Chapter VIII: Inauguration Day
"We don't have his damn phone number!" The President yelled. "How do we not know his phone number, isn't there a world leaders section in the damn phone book?" Charlie smiled,
"He hasn't released the phone number yet sir."
"Hasn't released it?"
"Yeah, they're still rewiring the old Palace." Charlie found it hysterical that they couldn't get the number, it was frustratingly ironic.
Leo's presence in the room calmed the situation.
"Jeremiah ben Kurah won."
"Yeah."
"There's going to be a member of the United States Secret Service at his side when he gets inaugurated, it could be a problem." Bartlet stood from his desk, advancing upon his friend. Charlie takes it as his note to leave, and Leo watches him out.
"Who knows?" The President's voice is hushed, worn from the various complications the media has caused in his two terms already.
"Danny."
"Christ!" His fist finds the desk top, "is there anything he doesn't know?"
"Apparently not." Leo sighed. "Ron knew he was going out there, but officially, he's rogue."
"That's not great when he gets back."
"He might never come back."
"That would be convenient for the papers."
"There's a file."
"Who is he?"
"Eric Orson. Tours to Ephar with the Rangers in the seventies, ben-Kurah saved his life as a ten year old."
"Ranger morality?"
"Combination, it's the Ephari custom to owe your life, to repay the debt."
"So we just say that?"
"He's got a more complicated history than that sir."
"He would." The words fell heavily, the dismay of the President clear.
"There's another name." Jed raised his eyebrows in question. "Simon Donovan. Special Agent Donovan to be precise."
"The guy who protected CJ."
"Yeah, you got it." Leo confirmed. They both remembered the softly spoken man who protected the woman they both saw as a daughter.
"She know?"
"No. Danny just dropped Orson on her. I he hasn't any more as far as I know."
"Okay." Jed relaxed for a second and Leo paused, wondering whether he ought to go on.
"I remember someone saying they had a thing though."
"What?" The President shifted, his forehead creasing like it was one of his own daughters his friend was speaking of.
"Josh said they had a 'thing'!" It had been meant to be nothing, Leo had hoped his friend would just pass it over.
"Like did he sleep with her? That's not just a thing when it's the Press Secretary and her bodyguard! How did I not hear this?"
"There was something more important like we just killed Sharif." Those words hit hard, Jed hated to hear them.
"Does anyone else know, like, I don't know, Danny?"
"He hasn't mentioned it."
"Great."
"It's not in the file, it didn't make the papers last May."
"Not in the file?"
"I asked Ron, he was very quick to say Donovan was in the clear, it happened after his assignment ended."
"And CJ doesn't know he's playing bodyguard to the President of Ephar?"
"No."
"O-kaay." Bartlett wondered how things like that happened, how the most powerful people in the country always seemed to be the last to know. The conversation was over, the pieces set. It was all up to Daniel Concannon as to how they would have to be played. For once, Jed Bartlett couldn't see ahead, he didn't even know if his opponent would sit down and play.
There had been a quiet celebration at the ben-Kurah camp the night their leader was named the President of their country. There was composed joy and merry drinking. The man himself made a speech in their midst, the inauguration was in a week, they would move in during that time, ready in the Old Palace to assume control on the Sunday, the first day after the Holy Day of August.
The evening dust had settled, the underground network of tunnels and rooms was filled with the sound of joy. The night wore on, and in the first hours of the morning, Jeremiah was finally alone. Almost alone. Simon sat opposite the doorway to the room, his eyes sharp and ears trained on the familiar movements of feet. The joy that had run through him when he realised the result was different to the others'. It was melon collie. It was meant to be his release. He had come to his patron's side at a time of need, and he was going to go home unharmed, he was going to go home, leaving a legacy of a security agency second only in his mind to the American Secret Service, and most of all, he was going home to her. Yet still, his heart hung heavy.
"Brother. Let me call Ztakar so that you can rest."
"Thank you, but I want to watch the door tonight, I feel something different in the air."
"You feel something different? Perhaps it is the feeling of victory, the feeling that you can see the end in sight for you?" Simon did not know what to say to avoid offending his friend, a part of him felt like he belonged in this desert country, protecting a man and an ideal so precious to him; he had been fighting this war for so long. "You will go home, Brother?" When finally confronted with the question, Simon was confused, his true thoughts came flooding forward:
"I don't know if I will find happiness if I return."
"I have watched over you, Brother you have suffered in all of these days." Simon looked questioningly at his friend. "I have seen in my sight the distress of loneliness in the stare of many; you wear their eyes. You look at the desert and ask her to take you in her hand back across the water." That he had, but there was a sense of duty, a dense of despair that choked the words his heart spoke.
