Tanya
"You're going to be the death of me." Agent Wei rubs her forehead.
"Thanks for allowing this."I sarcastically smile.
I glance around the room. Walter and Jane will be riding there with me. Jane is already in the motorcade, where it's the quietest- trying to get a hold of Agent Higgins.
I'm about two seconds away from sending secret service to find and- by whatever means necessary, bring her to me if Jane is unsuccessful in her efforts. The FBI as a whole hasn't been very helpful- no matter how hard they've tried. The people who did this meticulously planned every detail- they had to if they wanted to get away with it.
"You ready?" Walter asks. "For your first sort of press conference?"
"Are you?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Absolutely not."
The feeling is mutual.
"Well-" Agent Wei checks her watch. "We've got about five minutes to get there and ... that quick stop so we should probably get going- unless you're backing out?"
Her eyes are almost hopeful, because there is no way to guarantee my safety once I walk out there. I'll be in a crowd- exposed from above because of the short notice, but with the undercover agents they could gather quickly sprinkled around.
"No." I offer Walter my hand. He takes it, and releases the second we're outside. A few dozen yards away, the crowd notices our presence. They were already on high alert since the presidential motorcade pulled up a few feet behind them.
Some agent unlocks the gate with his keycard, and I feel free- like Walter and I are two friends on an evening walk and like I am not the president of the United States.
There are no agents surrounding us- not ones that are visible to average citizens at least, so I'm able to get a good view of the crowd size, and now I understand Agent Wei's anxiety.
Regardless I continue. Some shout questions, while others elbow and yell at them to shut up.
The ones nearest the gate fall silent as we walk up to the shrine. I bend down and get on my knees so I can get a better view. Tiny pebbles dig into my knees but I don't care- I can deal with minor discomfort. The cut on my leg throbs painfully but I ignore it.
And for what feels like the first time since my parents died, I look to the sky.
"Come on you asshole." I think. "What are you waiting for?"
Someone hands me a candle. I don't look to see who, it doesn't matter- but I set it down right below the picture of Gretchen Cook. Lowe's is a little less crowded- people are still holding out hope that they'll see a breaking news headline telling them he's alive.
I stand up.
"What are you doing here, Madam President?" Someone holding another candle asks.
"I'm...." There's no correct answer. Somebody will be pissed regardless. "I'm going to pray with you."
The reaction is slow. I don't mean this in a bad way, but a lot of people in the crowd do not look religious. They just look like me; paying respects to an "all powerful" deity during a time of tragedy, hoping for something in return.
But eventually, everybody's heads are bowed and I realize they expect me to lead the prayer. Fuck. I didn't have a script ready for this.
"Father.... Father god if you are hearing this... and I know you are... please, please show mercy. As a nation we are hurting, crying together even. I pray that you give us some good news- and at the very least save our president. Amen."
Did I do that right? Did I somehow manage to insult an entire faith group? Did I sound like a fucking idiot?
When Amen's ring out from the crowd, I know I did it at least a little right: otherwise I know some of them would be booing me.
"Excuse me." My eyes wander to the back, where one of the motorcade vehicles is waiting with an open door and three undercover agents.
They part way without having to be asked again. The respect is something I don't get- shouldn't they be wishing that I died and Cook or Lowe got pulled out of the rubble instead?
I feel the power in my own walk, hear the cameras snapping away and Walter beside me. I can already see these pictures being put in history books no matter how much I may protest.
I slide into the armored tank they like to call a van, putting me in the middle. An agent shuts and aggressively locks the door on Walter's side. Five seconds later, Jane gets in the other way.
"I asked my assistant to connect Amber's- her girlfriend and the agent that died- number to my phone for a few minutes."
"Godamnit that's cruel-"
"Maybe." She admits. "It worked though. She should be there about the same time we are."
The motorcade pulls off.
"How's you're daughter doing with all of this?" Jane asks. "When I.... took this job a few years back mine was pissed but she got over it once I started acknowledging her existence more."
"Katie's fine. She's always been independent."
"Willingly? Or out of necessity?"
