THE PRESIDENT 2 Page 6

  “Oh,” LaLa said, understanding immediately. Then she frowned. “But I still don’t see why you would need to be in a meeting with her just because of that. I’m sure it was before he hooked up with you.”

  “It was. But . . . there’s a little more to the story.”

  “Like what?”

  Gina didn’t normally tell her business like this, but living in DC and dealing with so much, she felt she had to tell somebody. And besides Dutch, LaLa was really the only person on earth she could talk to about something like this. “She may have been married at the time,” she said.

  “Married at the time of what?” LaLa asked, still confused. Then she understood. “Oh. The president and a married woman? Really? That’s actually surprising.”

  “I know. I guess that’s why it’s so disturbing to me. I would have never believed it if he hadn’t admitted it to me himself. So now I’m wondering what else don’t I know about him?”

  Knocks were heard on the door of the room. “Yes?” Gina called out.

  The door opened and one of the household staff stepped in. “Mrs. Caswell has arrived ma’am,” she said.

  Gina looked at LaLa, this was unexpected, and then she looked back at the aide. “Please notify the president of her arrival,” Gina said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the aide said and stepped back out of the room, closing the door.

  Gina walked over to the sofa. “Didn’t expect her to come before Dutch arrived,” she said as she sat down.

  “I’m saying,” LaLa said, and then stood to leave. “I’d better get away while I can. Go find out what Demps is up to. It could get ugly in here tonight,” she added with a smile as she left.

  Dutch arrived shortly after LaLa’s departure, and as soon as he had come out of the bathroom after freshening up, Jennifer Caswell, escorted by Max Brennan, walked in. Only Jennifer didn’t just walk in, she swept in. Her, the billionaire’s wife, in her mink coat, mink hat, and mink-laced gloves. You’d think she just stepped off of a plane from Siberia the way she was dolled up, Gina thought. And that grand entrance surprised her too. She expected a worried, terrified wife, but instead this woman came across as rather fearless. Beautiful and fearless. Formidable even.

  She walked up to Gina and Dutch, removing her gloves as she came. Her assistant, a tall, thin, nervous-looking young man, close behind her.

  “Hello, Dutch,” she said, handing her gloves to her aide, her narrow blue eyes seemingly fixated on Gina.

  Dutch exhaled. He hated that she was somebody he’d been intimate with, hated that she had to be exposed to his wife. “Hello, Jennifer,” he said. “Say hello to the First Lady.”

  Although Jennifer maintained her fierce look, Gina caught a quick glimpse of storminess within those eyes.

  “Yes, of course,” Jennifer said, extending her hand. “How are you?”

  “I’m very well, thank-you,” Gina replied, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband.”

  “Oh?” she asked. “And what have you heard?”

  “I mean about the kidnapping.”

  “I know what you meant,” Jennifer said in an almost accusatory tone.

  “Why don’t we all just sit down,” Max suggested.

  Jennifer didn’t bulge. “Thank-you, but no,” she said, now turning her full attention to Dutch. “I’m here for answers.”

  “We’re doing everything in our power,” Max assured her, “to secure your husband’s release.”

  “What specifically are you doing, Dutch?” Jennifer asked the president, her blue eyes blazing as she looked into his green ones. And Gina could just feel what she was thinking. Any woman who’d spent time in bed with Dutch and was no longer his woman, had to have regrets.

  “The Defense Secretary,” Max started, “has made it clear---”

  “I’m speaking to the president,” Jennifer made herself clearer. “What are you, Dutch Harber, leader of the free world, doing to secure my husband’s safe return?”

  That was one tough cookie, Gina thought. She was a woman to be reckoned with. And beautiful to boot, with that yesteryear, kickass, Farrah Fawcett vibe going for her. Gina understood Dutch’s attraction to her, and she also understood why he wanted her to be here when they met again. Jennifer Caswell was a force of nature, something to be witnessed to be believed.

  “I’m doing everything that can be done at this point to get all of the hostages released,” Dutch told her.

  “I offered them ten million dollars,” Jennifer said without blinking an eye, “and they said no. They don’t want my husband’s money. They want the release of that prisoner at Guantanamo Bay, that terrorist, and they want him released now, or they will start killing hostages.”

  “We know what their demands are, Jen,” Dutch said. “But what I want to know is why are you negotiating with them outside of the parameters that we’ve set up for all of the hostages? When my administration met with the families, my people made clear that there was to be no outside interference.”