"I do not wish to leave you, Brother."
"You never really came to me." the new President was not scolding, his voice was not said, yet Simon looked ashamed. "There is no need to cast your eyes down for your honour is here with me. That is all that is expected of our custom." The realisation hits him hard. Rationality to his words is cut off.
"I left my heart there Brother."
"I know." Jeremiah had wondered over to his comrade. His heavy hand lay softly on the American's shoulder, "I know."
The men sat in silence, neither slept. Simon kept his watch, moving only to make a fresh brew of tea.
A week later and the day had come, Simon had prepared for this day. His miniature army was fully briefed, he was proud of them and he had reason to be; they were now highly trained agents of protection. Just men who believed in upholding a common good. Their dress uniform was traditional, white tunics with trousers. White was the colour of righteousness, and that, Jeremiah had decided, was what he wanted his soldiers to wear. To identify the leaders, the generals – they wore a peacock blue tunic, the colour of honour and wisdom in the culture. The cars were bullet-proof and the buildings were to be carefully manned, sharp shooters and men on the ground. It would be a special day. One that did not go wrong.
The inauguration was simple, and it served to unite the country in one moment of history. The speech ben-Kurah made was about equality, about a oneness that he wanted to bring. It was already planted as seeds in the people, the vote had not been a close run thing. The President had the charisma of a prophet, he whipped the crowd up into a frenzy of hope for the future; he inspired them, and there and then made his country great. All through this, Simon stood at his side, watching, waiting. He had heard the words once, they were the same his friend had spoken to his assembly when they took up the political race one year ago. The speech had been for everyone from his most trusted advisor's right down to the orphan kid he employed to to tend the chickens.
The crowd was thick below them, Simon's eyes never lingered in the same place, he was constantly watching. The words washed over him, they kept him sharp – this man was worth saving. He was worth protecting. This was the very feeling that came into conflict with making that journey home. This country would grow, he would love it and watch it, knowing that he had a hand in keeping the world's finest builder safe in his empire. What was at home for him was uncertain. Ferdinand would understand at the end the end of the day why he had gone. Yet the only two other people he cared about would surely hate him by now for leaving. All that was waiting would be pain. Anthony would probably never forgive him; and CJ, well, he didn't expect she would do anything less than tell him to go to hell. She was probably dating some high flying jock who brings her flowers and makes her smile. God that smile.
The ceremony is over before he knows it, there are faces filled with joy, there are those who look unsure, but there are no cold eyes, there are no expressions that make him reach for his gun. The parade through the crowds goes smoothly, Simon never half a footstep behind his man. The euphoria they feel is tangible; it is thick in the air, the country is free and they believe. They believe they can so great things, they are a generation with everything to work for. Everything to live for. They near the car, everything is going to plan; the shooters on the roof tops are alert and have the area around the vehicle covered. One last wave at the crowd and into the – a glint of metal catches Simon's eye for a moment. He hears the all too familiar sound over the mass.
The second it takes for him to turn is just fast enough. It hits him full on in the back, the President's tunic is stained red and they begin to fall, the frame of the car brings their combined form to a stop. The huge Jeremiah ben-Kurah is bundled into the already moving vehicle. Simon tires to shout, but he can't feel the words come out. He recoils and slams the door shut, Jeremiah is looking straight back out at him through the bulletproof glass. His eyes are wide, yet not with fear, just ineffable, soulful pain. Simon pauses, his eyes momentarily reassuring and his hands still on the hot black metal.
Jeremiah flinches for the first time in years as blood spatters onto the window in front of him. The reassuring eyes open wide. Blood smears black across the tinted glass as the car speeds away. He shouts for the driver to stop, but there is no response; he spins around in his seat, helpless. Frantically he searches out of the back window. The dust kicked up by the tyres begins to obscure his sight, but not before his eyes catch hold of the peacock blue. The blur that is a man twists, flailing for a few long seconds before the dust swallows him whole. Jeremiah's fists beat soundly into the seat of the car. He weeps.
"Oh my God." CJ and Toby both swing their legs from his coffee table. A CNN news flash brought them scenes of hysteria. Scenes of a massacre. A crowd struggles to disburse as gunshots ring out. At the centre of it all, men in white uniforms had come together, appearing to have surrounded something on the floor. A car speeds away and it is over in seconds. The tape begins again. This time, the purpose of the men in white is quite obvious, they had formed a human shield over something. Their uniforms become a thick red before the camera pans away and the shooting stops. People run in all directions, some can't move.