"Both.... Maybe." I say. "I had my moments but I... was a horrible mother at first. I had the... housekeepers raise her and by the time I started being a mother they'd taught her everything a mother should have. Why is it any of your business anyways?"
"It's not but-" she coughs. "I'm just making an observation. She could be having a full blown mental breakdown and you wouldn't know. Hell mine might be."
"Secret service would tell me if she was having a panic attack-"
"Maybe not." Jane suggests. "The security I hired for mine after a suspect in a case I was working on threatened her life didn't. They went around me to the Director because I was on the brink of solving it and they didn't want to distract me."
"God that's horrible...." I shake my head, disgusted for her. "I'm going to talk to her. I mean really talk to her, just not now. There's too many things to be done."
"Yeah...." I follow her line of sight to the FBI tent, which is barely visible from here because of the vehicles and reporters blocking it. At some point, some FBI interns set up a podium and the media was finally let in. They must have been able to infer from that alone that something was seriously wrong and there was nothing that can be done about it. They would be right.
I am terrified of looking at the news right now. Ive avoided it the past half hour- and this would be my first real chance to interact with reporters( I'm not counting the one that approached me immodestly after my rescue.)
A few point out the motorcade. The secret service driving us pull around back around so we can go into the tent without being assaulted by a million questions.
Then, just two minutes later- there she is.
It takes her a second. She glances between Jane and I, the realization hitting her.
"You asshole-" Her comments are directed at Jane. "How much clearer could I have been? I am not ready to talk to her yet-"
"I'll give you two some privacy." She shrugs, grabs her headphones and walks to the end of the tent farthest away from us. The FBI agents identifying bodies and arms and legs with tattoos are too absorbed in their work to care or acknowledge my presence- and I don't mind it that way. It makes me feel somewhat normal- until I remember why I'm here in the first place. Walter's disappeared to the front to fill in until Jane and I get our asses out there- since the FBI's own press Secretary is confirmed dead now too.
...annnnd the only reason I know that is because I'm staring as his decapitated, partially exploded head right now.
"Madam President it's nothing personal." Alex finally speaks. "But.... You should know that I'm on the edge of something.... forgive my poor wording but explosive is the only way to really describe it. I should have names for you before morning comes."
"Morning?" I fake chuckle. "We don't have until then. If we don't stay on top of this as a country then we-"
"Respectfully, Madam President- What have you done this entire time besides one speech and a single press release? I have been working my ass off through the loss of-"
"You think I didn't lose anybody I loved?" I laugh. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
I shake my head.
"I lost all of my closest friends in that bombing. Some of them incumbent sitting congressmen and women, some who it was their first day like me. Candidates formed a bond like no other in the months leading up to... now. So I am sorry for your loss but don't you fucking dare go there. I have pushed through losing everybody."
She is silent for a moment, taking in my outburst.
It surprised even me if I'm being honest. I'd like to think Ive kept level headed this entire time.
"So have I." She replies. "Most of us... lost somebody in there."
I look around, really making sure nearby agents are absorbed in their own work. "You wanna know what I've been doing this entire time? Rebuilding the fucking government."
I storm off, almost to the side with reporters when Walter peaks just his head through, making sure they can't see in.
"You ready?" He asks.
"Of course not."
"Perfect-" he disappears again. "Ladies and gentlemen, the president and deputy director of the FBI of the United States."
I hadn't even noticed Jane appear beside me, but then somebody's holding the tent's "door" open for us, and an IPad is thrust into her hands, and we're walking forward to the podium and reporters are shouting questions, most of which I can't answer.
And I do plan on sticking to Walter's suggestion not to take questions, because this is just supposed to be an update. The reporters don't seem to understand that though.
"Madam President can you update us on the search effort for President Lowe?"
"Madam President do you have anything to say on the president of China offering his support?"
"So-" I briefly wrap my hand around the mic. "All of these questions will be answered in due time but for now- the deputy director is going to give an update."
"Thank you, Madam President." I step aside. Jane coughs, glancing at the rough, quickly typed script. "This has been one of our most trying days as a nation. There has.... Never been an attack on our government quite like this. The FBI has been searching for.... Survivors since minutes after the explosion. Thus far.... President Clark is the only known survivor of our higher government."
