“I wish I was. He’s a moron. He may be all tan with good hair, good looks and white teeth, but there’s nothing going on behind his blue eyes. Trust me. I’m amazed he knows where he is half the time. Remember when he couldn’t remember his own senator during the televised debate?”
“Who doesn’t? It was one of those moments that gave comedians fodder for a week.”
“Yeah, that’s not even the dumbest thing I’ve heard come out of his mouth. But he’s our President. God help us all.”
Once Murphy finished talking with the Special Agent in Charge of Oklahoma City, she quickly realized the Dallas agent was probably being kind.
“I sat there, giving my first briefing about the race riot in Oklahoma City after the police officer was acquitted.” The agent was referring to a national case where a police officer in Oklahoma City had shot an unarmed Black eight-year-old boy in the back. The White officer’s only defense was, “I felt threatened.” It had been the first major political shit show of the Barnes Administration. “President Barnes informed me, and I quote, ‘I thought all that prejudice stuff was over.’ I sat there, stupefied. I’m an openly gay conservative FBI agent. I was like,what the fuck?”
“What did you say?”
“I informed him that all forms of prejudice were still alive and well in our country, and this verdict showed the ideological and racial divisions that ran deep in some Southern states. Amin called me up after that briefing and threatened to have me fired if I ever said something like that again in the President’s presence.”
Murphy hadn’t been sure how to respond to that revelation. “Is he naïve or just woefully ignorant?”
“I think the sky in his personal world is full of rainbows—not the gay kind, mind you—and puppy dogs and dancing theme park characters. And I voted for him and will probably do it again in the next election.”
“How can you support him knowing what you know?” The words had been out of Murphy’s mouth before she could stop them.
“Better him than the other guy in the last election. Besides, he’s a figurehead. I’m not worried about him making any of the decisions. Everyone in DC knows the White House is run by Sepi Amin and the First Lady. Now, if you want to meet a woman with a scary high IQ and ambition to match it, talk to Cleo Barnes. She’s the real puppet master. Actually,don’ttalk to her. She comes off all down-homey and Southern sweet with her Kentucky-schtick, but that woman is the genuine power in that couple. And the best part is, her husband doesn’t have a clue. If you ever get a call from her office, don’t respond. Call the Director and let his office know.”
“Why?” Murphy had asked.
“Because she’s downright scary. She’s all smiles and Holly Homemaker for the American Press, but nothing in the White House happens without her knowledge and approval.”
“I hate my job,” Murphy muttered.
“Trust me, I get it,” the OKC Agent in Charge responded. “None of us get into the FBI hoping to claw our way up to the top politically. Sadly, some of us rise. We’re just doing our job to the best of our abilities, and then bam, you’re in a position of power, and the DC vultures circle.”
Murphy finished typing the revised memo for the President explaining what the FBI and other agencies had pooled together about the active shooting incident in the arena. She’d been warned not to use the phrases ‘domestic terrorists’ or ‘far-right German party’ because it would hurt the President’s feelings. Her first draft of the revised report had simply stated, “Bad guys killed other bad guys. Good guys are clueless,” but she had deleted the sentences and followed a more traditional report format, even if it was dumbed down to the best of her ability.
The rapping sound on her office door frame startled her. She turned to her left to see who it was. Agent Harper stood at the door, his forehead wrinkled.
“That bad?” he asked.
“You have no idea. I’ve been on the phone with OKC and Dallas getting read-in on navigating the political trappings of this position.”
“Ouch! I’d rather be in a firefight in the Sudan than dodging DC’s political snipers.”
“Some days I’d have to agree with you.” Murphy finally pressed send and sat back in her chair.
“How are things with the arena?” Harper asked after a moment of silence. “Anything I can do to help?”
“We’re just waiting for more information,” she replied. “At least the shooters are all dead, so we don’t have to hunt them down. It’s just a matter of sifting through all the evidence now.”
“Well, if you need me for anything, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, Harper,” she said, offering him a small smile.
As Harper left the room, Murphy leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at her computer screen. She was left with a lot to ponder—political intrigues, presidential ignorance and the puppet strings that were pulled by the First Lady. All these factors made the already grueling work of handling crisis situations even more difficult. The politics of it all seemed more challenging than the actual crisis management. She hoped she was up for the task.
* * * *
Blayne
Blayne’s first instinct was to turn around. Still, he had a sneaking suspicion he’d be dead, or at least knocked out, if he tried, and he had no desire to deal with either of those situations today.
“Who are you?” He stopped in his tracks as he asked the question.
