Second Chance
Chapter 8

SECOND CHANCE is copyright protected. Any use, including reprints, without specific written permission is forbidden and illegal

DoOver Sci-fi Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 43 year old Carl watched helplessly as Death came for him in the form of an overloaded produce truck. Suddenly he found himself in the body of a 14 year old boy, injured in the same accident. Now Carl had to learn how to live as Brian and cope with a new life and a loving mother.

Caution: This DoOver Sci-fi Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa   Consensual   Science Fiction   DoOver   Incest   Mother   Son   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Petting  

After leaving the President's study, I found Samantha waiting patiently for me in the secretary's anti-room. She looked upset, frustrated, or just plain exasperated, but what she didn't look, was happy. As I came through she grabbed her coat, and walked quickly out of the White House.

Whatever it was, we weren't going to be talking about it in public.

That was for sure.

The flight back to the residence was quick and painless. With all the changes, I hadn't even begun to pay attention to the things around me. There was so much to absorb, there was no time to enjoy any of it. Hopefully things would settle down soon.

We were barely in the master suite when Samantha announced, "John, I am amazed at my feelings for you, but I can't do this. I won't do this. There is NO WAY I will submit my life to the microscope that being with the Vice President requires of me.

"While you were in with the President, I watched CNN and saw myself torn to shreds by complete strangers, who THINK they know what a loser I would be as your Press Secretary. Then that half-wit, Wolf Blitzer, started to dissect my life, as if where I went to elementary school, or what kind of job my father did, was any of his business.

"I didn't sign on for any of this, and I'm going home and try to figure out what's best. But – one thing I know – I can't come back to DC and be part of any of ... this. I'm sorry. I know we have a good thing together, but it would end up tearing us to pieces, and I don't want that.

"Forgive me. I just don't think – well, I know – this is not me. And I don't want it to become me. I don't want to be defined by any of this, or worry about how you will be damaged by something I did, or said, or what designer made my dress. I'm not cut out to be any nearer the center than the fringe, and that's where I'm happy.

"Now, before I cry, kiss me really good, and tell me that you want me to stay, so I won't cry myself to sleep for the next six-months, thinking it was all one-sided."

Without giving me a chance to speak, she kissed me like a lover and walked out.

I found out later that one of my assistants got her a military hop home. Samantha went out of my life like she came into it. She was a breath of fresh air, totally unexpected, who came on a whim and left on the spur of the moment.

Apparently life as Vice President was not packed all that full, at least until Monday, when I would assume control of every federal agency tasked with security, protection, and heading off terrorism.

With nothing but time on my hands, especially now that Samantha ran away, I picked up the study phone and asked the answering voice to have BLT's sent up with all the fixings and to connect me with an expert on national security.

Lunch came in minutes, but my call was connected in seconds. "Yes, Mr. Vice President. How can I help you, Sir?" The voice was courteous but not phony. I immediately appreciated that.

"Who are you, and what do you do for the Thornton Administration?" I asked.

"Sir, I am Rick Parnell, and I work as a senior analyst at the CIA. My section leader is out for the moment, and your call was routed to me. Do you wish me to have someone far more senior handle your need, Sir?" He was perceptive but wrong.

"No, Rick. You'll do just fine. Please hold for a moment," and I put him on hold and had one of my myriad of assistants send someone to pick him up and bring him to me for a face-to-face briefing.

"Rick? You still there?"

"Yes Mr. Vice President. How may I be of service, Sir?"

He was nervous.

I needed focused.

"Rick, if we are going to get along, you need to lose the nervous feeling and get used to speaking with me. I've sent someone to bring you to the residence, so you can help get me up to speed on a bunch of details related to national security. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Sir. But wouldn't you want someone ... you know, Sir ... bigger, or more important than an analyst?" After that answer, I liked him more and more.

"Actually Rick, you'll do just fine. We're going to be busy for the rest of the day, so have your chief check with my staff. I want no misunderstanding as to what you are going to be doing, then get over here as fast as your escorts can move you." I rang off before he could sputter an answer.

That done, I enjoyed my lunch and caught up on the news. Most of the reporters were talking about Val Buena's resignation and my appointment, which meant they were leaving Charles alone for the time being.

Rick arrived with two Secret Service agents guarding him, or me, I suppose. I dismissed them and got straight to work. "Rick, I have been asked by my boss, and yours for that matter, to take over day to day management of all federal agencies that deal with terrorism, law enforcement, national security, and border protection. The President thinks we've reached a point where the agencies have forgotten that we are one team and act like a bunch of small kingdoms, so he's asked me to be everyone's boss across all those offices."

"There will be hurt feelings, angry words, and immediate push back, but I intend to make a positive change in the way we approach national security, and the safety of America. Even though DHS is cabinet level, it is so dysfunctional that nothing positive gets done. There is far too much butt covering, and power brokering, to get much accomplished.

"I understand what the President wants. For over fifty billion dollars a year, America has the right to expect better from their security apparatus, and I've been ordered by the President, to see that it happens.

"To do that, I need you to walk me through our most pressing problems related to terror, border problems, and potential crises that might crop up and derail President Thornton from his mission. That's why I asked you here and I hope you are willing, if not anxious to help."

I let that sit and watched him analyze the width and breadth of the problem I had presented. Then I saw him reject several potential ways to attack the problem and pick the one he thought would be best.

He turned to face me and said, "Mr. Vice President. I have waited my entire career, which isn't all that long, for someone to come along and grab hold of the very thing you are suggesting. If you do not mind, Sir, I will share with you some of the things we thrash around at CIA, as far as defeating the insular thinking that creates this interagency push back. What I tell you is probably not what my bosses would tell you.

"The first problem is buy-in. They have to buy in that you really mean it. And I suggest you walk in to each agency, and fire one or more big shots to get everyone else's attention. It will work; it's just that our leadership lacks the balls to do it. Sorry Sir. I should not have said that. No disrespect intended."

 
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