-Hi everyone! Thanks to my fans and reviewers for your comments! I am considering going into a sequel, I am corresponding with certain people who's opinions I consider important and am trying to decide how to end the story; at this point I have several ways it can end. But that's still a long way off! Enjoy and please review!
"Mr. Viseige, I am a very powerful man. When I want someone dead, they are dead within the next forty-eight hours. I have wanted both Napoleon Bridger Leep and Travis Bridger dead for the last month. I relied on you to have it taken care of since it is difficult for me to take care of people in your area. Tell me, Mr. Viseige, why are the Leep boy and his father both still alive?" An angry voice said over the phone.
"I underestimated the boy, sir. He proved to be...stealthier than I had originally assumed." Said Donald Viseige, who was hiding in an alley near the White House.
"Tell me, Mr. Viseige, exactly what is so difficult about killing a teenager?" The man demanded.
"Well, sir, I wasn't exactly sure how-"
"Not sure how? I'll tell you how, Mr. Viseige, you put a gun to his head and BLOW HIS GOD DAMN BRAINS ALL OVER THE BLOODY GROUND! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" The man bellowed.
"Y-yes sir." Viseige said.
"Very good. I am warning you, Mr. Viseige, if I do not receive that boy's head in a box, on my desk by this time next week then there will be hell to pay!" The man shouted.
"Yes, sir, I understand completely." Said Viseige.
"I am not exaggerating, Mr. Viseige, I will be expecting a head in a box on my desk this time next week. It will either be the Leep boy and I will use it to start my evening fire, or it will be yours and I shall mount it on my wall!" Spat the man.
"Yes sir, I promise you will be done." Said Viseige before hanging up the phone.
Mullet Fingers was lying across the seat of Agent Hank Hartman's car. Hartman was rummaging through his glove compartment looking for a first aid kit. He was lecturing Beatrice as he searched.
"It's obvious that his ankle needed stitches. I would have thought that one who cared for their stepbrother so would have made sure he got proper medical attention." He said.
"Can you fix him then?" Roy asked before Beatrice could reply.
"I'm a Secret Service agent, not a doctor. I can apply some disinfectant and stop the bleeding but sooner than later he's going to need stitches." Said Hartman, applying some medical gloves to his hands before rubbing some kind of glop on Mullet Fingers's ankle.
"I don't need stitches, I'm fine." Said Mullet Fingers.
"Yeah, remember the last time you felt fine? Roy and I ended up carrying you to the hospital." Beatrice snapped.
Hartman tied a bandage tightly around Mullet Fingers's ankle. Then suddenly, Roy said: "Hold on a sec, Secret Service only works in Washington. How come you're all the way down here?"
"Technically, I'm on vacation. I got a phone call from the president this morning; asking me to find a boy nicknamed 'Mullet Fingers' and get him to safety. He also told me to take along anyone who may be with him." Said Hartman, disposing of his bloody gloves "Get in, let's get going."
President John Kresc sat his desk aboard Air Force One. He was examining two newspaper clippings. The first was an old one, a picture of a three young African American children and one blond American boy. A girl and three boys. Karen Jeod, Travis Bridger and Frankie and John Kresc. There was a headline that said "Young boy dies to save brother". The other clipping was newer, from about a year ago. On it was a young blond boy, a boy with brown hair and a blond girl. The headline on this one said "Three local youths save burrowing owls". Both pictures were strikingly similar.
When I'm president, I'm going to make sure no one has to live like I have. Rang a child's voice inside the President's head.
You have to go to school if you want to become the President. How many runaways do you know that were President? Rang a young girl's voice.
Kresc buried his face in his hands. If he'd listened to Karen, his brother would still be alive. Then again, if he'd listen to Karen, he'd be living out in the wild, Donald Viseige would be president and Mullet Fingers would be dead. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. In walked Howard Howan, the president's chief of staff.
"Mr. President, I'm glad to hear you're alright. When I heard you'd been attacked at the White House I got back as fast a possible." Said Howan.
"Oh, Howard that wasn't necessary. I know it's been a hard time for your family." Said Kresc.
"My work comes before anything, Mr. President." Said Howan.
"Well I'm glad to see you're dedicated. Have you been to see James in prison yet?" Kresc asked.
"Yes. He's not the man I grew up with anymore...wouldn't even look me in the eye." Said Howan sadly.
"Wouldn't or couldn't?" The President asked, leaning back in his chair and raising his eyebrow.
"Enough about me, sir. I've been briefed on the situation but I was told to ask you for the details on Travis Bridger." Said Howan, sitting down.
The President put his newspaper clippings in his desk drawer, then handed his chief of staff a folder with information about Travis Bridger in it.
"That's everything there is to know about him." Said Kresc.
"Everything, sir?" Howan asked.
Kresc hesitated. He got up abruptly and closed the blinds of his small office and locked the door. He came back and stared Howan directly in the eye.
"Can I confide in you, Howard?" He asked quietly.
"Of course, sir." Said Howan.
Kresc took a deep sigh and sat down again. "For the last sixteen years I have been doing everything in my power to help Travis Bridger elude the law." He said.
"What? Why?" Howan asked.
"He and I are extremely good friends...or at least, we used to be. That is one of the reasons why I have taken such an interest in the well-being of his son, Napoleon. About two years ago, I received a call from a man named Gorganzorg. He said he was president of some powerful corporation and that he believed that a known terrorist, Travis Bridger, was in my country and asked if I would see to it to make sure he didn't leave. I was corresponding with Gorganzorg for several years. The last time we spoke was a year ago, when he finally made it clear he wanted to have Travis and his son killed. I told him I would take no part in such and act and hung up. There isn't a doubt in my mind that that is who Donald Viseige is taking orders from." Kresc explained.
"But sir, it's still wrong that you're helping this terrorist elude the law, you could go to jail for that." Howan pointed out.
"The fact is, I have no proof that Travis is indeed a terrorist. The only proof we have is Gorganzorg's word, and if it's the president of the United States on trial that wouldn't mean much. Sixteen years ago, I got a letter from Travis. He said that he was leaving the States for a while, but wouldn't tell me where he was going. He asked that I make sure his son grew up right. I felt I owed it to him to look into it, but after my campaign I suppose I forgot all about it. The point of this is, Howard, I refuse to believe for a second that Travis is involved with any terrorist acts. If Travis did indeed break a law, then it was for a good cause." Said Kresc.
"Understood sir, is that all?" Howan asked.
"Yes, Howard, but I must emphasize the confidentiality of this topic. Until we prove Travis innocent, this could ruin my presidency. Can I count on you to keep this quiet?" Kresc asked.
"Yes sir." Said Howan, leaving the room.
Seconds later, the president got a phone call.
"Mr. President, it's Hank Hartman, sir." Said the voice on the other line.
"Hank, what's going on, have you found Mullet Fingers?" The President asked.
"No sir. While on my way there, I was assaulted and robbed by someone." Said Hartman "He stole my car, my ID and my gun. I have reason to believe, sir, that this boy, Mullet Fingers, has gone with this individual and is, if not dead already, then in extreme danger."