NO MORE SECRETS
PROLOGUE
The President was walking wearily off the 18th green at the Congressional Country Club. It was a hot, muggy day. There were better places to be then the outskirts of the District of Columbia. It was the kind of day that sucks the energy out of you. Probably the reason Congress decided many years ago to take off the entire month of August. He was drained and had lost his side wager. He was not happy. Staying cool was the main preoccupation for the locals. He could not wait to get to the club house — the air-conditioned club house — just up the hill. Then the President saw him approach out of the corner of his eye. He frantically looked around for his Secret Service detail.
A microphone was thrust in his face and the reporter shouted, “Mr. President, what’s your comment on the breakdown of peace negotiations in the Middle East.” This was supposed to be a no-camera event. “Do you think war is imminent between the Sunnis and Shiites?” The President looked for his security people to get the camera and microphone out of his face. The President was tired and dehydrated and in no mood to answer questions. Especially sensitive questions that involved one of his playing partners.
The Secret Service agents were running at top speed to get the pushy reporter away from the President. But the reporter persisted — he was from the Al Jazeera network, the Qatari-based network. They had a policy that wherever their Emir went, they went. Today he was in the President’s quartet — giving them access to the grounds. Besides the Emir, the foursome trudging to their golf carts was, Phillip, one of the partners of Carlisle, and Richard Branson of Virgin InterGalactic Airlines. They looked on helplessly.
Today was a special day. It was the Carlisle Investment Group’s annual golf tournament – a prestigious event that movers and shakers from around world flew in especially for on their private jets. Andrews Air Force Base was walled off overnight to provide extra security for the ritzy hardware. The world’s wealthiest partnered with government leaders. Royalty teed off against global financiers. It was a networking event that you booked on your calendar well in advance — an invite you dared not miss. The Carlisle Group was the world’s largest asset manager and they knew everybody important. And everybody wanted to know them. Especially the three founders of the company.
This was not an ordinary golf outing. The Congressional Club hosted the U.S. Open several times and Tiger Woods’ tournament many times — but today’s event was more prestigious. It reeked with power, money and prestige. The golfer who won the closest to the pin contest on the par 3 seventh hole would walk away with a Bentley. Everything was arranged to make this an unforgettable occasion. Everything — except for the humidity and that pesky reporter near the 18th green.
The President knew at this point that he had to give a response. Something intelligent that could be broadcast. If not, the sight of a President dripping in perspiration barely able to make it off the green and into his golf cart would be the lead story. “Yes, I regret that the negotiations under the authority of the United Nations broke off. But that does not mean there is not hope. I’m sure the two sides will get back to the bargaining table. There is too much at stake to give up. This is a complicated matter that will affect the lives of many millions of people for many years. I am sure that the leaders will find a compromise. I know that the Special Tribunal in The Hague is still functioning so maybe they can find a solution.”
“But Mr. President, that’s not what you said…”
Before the reporter could finish the Secret Service whisked the President off and the camera crew was ushered off the premises.
1. VANESSA
Vanessa woke to the sounds of cardinals chirping outside her bedroom window. She snuggled up to Petr under the coral sheets and felt his warm, lean body next to hers. The morning light was pushing away the darkness. She loved being cuddled by him and his masculine smell was a natural aphrodisiac. Her stirring in the luxurious four-poster bed made him reach out and, on cue, put his arms around. She felt his hand starting to caress her more than receptive body. She brought her lips to meet his while he whispered, “G’mornin, how’s my sunshine?”