A few reporters even put their hands over their mouths. They knew it was bad. Really, really bad even- but they couldn't have expected this.
"There were a few family members who were lucky." Jane continues. "President Clark's daughter, the senate minority leader's son, the house speaker's cousin. But for the most part.... They too are gone. The bodies are piling up quicker than we can count. As of two minutes ago the confirmed deaths are as followed, on top of the ones we have already officially announced: forty two congressional representatives. Thirty two senators and-"
A notification pops up on the Ipad. Jane quickly swipes it away, but not before either of us have the chance to read: UPDATE: ALL SENATORS CONFIRMED DEAD. ALL.
oh.my.god.
Jane struggles to keep her composure, even knowing we're on live tv- but she manages.
"Excuse me. Scratch my last statement. All senators. All..... all of them." She stutters, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. "I know this isn't what any of you as a nation hoped to hear tonight but... in regards to the question from the MSNBC reporter on President Lowe- he remains missing. With him we are, however- hopeful. At the time of the first capital explosions, he'd gotten up to go to the bathroom. From our estimates through briefly looking at the layout and security and media footages, he was twenty-ish feet away from all of the bombs. Realistically speaking- if we do find him alive he will be extremely injured. So I do encourage those of you who are religious to continue praying if you wish, and for the rest to be stronger than you ever have before. Right now, as a nation- we cannot show weakness."
-5 months ago-
"Wow." The sight still takes my breath away. No matter how many times I come here, I'm amazed at how large it is.
God, if I get caught here I can pretty much kiss my candidacy goodbye but I haven't been making the best decisions the past month anyways. I didn't take my own car- Im too far away from home so I came by plane and and secret service escorts sent to the airport for me. This feels wrong. I know it is wrong, but as long as I don't get caught there shouldn't be an issue.
One month ago he summoned me, just wanting to talk- and the rest is history. That first time we met I didn't know what to call it- sometimes I still don't, but I think I felt a spark. A spark that shouldn't exist- because we are such polar opposites within our own party and are supposed to hate each other. We keep politics out of the bedroom for the most part. It only comes up if one of the butlers or secret service knock on his door, informing him of an emergency that needs his immediate attention.
When we are left alone, as cheesy as this sounds- the only word that can describe it is magical.
So as I leave the parking lot, and the grass at the edge of the pathway brushes against my sandaled feet- I reflect. A shiver runs down my spine. Most women would be bothered by what I'm doing- with who I'm doing really, but I am not a good person. He isn't either. We've both acknowledged this multiple times, but we figured hey- multiple times and once are the same thing to the media.
None of the White House aides will recognize me immediately. My short hair is under a wig, I've drawn my eyebrows on thicker today and put contacts in. But those who are close to him will see right through me. They know about us- his chief of staff walked in on us once and told the others. He forced them to sign NDA forms before someone could leak it, and I don't know the laws in other places- but here in D.C breaking an NDA can land you in federal prison for twenty years.
They wouldn't risk that, and he knows it. That's why neither of us are more worried than we are.
The secret service known my name and all of my disguises just by looking at the shape of my nose and lips. Unofficially, they're all under NDA's, so they won't be an issue either. Part of secret service policy is to mind your own business and not ask questions that aren't security related. If they don't, they could be fired and barred from getting another secret service job ever again.
I smile. Nobody is ever going to find out.
I say hi to the agent standing guard at the outside elevator, who lets me in upon approval from him. My heart flutters. Not many can say they've seen the inside of his bedroom, or even his living room.
Hell, not many will ever see his backyard or meet his dogs.
Annoying elevator music plays. I'll never get why they don't just put a radio in or nothing at all.
After ten seconds, a sharp jolt lets me know the ride is over. The doors slide open and he's standing there, a smirk on his face. What makes him such a good leader regardless of his politics is how contagious his facial expressions are, almost like mind control. I walk forward and kiss him on the cheek.
He returns it by pulling me closer, making out with me for a good five minutes before he pulls away.
"Are they still in Michigan?" I ask, referring to his wife and daughter.
