“Yes.” Ethan spoke instantly. “God, yes.”
“Looked pretty fucked up in Prague. And taking the president out barhopping? Jesus, Ethan. I mean, that was out there.”
“We had to figure some things out. We finally talked.” Ethan shrugged. “And he needed to get out. That was a hard summit. The Russians have been playing games with him, and they surprised him with a high-value intel target this morning. The target was supposed to be delivered to our embassy today.”
“Talib Al-Syria?”
“How’d you know?”
Collard shrugged. “He’s the second most-wanted target. If it was Al-Karim, it would be all over the news.” He gripped the wheel, kneading the leather. Ahead, the motorcade was passing through the White House gates and pulling up to the Residence. “Look, you’re wrapped up in some pretty crazy, insane, fucking dangerous stupid shit now, all right? You’ve got to be careful. Watch your six, man.”
Ethan stared hard at Collard. Was that fear hidden behind the steel of his voice? “I’ll be careful.”
“You let me know if you need anything. Understand?” Like always, Collard was gruff and short when he was stressed.
“Yeah. I got it.” Ethan finally smiled at his friend as they parked. “Really. Thank you.”
“Don’t fucking thank me,” Collard growled. “I should be reporting you.”
Through the window, Ethan watched Jack climb out of the limo and head up the steps. Jack turned, searching the motorcade, and he flashed Ethan a quick smile when he spotted Ethan at the back. Then Gottschalk was at his side, and the vice president was meeting him on the stairs, and the business of being president descended around Jack once again.
Five minutes later, as Ethan was walking down to Horsepower with his duffel on his shoulder, his phone vibrated.
Want to head on up?
It was close to eight PM, and the hours of sleep they’d managed to grab on the flight were barely making a dent in Ethan’s exhaustion. He was dog-tired, his black eye still ached, and he hadn’t eaten a real meal since before he’d kissed Jack beside the pool table. But, the promise of more time at Jack’s side was a siren’s song, and he was helpless against the lure.
[Leave the east stairwell unlocked. ☺]
For you. Always.
* * * * *
Faisal answered his cell phone on the third ring, even though there was no ID to the caller.
“
As-salamu alaykum
,” he said into the phone, picking at his robes as he sat back in his limo.
“Faisal.” Colonel Song’s voice broke the ease of Faisal’s afternoon.
“Colonel. Has something happened?”
“The Russians delivered Talib Al-Syria to the American embassy in Moscow this evening.”
“What?” Faisal bolted upright. “How did they find him?”
“Unknown. But our mystery caller placed a call to General Madigan this evening. We were able to record it. Listen.”
Faisal pressed his cellphone to his ear and snapped at the driver to turn down the radio. Colonel Song started the playback.
The first voice spoke, deep and heavy, and growling through his anger. “What the hell happened? How did the damn Russians get their hands on Talib?”
The second man, the mystery caller, answered. He was younger, and though he was angry, his voice was controlled. Tight. Even. “We don’t know, sir. They caught him with the nuclear package from Iran.”
“Goddammit.”
“They offered him in trade to us, sir. They’re delivering him to the Moscow embassy tonight.”
“This cannot happen. Talib cannot be taken into US custody. Our mission will be blown.”
“Don’t worry, sir. I’m taking care of it. Talib won’t make it to the embassy alive.”
“You’d better be damn sure.”
“I am.”
General Madigan growled again. “The news from the summit is even worse than I expected. We’re losing ground here. This isn’t where we wanted to be. We’re supposed to building toward war with Russia. Not working on peace deals and negotiating.”
“No, sir.”
A heavy sigh.
Faisal pressed the phone against his skull, trying to hear more, as if he could divine the identity of the speaker all on his own.
“We’re going to need to change tactics. We need another source for the nukes. And we need to move to plan B. We need to shake things up even more.” Madigan paused. “We need a sacrificial lamb. The stakes have to be higher.”
The mystery caller hesitated before he spoke. It was a first for the man, and Faisal held his breath. Was that meaningful? “Yes, sir,” the younger man finally said. Was his voice different? Did he sound hesitant?
