Kodiak Sky

CHAPTER 21

Baxter and Dorn were shooting pool in the Holly Cabin at Camp David, the secluded presidential retreat that lay sixty miles north-northwest of Washington, DC, near Maryland’s border with Pennsylvania. They’d flown up here earlier this evening on Marine One to escape the District’s burst of sizzling late-September heat, probably the last one of the year, and to squeeze in a little fly-fishing, which they both enjoyed.

Camp David was set deep in the forests of the gentle, easternmost waves of the Appalachian Mountains. The temperature was ten degrees cooler here than on the streets of DC, and there were several blue-ribbon trout streams nearby. They were each going to wet a line in the morning before heading back to DC tomorrow night. They already had a bet on which one would catch the biggest fish.

“Nice shot, Mr. President.”

Baxter constantly marveled at how many things Dorn did well. On a personal level it was frustrating, he had to admit. In all the many eight-ball games they’d played on this table, he’d only beaten Dorn a handful of times. But, he steadfastly believed, it was good for the country to have a man in charge who was competent at so many things — even trivial things like shooting pool.

Sinking billiard balls with such skill was trivial compared to running the world, but he seemed to do everything well. Baxter had no doubt that Dorn would catch the biggest brown tomorrow morning, even without help from the Secret Service.

Still, Baxter intended to stay within eyesight of the president at all times on the stream tomorrow morning — just to make sure the competition went fairly.

“Rack ’em again, Stewart,” Dorn ordered as he dropped the eight ball into a corner pocket. “And concentrate this time, will you? Winning this easily gets boring. At least give me a game. I’ll have to call one of my Service guys in here pretty soon to play, and you know I don’t want to do that. They’re no fun. I can’t cut up with them like I can with you. But I’ve got to have some competition.”

It had been less than twenty-four hours since that aide had hurried into the Oval Office to deliver the unsettling news about his illegitimate daughter, Shannon. But Dorn had already compartmentalized the kidnapping — just as all the great ones could partition disturbing events into the far corners of their minds when they needed to.

Well, maybe it was time to remind him of what had happened, Baxter figured as he snatched the rack from its resting place beneath one end of the table. He had been trying to win that game, just as he tried to win all the games. He was pretty sure Dorn had been kidding just then about getting one of the Secret Service people in here to play. But it had sounded a little serious — and very arrogant.

“Sir, I—”

“What are we doing about Shannon?” the president interrupted.

Baxter heard the shot of emotion Dorn had injected so forcefully into his voice. So the disturbing news of last night wasn’t completely compartmentalized.

“I already have people checking into it. The same people who got that original of the Order from Carlson’s townhouse. They’re thorough. And very discreet.”

“Shannon is my only child.” Dorn bowed his head and tapped the butt end of the pool cue on the floor several times. “As far as I know, anyway,” he admitted ruefully before taking a deep breath. “Damn, Stewart. I’ve never even met her, but I love her very much. Her mother said she’s exactly like me in a lot of ways.”

Baxter had never seen or heard such a sincere display of familial emotion from his president. He’d never heard it for the First Lady, which was probably understandable, since they’d been married for quite some time and spent only the required amount of time together. But he’d never heard it for Dorn’s parents, either, both of whom were still alive in Vermont.

“It’ll be all right, sir.” He’d gone from being angry at Dorn to feeling a sense of sympathy for the man that quickly. Dorn was every bit as good as Ronald Reagan had been at skillfully touching and manipulating his electorate’s deepest emotions — and that included his chief of staff.

“The First Lady and I were never able to have children. She…” Dorn had to pause to gather himself for a few seconds. “Well, she could never conceive. There was an accident when she was young.”

“The person who called my aide last night claimed that you’ve tried to contact Shannon over the years. Is that right?” Baxter asked after a few moments.

Dorn nodded.

“Who did you say you were?”

“I said I was a close friend of her mother’s. Shannon spoke to me the first time I called. It was the night of her sixteenth birthday, and we spoke only for a few moments. She was going out.” Dorn hesitated. “She never talked to me again after that. I would leave messages, but she never returned them.”

Shannon was a smart young woman, Baxter realized. She’d figured out the real story right away, that he wasn’t just a friend. “Did she know who you were? You weren’t president then, but did you leave your real name?”

This time Dorn shook his head. “I used an alias.”

“How did you find out about Shannon in the first place?”

“Shannon’s mother called me a month before she gave birth. It was quite a shock.”

“Was she trying to get money out of you?” Baxter asked.

“No. She just said she thought I had the right to know. It was touching.”

“Do you think she’d try to extort you now that you’re the president? Do you think Shannon is in on this?”

“No,” Dorn replied firmly. “Her mother would never do that to her daughter.” He shook his head as he thought on it further. “I misspoke. Her mother wouldn’t do it for any reason. I don’t know her that well, but I believe she’s a good soul.”

Baxter was never convinced anyone was that good a soul. Not if there was enough money involved. “What if—”

“What about that woman you were going to introduce me to?” Dorn broke in as he chalked his cue. It squeaked loudly at the friction with the blue cube. “The one you thought could lead the cell I mentioned last night.”

Dorn was finished talking about Shannon. Despite his ability to compartmentalize, it was an emotional issue for him. Baxter could clearly see that. And he didn’t want to talk about it anymore right now.

“I still can’t believe you think a woman would be a good candidate for this,” Dorn continued, “but hey, I guess I’ll humor you. I’m sure she’ll be just great,” he said sarcastically.

“She has been contacted, sir. I took care of that last night.” Baxter arranged the colorful balls inside the triangle, dropping them loudly into place to display his irritation at Dorn’s sarcasm. “And I do think she’s a good candidate,” he whispered as he straightened up and his mouth fell slightly open, “an excellent one.”

“No disrespect, Stewart, but how in the hell do you think a woman would have any chance against Shane Maddux, the Jensens, and all the other badasses that cell overflows with?”

Baxter’s eyes narrowed as he looked up from the pool balls.

“Well, Stewart?” Dorn demanded. “Answer me.”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, sir?”

“What?”

Baxter nodded over the president’s shoulder.

Dorn spun around. “Jesus Christ!”

Standing a few feet away was an attractive young woman. She had dark hair that was pulled together at the back of her head in a tight ponytail. She was wearing a maroon Stanford sweatshirt, dark jeans, and muddy black boots.

“Mr. President, meet Commander Skylar McCoy.”

Dorn ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily, trying to compose himself after the shock of seeing her in the room. “Hello, Skylar.”

“Hello.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Commander McCoy was going to be here, Stewart?” The president was still rattled. His voice was shaking slightly. “I hate surprises. You know that.”

Baxter shook his head. “I didn’t know.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t know? I pay you to know.”

“I asked her superior to have her in Washington early next week.”

“So you didn’t—” Dorn interrupted himself, then gestured at Skylar. “How did you get in here? Do you have friends in the Secret Service?”

“I don’t know anyone in the Secret Service,” she answered, “and judging by their incompetence, I wouldn’t want to.”

“You mean you—”

“I mean, sir, that there are several agents on the grounds who’ll wake up with raging headaches in a few hours.” She nodded at the room’s door. “Two of them are right outside. Does that answer your question?”

Dorn nodded deliberately, never taking his eyes from Skylar. “Yes, it does, Commander. Yes, it does.”