  “Interference, hell, Dutch! They’ve had my husband for six days---”

  What in the world was she talking about, Dutch thought? “What six days?” he asked. “He was captured yesterday---”

  “No, he was not,” Jennifer said. “But see? This is exactly the problem. You, the President of the United States, don’t even know what your own administration is up to. And you can’t say they didn’t know about it because I notified the State Department myself as soon as I got that ransom note. The State Department told me to tell no-one, to sit tight, that they were already working on it.”

  Dutch looked at Max, which caused Gina to look at him too.

  “It’s true,” Max admitted. “I just found out today myself.”

  Dutch frowned. “They why the hell did Gary tell me that cockinbull story about just getting the facts yesterday morning?”

  “Apparently there was a communications glitch from the time Jennifer called, that’s what the secretary told me. He said after Mrs. Caswell phoned, his chief of staff decided to keep it at the aide level until more Intel could be obtained.”

  “So it’s the fault of his chief of staff?”

  “I know,” Max said, agreeing with Dutch. “That’s the secretary trying to save his hide.”

  “I want him in my office as soon as this meeting is over.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did the ransom note say?” Gina asked Jennifer.

  Jennifer looked at her, looked her up and down, in fact, and then looked back at Dutch. “Again,” she said, “what are you going to do to secure my husband’s release?”

  “What did the ransom note say?” Dutch asked her.

  Jennifer almost glanced at Gina to see if she was gloating, but proved too much of a pro to show her hand that easily. “It said that my husband has been captured, and that I was to notify the State Department. If I was to notify any entity other than the State Department, he would be killed. That was six days ago. I requested a meeting with you only after the State Department kept dragging its feet, and then after those students were abducted I began to get seriously concerned. I called Gary; I called the secretary of state, that’s how concerned I was. But when he wouldn’t even return my phone calls, I asked for this meeting with you. Now, again, what are you going to do?”

  “We are not going to release any terrorist,” Dutch said point blank. “I can tell you that right now.”

  “Then here’s what I’m going to do,” Jennifer said. “I am going to hire a group of mercenaries. Your government will allow these men access to Gitmo, where they will take that terrorist my husband’s captors are demanding, and give him to them in exchange for my husband and the other hostages, if they care to release the others.”

  This woman was nuts, Gina thought. She looked at Dutch.

  “You know that’s out of the question, Jennifer,” Dutch said to her.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t speak so fast, Dutch.”

  Dutch stared at her. He once could
n’t get enough of her. Now he couldn’t stand the sight of her. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And here’s the threat: If your administration doesn’t secure my husband’s release, or at least allow me to secure it, I will expose you. And you know what I’m talking about.”

  There was a long hesitation in Dutch, which concerned Gina. Then he spoke. “Do what you have to do,” he told Jennifer.

  “A Family Values president who sleeps with married women could lose his moral authority, especially when I get through with him. And all of those millions of dollars Caswell Industries had planned to give to further all of those Democratic candidates and Democratic causes will go straight to Republican candidates and Republican causes if you drop the ball on this one, Dutch. There may even be cries for your impeachment when all is said and done, if you blow this one.”

  Dutch continued to give her his assessing eye. “Do what you have to do,” he said again.

  “Okay,” she said, retrieving her gloves from her aide. “Don’t take me seriously. But if anything happens to my husband,” she said, putting on her gloves, “your time in office, if you even remain in office, will give new meaning to the term ‘lame duck presidency.’”

  And she and her aide were gone.

  “She’s broke you know,” Max said and Dutch looked at him.

  “She signed a prenuptial agreement. Ralph Caswell dies and she’ll have nothing, or at least next to nothing. His grown children, who can’t stand her, saw to that. That’s why she’s fighting so hard. It’s richer for her to keep him.”

  “Well,” Dutch said, still staring at the door Jennifer had just vacated, as if fearing that she would unceremoniously reappear, “at least I know where I stand.”

  Max agreed, although Gina wasn’t at all sure. Because that woman, as they often said in her neighborhood, had trouble written all over her. Force of nature was right, because that was truly her. She came like the wind, but Gina felt as if it would be her husband, if he wasn’t careful, who would get caught up in her whirlwind.

  ***

  It wasn’t until nearly midnight before Dutch could finish his meetings with his various administration officials and make it to bed. By then Gina was fast asleep. She had tried to remain awake and wait for him, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Besides, she assumed he wouldn’t come to their bed at all, given the late hour, but would sleep in the adjacent room.