"It has been confirmed that there was an attack on President Jeremiah ben-Kurah this afternoon at approximately 1600. During the inauguration parade, shots were fired at the group. The President and his aides were put into cars and driven from the scene. The attack lasted approximately a minute and a half before the perpetrators were killed by Ephari security. It is not clear yet how many were hurt by this event, although we can confirm now that at least thirty civilians are thought to have died."
The flashes of cameras started up with a new intensity. Danny raised his hand, his face was whiter than usual. CJ feared what he was going to say, but part of her wanted something to get into, she called on him.
"I have a source that suggests a shot was fired, point blank range at the President, is there any news on his heath?" It was far too shallow for Danny, too basic, she dreaded his follow up.
"We don't have any information on the President's health, no, Danny."
"My source says that his bodyguard stepped into the line of fire, but I was wondering if Ephar still has a leader?"
"Danny, we don't have that information," he didn't let her finish.
"I ask because that same source says the body guard is American!"
The room erupted, if this were a 1930's red carpet, CJ would have been walking a trail of dead flash bulbs a few inches thick. Leo had told her to keep Danny off, stall him for a while, it wasn't important. Oh how she would have a few things to say about that.
"We do not have that information at this time, I will be back in one hour." Everyone in the room called her name, everyone but Danny. He hated himself right there and then, everyone was on their feet, everyone was wanting a piece of it, snarling and yapping like a pack of wolves to the hunt. It had been selfish, and if there had been anyone else up on that podium, he would have felt pride, he wouldn't have felt like he played a dirt hand of cards.
CJ hit the roof, everyone had told her Eric Orson wasn't a problem. He wasn't about five minutes ago, thankfully, Danny hadn't named him. Thankfully? Who was she kidding, if she could get her hands on that damned red head, scruffy necked! - Her thoughts were interrupted by Leo.
"CJ, I need to talk to Danny."
"Believe me, Leo, it's not just you who needs to talk to Danny!"
"CJ, calm it. Get him in your office and I need it to happen now." Leo's eyes burned with something she hadn't seen in a long while, it was more than passion for the job, the White House, it was the fire of something more personal. CJ obeyed his stare, marching off towards her office.
"Carol!" came the familiar cry. Danny knew the exact face of rage that would greet him, he stood, all but physically shaking in the middle of her office. She stopped dead in the door way. She pointed a finger firmly at him, her eyes pinned him to the spot. He swallowed. "Daniel, do not move!" She stormed away, powered by her frustration and anger.
Leo entered silently, Danny turned when he heard the click of the door catch. The older man proceeded to close the blinds silently. The reporter didn't move an inch. He was not expecting this.
"Danny have a seat and stop looking like I came here to assassinate you, as nice a thought as that may be, that is not my business." Complying with Leo's order, Danny favoured one of the chairs opposite CJ's desk. He stared at Gail. Regrets and doubts began to filter into his head. His emotions were playing him. Leo ambled around the desk and set a manilla folder down. He stood, two fists pressed down into the creamy card. Under his hands, the seal of the Treasury Department was printed in thick black ink.
"Are you going to print his name?"
"I have it." Leo nodded.
"I don't have anything to offer you here Danny. I also know that lying to someone with your guts and experience just doesn't work." From his standing position, Leo was intimidating. "Here is a file about Eric Orson. It's complete. I want you to take some time to..."
"I don't want to read it."
"Danny?"
"Leo, no! I can see what you're trying to do."
"Can you? Can you Danny? I am playing you, but damn it I wish I could tell you why. It's a noble reason Danny."
"I've seen a file on Orson, there's nothing out there to tell, I don't know what game you're trying to play here..." Leo interrupted, slamming his fists on the desk.
"Damn it Danny, he's squeaky clean, I know what you've read! There is no way you will ever find what is in that file outside of this room."
"But why!" Danny was truly perplexed by Leo's actions, he was sure he was being lured into something. Leo's eyes began to burn bright, his fists relented on the folder and he slipped it open. With old hands, Leo flipped through the assorted leaves of paper and photographs, until his fingers struck gold. It was near the back. Accompanied by a glossy print, Leo meandered back around the desk to where Danny was now standing blot upright. Leo held the picture against his chest, the words on the back clearly stated 'S.E.D. CELL CAM'. The men stared one another down; Leo broke the gaze, flipping the photo over and letting Danny's eyes drop to it. The reporter took the photo from the Chief of Staff as if it were delicate china. Leo left the room, calling "Fifteen minutes!" over his shoulder.
It was black and white, but the image was almost more vivid than if it had been in colour. She smiled up at him. He kissed her cheek. They looked the picture of happiness; this was why. Leo was protecting her. His source said the American took the a single hit at point blank range, before suffering more lead. His blood had been spilt on Ephari soil that day. Danny had to know why.
TBC-