“Make sure Talib is dead. Bring me your ideas for initiating plan B.” Madigan grunted, and then the call was over.
Colonel Song came back on the line. “Do you recognize the second man’s voice?”
Faisal shook his head. “No. I don’t. You don’t have his voice print on file somewhere that you can cross reference?” He said it in jest, but Colonel Song’s silence made him pause.
“We’re searching for his identity,” the Colonel finally said. “Talib was delivered to the American embassy yesterday.”
“Alive?”
“Dead. He’d been dead for hours.”
Faisal cursed beneath his breath. “He would have been able to reveal so much.”
“Mr. Hu is no longer needed. You may end his online afterlife.”
“What do we do about their ‘plan B’?” Faisal stared out the window of his limo, watching the sands of his province sail by. With the Americans, plan B could mean anything.
“We wait.” Colonel Song’s voice was hard. “And we find this mystery man.”
“Do we alert someone in the American government? This General and his partner are working against…” Faisal trailed off. “Well, they’re working against someone.”
“We don’t know who they are working for or against. If we reveal what we know to the wrong people, we could lose everything.” Colonel Song sighed. “We’re a half step ahead right now. This mystery caller is the key. We must know more.”
“Before it is too late.” Faisal listened to Colonel Song’s grunt of acknowledgement before the line went dead.
Chapter Eleven
BREAKING NEWS
Breaking News from Nairobi, Kenya. A nuclear detonation occurred in downtown Nairobi at eight forty-two AM, local time, on Wednesday, September 13th. Initial reports claim that a twelve-block radius in Nairobi has been reduced to a crater. The nuclear mushroom cloud hovered over the city for five minutes, long after a 600-foot-wide fireball incinerated everything around the blast radius.
The Islamic Caliphate has claimed responsibility for the nuclear explosion. The blast happened without warning, stunning an international community that had enjoyed an autumn of relative calm. Two months after the emergency NATO Summit, international cooperation against the Islamic Caliphate had been steadily improving, with Russia and the United States partnering against the Caliphate in Syria and Iraq.
* * * * *
The call came in the middle of the night. Naturally, it was one of the nights Ethan had stayed at the White House with Jack.
The Navy steward on duty overnight knocked on Jack’s bedroom door before poking his head inside. “Mr. President?”
Ethan woke instantly. He froze, keeping his eyes closed, but loosened his hold around Jack’s waist.
Jack came awake slower. He rolled toward Ethan before sitting up and blinking at the light streaming in from the cracked door. Bare chested, with his hair sticking up every which way, swollen lips, and a kiss-bruise on his collarbone, Jack looked debauched.
“What’s going on?” Jack grunted.
“Mr. President.” The steward stayed at the door. There was no way the steward didn’t notice Ethan in the bed, but he also didn’t acknowledge the oddity of finding a man curled around the president. “There’s been a nuclear attack in Nairobi. The National Security Watch has a live feed in the Situation Room.”
Jack bolted upright, flinging back the covers, and slid out of bed. He was naked, and he fished for his discarded boxers thrown carelessly to the floor. “Wake everyone,” he grunted. “Get everyone to the Situation Room. And what time is it?”
“Two AM, sir.” The steward nodded and shut the door.
Ethan was moving before the door latched, jumping out of bed, grabbing his own boxers and suit pants, and pulling them on quickly. Jack tossed his undershirt at the back of his head as he whirled, searching. They both slipped into their button-downs in silence, still trying to wake up.
* * * * *
The past two months, since coming back from the summit, had been amazing. Terrifying, at times, and with more than a few close calls. But as far as Ethan was concerned, each day had been better than the last. He was living in a dream, a fantasy come to life. And it was perfect.
They were figuring it out, slowly.
Ethan had fantasized and daydreamed about being with Jack so many times before they’d gotten together. He’d nurtured hot and heavy fantasies about grabbing Jack and holding him tight or bending him over his desk in the Oval Office, or sweeping him off his feet and seeing Jack melt in his arms, delirious with desire and wanting everything Ethan could give him.
Reality was different.