  Dutch, however, needed Gina. He needed to hold her, to feel her, to lie next to her. So he did. He knew it was selfish on his part, he hated bringing his job to their bed, but he needed her too badly. And she did indeed wake up as soon as his weight bore down on the bed, as she always did, and he gathered her naked body into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said to her, rubbing his lips across her forehead, his penis jutting limply against her vagina, “but I couldn’t be without you tonight.”

  Gina snuggled closer to his naked body, rubbing her mound against his manhood. “I’m glad you couldn’t,” she said, kissing him back, thrilled to be in his arms.

  They continued kissing for a good long time, but more in a series of pecks rather than one long, fluid passionate kiss. The elephant in the room was Jennifer Caswell and her threat to “ruin” him, as if there was more that she had in her bag of tricks than she was letting on, but neither broached the subject. They just kissed.

  When Gina took Dutch’s silky black hair that had fallen over his forehead and smoothed every strand out of his gorgeous face, she saw an understated but burning need deep within his big, green eyes that made her know instinctively what would cure that need. She turned her curvaceous body opposite his, her butt now pressed against his stomach. And he reacted immediately, sliding first his fingers into her folds, lubricating her, and then sliding his rod into her with a sureness that made her sigh in a loving relief, as she felt the touch of his head penetrate her folds.

  He pushed into her with slow, prodding motions, his penis not in its usual instantaneous readiness, but requiring a longer, focused nurturing. But they both knew that his erection wasn’t the issue this time. Their love was. The fact that they often felt as if it was the two of them against the world was what was driving their passion this time. And that was why they kept it slow, as Gina continued to lubricate them both. For the longest time they just lay there, as his penis slid gently into her wetness and then slid back toward her entrance tip, over and over again; as the lustful sound of their mating echoed with sloshing sensuality throughout the massive bedroom.

  Gina closed her eyes as he made love to her. And Dutch closed his eyes too, that feeling of safety, of being with who he was supposed to be with, of knowing that the entire world may consider him and his administration a failure, but Gina would have his back. And just the thought of her, of her love and his love for her, lulled him into a peaceful, restful, unbelievably lustful fuck. They rarely did it this way, but it was needful tonight.

  And even when they both eventually came to orgasm, it wasn’t their usual mountain summit moment, but was more of a quiet, wonderful quaintness; the kind of release that spilled out in a drip rather than a splash, her folds tightening around his penis as he engorged, and she filled up, and both stretched out in a wonderful sweetness. A sweetness that bespoke of togetherness, of an unshakeable union, of a kind of quiet knowing that, despite the odds, they were both in this for the long haul.

  Within minutes after their climax, they were both fast asleep.

  But their peaceful sleep was barely an hour old when the president’s secure telephone began to ring. Although it used to be known as the Washington-Moscow red phone during the dark days of the cold war, it was now known in the Harber Administration as the Hotline. And whenever it rang it was certain to be a call serious enough that the national security team deemed it worth waking the president over, even as late as three a.m.

  Dutch, upon awakening, answered the call.

  Gina woke up too, surprised to find that she was lying on top of Dutch. Sometime after she had fallen asleep, Dutch had apparently pulled her on top of him and rested her head against his bare chest. She looked up from that chest as he answered the call.

  “This is the president,” he said into the phone.

  “It’s Ed Drake, Mr. President.”

  Ed, the president’s national security advisor, sounded almost solemn. “What is it, Ed?” Dutch asked him.

  “The captors, sir, whom we are now certain is an Al-Qaeda affiliate, has killed a hostage.”

  The anguish swept through Dutch like a raging sea. He removed the phone from his ear, to steady himself, and then replaced it. “Who did they get?”

  “Mary Beth Kappers, sir, a nineteen year old student.”

  Dutch closed his eyes, pinched his temple, and then reopened them. “Have they provided a message?”

  “Yes, sir. They want us to know that they will continue to kill hostages if Ben-al-Alawaiki isn’t released from Gitmo and placed into their hands immediately. That is their only demand and they’re sticking to it.”

  “Can we get this Al-Alawaiki character to record a counter message condemning their tactics and making clear he’ll refuse to go even if they win his freedom?”

  “We have tried everything, and I mean everything, sir, to get him to do just that. But he will not. We could do a whole lot more, of course, if Congress hadn’t tied our hands---”

  “That’s a fight for another day, Eddie. But do what you have to do. These are kids we’re talking about. And keep me posted,” Dutch ordered and hung up the phone. He wrapped his arms around Gina, who was still staring at him.