Chapter 32

Two years after the combined military and intelligence action against George Soros we were still in court arguing about my standing as Vice President. Graydon still believed the courts would use my status to invalidate the last election and install him as President. The courts seemed to think otherwise, especially when it was pointed out that numerous courts had challenged the age restrictions and been upheld through various states and the federal supreme courts. Hope reigned supreme as Graydon spent millions tying up law firms for his personal vendetta against Sam. His real crime appeared to be Sam beating Alan Graydon two years and several months previously.

I’d begun to think of my time in this body in three ‘lives.’ There was the time of Angela, the time of Summer and the time after. During the time of Angela I healed, grew and generally sprouted my new set of wings as an adult in Tommy’s body. Angela – her new name in her new body was Evelyn – gave me unconditional love, along with a kindred spirit that loved me as much as Tommy, as she loved me as Noah. Angela didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a maniac that hated Sam Brownbock. Her crime was coming to see me and get some news I was excited to share. My crime was having her brought to me so we could celebrate together.

Summer was another woman that used me to get from one phase of her life to the next. I brought her a boatload of trouble, which translated into lots of publicity that, over time paid off. She helped me emerge from my self-imposed solitude following Angela’s murder.

The time after was another long dry spell in my life that freed me to run for Vice President and get my act together after we won. At some point a man has to have a life and it was time for me to be a man.

After two years living back in the old Naval Observatory, I found myself needing a companion. To that end I had my entourage take me to the nearest animal shelter where I adopted a medium sized, speckled brown, throw-away dog.

His name was unknown, as was his background. All they could tell me was that he was housebroken, roughly six years old, gentle until provoked, and then hell on wheels. The vet that came to the Observatory to see him told me that the dog I named ‘Charger’ was a mixed breed with multiple lines in his pedigree. In other words, his mother got around.

The instant he was allowed out of his cage, Charger decided that he was going to like me. Once the door was swung open by a county employee, he calmly walked out, sniffed my proffered hand and sat beside me to see what would happen next. I asked for and was handed a leash and took him outside for a getting-to-know-you walk. He neither pulled away, nor refused to walk beside me. It appeared that Charger was well trained and well behaved. We went home together and he spent the afternoon getting familiar with his new digs.

FOXNEWS decided it was a slow news day and a light hearted story about the Vice President adopting a stray was the closest they would be coming to actual news and asked permission to come over and film us together. The reporter spent an inordinate amount of time playing with Charger and asking me impossible to know questions about his background. After a little while, I realized she had no idea what to ask, so each time she asked something else about him I couldn’t possibly know, I answered, “If I knew the answer to that, I think we could find Charger’s real family and get them reunited.” Eventually she milked her foray out of the office long enough and shook Charger’s paw, thanked me and left.

Charger and I headed up to bed after a nourishing dinner and a long stroll outside in the chill of the evening. He immediately went to the pad I’d thrown down beside the bed and waited for me to give him an order. Charger was so still awaiting my pleasure that I guessed he once slept on his owner’s bed, so I patted the blanket beside me and he jumped up, twirled around once and settled down against my left hip. He remained quietly there while I caught up on my daily ration of briefing documents and we both slept through the night in comfort. It was nice to have a warm body beside me, even if he would need to be treated for fleas from time to time.

The day I adopted Charger seemed to be the day that the press let up on their non-stop attacks on Sam and me. After FOXNEWS ran their story on Charger, other networks asked for the same courtesy. The adoption of an older, abandoned pet, during the cold season seemed to give me some sort of humanity with the news media. Charger was often seen by viewers sprawled at my feet as I met with dignitaries, visitors and the occasional visit from Hawk.

Charger and Hawk were buddies from the first time they met. I’d him for about a month when the former President came by for an afternoon chat one day. Charger sniffed him on the front portico, licked his hand and curled up beside him when we retired to the study to talk beside the roaring gas fire.

The press loved that photo op and it ran on and off for the next two years. Eventually my polling numbers climbed to a place where Graydon gave up and decided to run against us, rather than continue to offend animal lovers as well as the opposition party.

Sam was enjoying a pretty good run in his first term. The economy was growing, unemployment was steady at a low number and our enemies were taking a sabbatical from hating us enough to send suicide bombers to our shores. His re-election chances were considered excellent and the party was gearing up for a quick and clean re-election campaign.

And then all Hell broke loose.

“Mr. Vice President, we are evacuating you to a safe location. Please come with me right now.”

Charger and I were asleep in a grand hotel suite in Houston. I’d spoken to a massive NRA meeting the earlier in the evening and had a scheduled meeting with Houston’s new mayor first thing in the morning. Then, I would fly off to Los Angeles for a black tie party function the next evening. Grabbing my clothes and dog, I allowed the Secret Service to rush me to Marine Two and once we were airborne was handed a mobile phone.

“Hello,” I said, worried.

“Mr. Vice President, the President’s chopper was hit by a missile just moments ago. The pilots got it down but the President is being rushed to Walter Reed and is unconscious. Command authority has been switched to you until he is conscious and capable of resuming command.

“Please, Sir, please confirm that your Marine officer is present with the football.”

I looked around and saw both the officer and the football sitting across from me. I’d been Secretary of Defense, Secretary of Homeland Security and Vice President this time long enough to form a few alliances. One of those alliances was with the current Director of the Secret Service, Kane Fashen. Fashen was an old school cop, who demanded loyalty, hard work and dedication. His work made our protection details into well-oiled machines, seeing to our safety, while letting us do our jobs. If someone inside was setting Sam up, I wanted to be on top of it a lot faster than we dealt with Ken Stanton my last time through.

My current Chief of Staff, Don Harding, had been in place for only a few months and was not really up to speed on his entire job. He was a good, hard-working, honest fellow, but I needed a bare-knuckle fighter to face the coming storm. “Don,” I said quite suddenly. “Get me Director Fashen right now.” I knew right now was exactly how this would go because I was command authority, which made his number one priority.

“Mr. Vice President,” he sounded chipper, but harried. “How may I help you, Sir?”

“Kane, I need to have a very off record conversation with you. I want your word that the discussion we are about to have will go no further than the two of us.” I was not in the mood to wrangle promises. He would either guarantee me that the call was privacy, or I was hanging up.