"Of course-" he nods. "Are you still on a break from campaigning?"
"I've got two whole days off." I inform him. "Thank you for letting me borrow your speech writer. I asked him to write for my daughter if you don't mind."
"Does she know?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Of course not." I reply. "I told her the speech was from ours. She's filling in for me at a rally tomorrow."
"Well then-" he smiles. "Unless something comes up we really do have forty eight hours alone."
God, if my mother was looking up from hell disappointed in me before, she's disgusted now. Not like I ever cared (or currently care) about what she thinks, but I do still hear her voice in my head from time to time.
"You fucking home wrecker!!!" It says now. It is right.
But the feeling of his hands slipping under my shirt and up my bare back is like a drug- my own personal psychedelic. He's made me see stars inside, during the day.
So I give in.
I let him pick me up and wrap my legs around his waist to make it easier. I do not protest when my back hits the bed, or when we start undressing each other.
He looks into my eyes for consent, something he's never failed to do.
"Yes, Mr.President."
—-5 months ago—
With just a few hours left before I have to go, we're daringly enjoying the rare, nice weather outside. Just for him to be out here- on his own balcony, secret service cleared people along the fence within viewing distance of it.
Their logic was this:
"It's really none of our business who you choose to fuck. We just can't allow someone to be that close to him who might be a really good shot and might happen to have pocket knife on them."
I get it, but I don't think I could live the way he does. He's under constant supervision- agents stand outside of his bedroom for fucks sake, and he can't leave his own house/ office without notifying them first and it becoming a big deal. Short notice expeditions are almost unheard of, he told me. While they never express their feelings, it's clear they try to hide their frustration when he does give them short notice; he tries not to do that to them.
I lay my head on his shoulder and trace his bare abs with my fingers. This time has been so, so precious to both of us- because we know the chances of having this much time to ourselves ever again is slim to none. He does not love his wife, and she's all but publicly stated she doesn't love him either- but they stay together for his re-election chances. Divorce doesn't look good on a political candidate, neither does having an affair with a potential congresswoman.
To me, it is understandable. This is modern day politics at its finest: deceiving.
Almost nothing that comes out of his mouth in public is done so without a script. He told me in the past, before presidents had all these speech writers, some of it was from the heart. Now, none of it is- since these speech writers plan answers to every single possible question and he memorizes them.
He tells me he wouldn't know how to function as a leader without these speech writers, that he's always had a bit of stage fright- but in the back of my head I'm thinking: "It's not stage fright. Running a country sounds fucking terrifying. Hell, I did one congressional debate and I wanted to crawl under the fucking table and stay there forever."
"What's the least stressful part of... all of this?" I squint my eyes, a ray of sunlight suddenly hitting them.
"Well the public doesn't see it very often but-" he chokes up. "Visiting the make a wish kids. Most of them just want to talk and... are insecure about having their pictures taken. I respect them. I've.... Watched two children die because I only got to them once they were at the very end stages."
"You couldn't have predicted when they would die-"
"No but I could have made a stronger effort to find time for them." He shrugs. "Nothing I can do about it now. My last request was two weeks ago- a seventeen year old with leukemia. Her doctors said she's actually doing really well."
"That's amazing... right?"
"Yeah..." his voice trails off. "It just... reminded me why I wanted this job. I haven't been the best.... President lately. The conservatives are really planting seeds in my brain and I..."
"Hey- that's not your fault." I say. "Some of them can be quite convincing-you just need to work on not letting yourself get any more moderate and... find yourself again. That's understandable."
He smiles. "You've helped me a lot with that last part."
"Darrel-"
"No, it's true. Without your influence I wouldn't have had the guts to stand up to the senate majority leader or tell him I was getting my bill through no matter what."
I roll my eyes.
"I hate that bill."
"I know." He chuckles.
"It is one of the most flawed pieces I've ever read in my life."
"It could use some work." He admits.
"No, not just a little. The entire thing needs to be reworked or it'll make the Democratic Party look like a joke."
"Yes, I know-" he sighs. "Are we seriously gonna spend our last few hours together talking politics?"
"No." I shake my head. "I'm sorry."