Jack was a human being with desires and fantasies of his own, and his own preferences, and negotiating the spaces between them, and their burgeoning relationship, was an ongoing process. In the past, Ethan had been the pursuer, chasing his partners at bars and clubs and whenever he’d picked up a man out and about in the world. He’d been the aggressor, seducing his partners in a whirlwind of passion. This was different, and Ethan initially held back from a hot and heavy pursuit of Jack.
Slow
, he’d told himself.
Let Jack lead
.
In response, Jack had taken control, driving the pace of their relationship. Jack had also started to pursue Ethan, chasing the chaser, and Ethan found himself in the odd position of being seduced, even courted, for the first time in forever.
It was so entirely different from anything he’d fantasized about, and anything he’d expected, but now that they were there, and now that they were building their reality, Ethan found that he loved every moment of it. He loved the slowness, the deliberate surety of their relationship. How he was being pursued—seduced—by the man who already owned his heart.
The slow burn, the discovery of each other, and the anticipation rising like lightning between them sizzled against Ethan’s soul.
For a man who hadn’t had sex in a decade and a half, Jack seemed quite happy leading Ethan down the road of his personal sexual revolution.
The first night, they were both too tired and too relieved to do anything more than lay in bed and kiss a bit before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Ethan slipped out before dawn, avoiding the stewards, and drove back to his condo for a quick shower before heading back.
After that, Ethan could barely stay away, and Jack invited him up to the Residence every evening.
Watching baseball together turned into Ethan lying with his head in Jack’s lap, Jack’s fingers stroking through his hair. Then unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders. By the bottom of the seventh, Ethan was lying shirtless and panting, and he was sure that Jack could feel the pounding of his heart as Jack stroked Ethan’s bare chest, fingers tugging on Ethan’s chest hair.
Ethan gave Jack a massage that night, straddling him and digging into his muscles with long, deep strokes, from the small of his back to his neck. Warm skin melted beneath his touch as he worked out knots Jack had ignored for over a decade. Beneath him, Jack shifted from a coiled tension—nervous apprehension at having a man touch him so intimately for the first time?—to groaning with contentment and relaxation, and arching into Ethan’s touch. Jack was a melted pile of warm smiles and open-mouthed kisses at the end, and he nuzzled Ethan’s cheek with his nose, tucked in close to his body, as he fell asleep.
A few nights later, Jack changed the rules of their pool game. For every ball sunk, the other player had to take off a piece of clothing. Jack told Ethan the new rules with a wink and a smile before breaking and running the table. Ethan ended up in his boxers and a blush, grinning.
“If you run the table, do I at least get a kiss?” Ethan had asked.
Jack turned serious. “You never need a reason to kiss me. Or a game.”
Ethan had kissed him then, drawing him into his arms and holding him close. Jack slowly turned him, pressing Ethan against the pool table, and the kiss stretched long. Ethan finally pushed him back, panting, with an apologetic look down at the tent of his boxers.
“Let’s reset the table. Your turn to break.” Jack stepped back and set up the balls as Ethan collected himself.
Ethan was too fired up and too distracted to run the table, but he got Jack down to his bare chest, though still in his dress pants, before he flubbed the next shot. Jack scratched next, and then it was back and forth, ball for ball, until they were both in boxers and chasing the eight ball.
“There’s a joke in here about sinking balls in holes, right?” Jack said as Ethan lined up for his shot.
Groaning, Ethan thunked his forehead down on the table, dropping his pool stick on the felt. “You are a complete tease.”
Ethan couldn’t stay the night after that. He couldn’t lie next to Jack and not want, desperately, to press his body close to Jack’s. He wanted to do this right, though, and so he left after a long, sultry kiss, one that almost had him coming in his pants and had Jack’s eyes blown black with desire.
Later, when he got home, Jack texted him.
Should I tell you that I masturbated to that kiss? And that I thought of you, standing there in just your boxers? And remembered the feel of your chest in my hands? Your strength, your muscles… Your body…
[Yes. God yes, you should tell me that.]
Do you think of me?
[Every single moment.]
I miss you. Come back?
[Not if we want to go slow.]
☺ You’re too good to me.
[This matters to me. I don’t want to hurt you. Or scare you. I want this to work so badly.]