, the decline of scientific advancement was an unfortunate side effect of the Wall. It limited the sharing of information and ideas. The country had relied on the might of American innovation to carry them forward. Unfortunately, it hadn’t carried them as far as they’d hoped.

All the same, he loved his country. Wanted to help make it a better place. But now the glittering life of the White House was strangely tarnished.

He swallowed his champagne in one gulp. He supposed it shouldn’t really be called champagne, but “domestically produced sparkling wine” was too much of a mouthful. He grabbed another glass from a passing waiter and wished for some whiskey.

The room was crowded. Anyone and everyone had clamored for an invitation to the party of the year. Plus, there were a large number of security agents. More than he remembered from the past. Men in the black uniforms of the president’s personal bodyguards—selected from the elite of the Secret Service—stood at the doors, while others mingled with the crowd. There was even a sniper on the second-floor interior balcony, covering the room.

Either Harry was paranoid, or there was an elevated threat level. If so, no one had told Gideon about it. That was hardly surprising; he suspected that no one, with maybe the exception of Harry himself, actually wanted him there.

But he wanted answers, and this was where he would find them.

Once he had those answers, then…

Who knew? Though revenge wasn’t the solution.

Most of the time he believed that.

He scanned the room and caught sight of Stella speaking into a phone, a smile on her face. She was a beautiful woman, but looking at her now, he felt absolutely nothing. Hard to imagine he’d once considered spending his life with her. In the end, it had been easy to walk away. He hadn’t really loved her, and she hadn’t loved him. They’d just been using each other. The perfect match.

She glanced up and caught his gaze, then smiled and headed over. “I was just talking to my sister,” she said. “She was surprised to see you here.”

He’d forgotten she even had a sister. “I get that a lot.”

Stella grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Hmm. Come to think about it, you’re both single. Perhaps you should look her up.”

“I don’t think I’m the type you want your sister going out with anymore.”

She contemplated him, head cocked on one side. “No, you don’t look the type someone would introduce to their baby sister. You’ve changed. I suppose ten years on the front line will do that.” Sympathy flashed in her eyes. “I’m sorry for the way things turned out. For your father.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” That was never going to happen, but he could pretend.

“And you’re back and in favor.” She grinned. “Honestly, think about my sister. Kate is a total geek. She could do with a dangerous man to bring her out of herself, and you could do with a respectable woman to help you settle in.”

Is that how she saw him? Dangerous? But he wasn’t interested. These days, he kept his relationships brief. Like one night brief. He was a goddamn hero—it was easy to get a woman when he needed one. “I don’t do respectable women.”

Her eyes widened, and she swallowed, blew out her breath. “Oh well, it’s probably for the best.”

Yeah, it was. “Tell me,” he said. “Is the security here normal?”

She looked around and her brows drew together. “There does seem to be a big presence. Since the democracy speech, Harry has been getting a little paranoid. I suppose it goes with the territory.” Her frown deepened and some dark emotion that he couldn’t identify flashed through her eyes. He followed her gaze and found her attention on the president. “Looks like he’s heading this way,” she said. “I’ll leave you to him and go have a talk with your boss. He’ll know if there’s anything going on.” She took a step closer, reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m pleased you’re back.”

She sounded genuine.

Harry was making the rounds, shaking hands and smiling as he headed this way. Gideon wasn’t sure whether he would be acknowledged, but the president halted in front of him. He was flanked by two Secret Service officers, dressed in their black uniforms. Harry’s army, as they were known within the service.

He took the proffered hand. Harry’s grip was firm, and his smile was sparkling. Good dental work.

“Happy birthday, sir,” he said.

“Thank you. I’m glad you could make it.”

“I was grateful for the invitation, Mr. President.”

“We must all practice forgiveness.”

He could feel his muscles tightening. He’d done nothing that needed fucking forgiving. Neither had his father. For a second, he felt an echo of the dark anger that had been his companion for the first few years after his father’s death. He pushed it down and forced a smile. “Thank you, sir. I appreciated the chance to come home.”

“You’re a hero now, Gideon. You saved America from invasion. The people love you. We need heroes at a time like this.”

Defending a breach in the Wall by himself had been a serious test of his skills, but that hardly made him a hero. And a time like what? He’d seen the polls. There was a good chance that Harry would keep his position when—or maybe if—it came to an election. “Your approval ratings are higher than ever, sir.”

“Maybe,” the man mused. “But I’ve been feeling lately that they don’t appreciate me. That needs to change.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I must go now, but we’ll talk again.” Harry smiled and patted Gideon on the shoulder, and his guards stiffened at the contact. Christ, they were jumpy.

Gideon watched as the group walked away. Harry had always needed constant approval. It came from growing up in his father’s shadow; Harry Senior had been larger than life and an impossible act to follow. Charismatic. People loved him and would follow him anywhere. No doubt his son had always believed he was second-best.

Trouble was, he was right.