I could be wrong.
Then again, this is exactly what I asked for, right? What, he’s supposed to hug me good morning in front of a bunch of our nation’s highest-ranking military and NatSec officials?
Maybe twenty minutes later, Elliot doesn’t take his focus off the monitors, but he reaches behind him and motions to me.
Silently, I step in, lean close, and he holds his travel mug up to me. “Mocha, please. Strong.”
“Yes, Mister Vice President,” I whisper. I take the mug from him and quickly depart the room. That coffee I can’t get in the SitRoom from the provided dispenser they have on hand. I have to go up to his office, where he has his own Keurig, and I keep a supply of his favorite pods.
I don’t know if he’s doing that because he’s worried about what might happen soon, or because he really needs the caffeine.
Maybe a combination of both.
But I also notice Leo doesn’t so much as look my way during the exchange. When I glance back, he’s still staring at the monitors.
Okay, then.
After I return—and the helos are still en route to their target—Leo doesn’t look my way, even though now I’m actively trying to catch his eye.
Hell, I do everything but clear my throat and start waving at him.
This feels…odd.
Tense.
Wrong.
Yes, it’s a little self-centered of me to be worried about it right now, but it’s not like I have another job to do.
Thisismy job.
It’s Leo’s job, too. He’s not in the military. There’s no reason we can’t stand there and stare at each other.
At least he could’ve acknowledged my presence.
The helos land twenty minutes later, but the team needs to move in over ground to keep their arrival from being detected. The helos will move in and exfil the team once they’ve completed the mission. I missed if these are SEALs or what, but I’ll be the first to admit my military knowledge is sorely lacking. The only reason I can remember it’s Marines who stand at the White House doors and who man the chopper is because it’s calledMarine One—orTwo, if it’s flying Elliot.
Duh.
Yeah, see,thisis why I know damn well I’m not capable of being Elliot’s chief of staff. Which is also a staffing decision that’ll have to be made farther along in the campaign.
My nerves draw tauter as the feeds switch from the helos to helmet cams from several of the soldiers. The tension in the room grows thicker with each passing moment. Shae and Elliot ask few questions, apparently understanding exactly what’s going on and not wanting to miss a single thing.
I nudge my glasses up on my nose and glance at Leo.
He’s still watching the monitors, now leaning one shoulder against the wall and standing with his arms crossed over his chest. That means I can’t even catch his eye, because he’s facing the monitors.
Ten minutes later, the teams come up on what looks like a small compound at the base of a rocky hill. It’s surrounded by a concrete wall maybe ten feet tall, with a closed gate. There’s an armed man standing at the gate, but he’s looking at a cell phone, maybe playing a game on it.
The soldiers split off into three teams at different positions before they stop and drop, still several hundred yards away. Then I notice that one of the helmet cam feeds is still moving. Looks like at least two soldiers have peeled off from the others and are going somewhere else.
Then I realize it’s a sniper team.
The other soldiers wait in their positions while the snipers keep moving. Finally, they set up, and it looks like they’re maybe on the other side of the compound from the rest of the troops.
I only see two members of the sniper team—the spotter, who’s wearing the helmet cam, and the other, who’s the sniper. The sniper sets up while the spotter takes measurements and speaks in a calm, flat whisper. Then the sniper takes aim and the spotter gives him another set of measurements, followed by a pause.
“Send it.”
