Of delivering death in the calm, flat tone of a spotter calling the shot for a sniper.
Of plugging in coordinates and giving the order to send a rocket and watching the results on an infrared video screen that sterilizes the splatter of blood and guts as people’s bodies and lives and dreams evaporate in a flash of explosives and shrapnel.
No. Not my sweet, perfect boy. Nofuckingway.
Never.
His soul is too good, too pure.
Too innocent.
There is no world in existence where I’d ever want Jordan forced to deal with that kind of experience, either.
Fortunately, for the rest of his life he’ll always be protected by a ring of Secret Service agents by default, because he’ll be with me or Leo, so I won’t have to worry about his safety.
* * *
Monday afternoon,I’m in a meeting when Casey-Marie knocks on the inner Oval door before opening it without awaiting my response.
“Mister President, I need to speak with you for a moment.” I don’t like the expression she’s wearing, her tightly pursed lips and the tense set of her jaw.
This can’t be good because that expression never is. Not to mention she didn’t wait for a response to open the door after knocking.
I speak to the two econ policy wonks briefing me. “Give us the room, please. We’ll continue this at another time.”
“Thank you, Mister President,” they say in unison.
It’s annoying.
Why the hell did I want this job?
Oh, yeah.
Because I’m a fricking idiot.
They rise from the sofa opposite me, quickly collecting their things as Casey-Marie steps into the Oval and closes the door behind her. Once the two wonks have departed via the main door, closing it, Casey-Marie settles on the sofa across from me, where the wonks were just sitting. She leans forward, her hands clasped together, and fixes me with a firm gaze.
“Elliot, I need you to remain calm.”
Fear fills me. My detail hasn’t crashed the White House or scooped me up and dropped me into the PEOC but I know this can’t be good. “What happened?”
“Leo’sfine, but—”
My heart takes off, racing. “Whathappened! Is Jordan okay?”
“George just called me. He’s at the townhouse, and—”
“Wait. George, as inyourGeorge?”
“Yes, and—”
“Why is George at the townhouse?”
“Because Jordan called him and Kev, and—”
“Whydid Jordan call George and Kev?”
She gives me “the look,” which silences me immediately. “Elliot,” she sternly scolds. “Stop panicking, for fuck’s sake! I can tell you the story alotfaster if you’d let me get a complete sentence out.”