So we don't. The conversation seems to linger in both of our minds because we don't talk much, but still- we enjoy each other's presence.
At some point, I fall asleep.
He is in my dreams too, only it turns into a nightmare. I watch him die a few different ways. Once, it's because of a successful assassination attempt. The shooter is aiming for his wife, but because he's a half decent person he jumps in front of the mother of his child- the shooter knew he would do this.
In another version, he's in the middle of a speech when he starts feeling off. A few minutes later he's clutching his chest, in pain- and he collapses. I see this through his eyes: he's airlifted to Walter reed. Over a dozen doctors do things to him I can't begin to understand, yet it isn't enough. He ends up going painfully.
A few years after his presidency is over, he's declined secret service protection. We're staying in that secret apartment at the top of the Eiffel Tower, and he walks out to the balcony. In this dream, his daughter died a few months earlier and his mental health is suffering. We talk for a bit, and then he says "I'm sorry for doing this to you."
He climbs over the railing, and then he jumps. I scream at the top of my lungs and run faster than I ever have before to get to the elevator, hyperventilating on the way down. When I reach the ground, a crowd has gathered. His limbs are twisted in ways none ever should be, and his head literally exploded upon impact- leaving blood and bits of his flesh everywhere.
I wake up screaming.
He jumps, having fallen asleep himself. Secret service rush in while I'm still hyperventilating and he's holding me. They relax a bit when they figure out I just had a bad dream and nobody's actually trying to kill us at the current moment.
"What happened?" He asks, hands cupping my face, genuine concern on his.
"You.... You died. A lot."
"Ah-" He jerks his head sideways to the agent now watching us through the glass doors. "They wouldn't let that happen even if I wanted to. Trust me, I'm not going anywhere."
"I believe you-" I say. "But my subconscious doesn't."
A ding indicates a text from one of our phones.
Upon seeing that my screen is blank, I gesture to his. He types the unnecessarily long password in- some string of letters, numbers, and symbols I couldn't follow if I wanted to. At first he doesn't react. Then he clicks on his messages- which he's set so notifications don't show up as banners, and he mumbles "shit" under his breath.
"What?" I sit up.
He breathes heavily. "There was a fifth case of Ebola in New York- the fifth one this week."
"Oh my god-" I say. "In the Bronx again?"
"Staten island."
I feel like throwing up. If it's traveled all the way there that means.....
"There's a much wider community spread than we originally thought." He finishes my thought.
During a phone call last week, he told me they found somebody who had it- and that they'd quarantined the entire family together. Each of them got it. Two of them died- but he told me that was so much bette than what it could've turned into if they didn't do what they did.
This new case, thirty miles away from that small, "contained" cluster tells anybody with common sense one of the family members lied to the CDC about where they'd been. And if it's one of the dead ones- we'll never know.
Fuck this is bad.
"Tanya I'm so sorry but I have to-"
"It's okay, I get it. The presidency doesn't always run on a strict schedule and I know you'll probably get a-"
We're interrupted by a secret service agent knocking on the glass door and opening it.
"You're needed in command opps, Mr.President."
"Yeah yeah, I'm coming." He stands up. I stand up with him. "When does your flight leave again?"
"One." I reply. "And I'm jumping right back into the campaign. I've got a town hall at four."
"Well- good luck." He plants a light kiss on my forehead. It becomes apparent we're both in a rush. The secret service agent is repacking my bag without being asked, having been aware of when I planned on leaving.
He goes to leave. Then a few feet away, with his back turned to me, he pauses.
"I love you."
And then he's gone, in the inside elevator just seconds later.
I don't have time to process what he said before the agent is ushering me out. Without him actively being here, I don't have the clearance to stay.
"Jesus, I'm going." I yank my arm away. "I do remember how to walk."
He scoffs.
"What?"
"I'm trying to help you, idiot."
"Excuse me-"
"The First Lady wanted to come back early and surprise him. So unless you want to run into her in her own home, I'd suggest leaving. Now. Like- right now."
My eyes widen. I decide to listen to him.
The one thing that helps my case a little bit is I'm already dressed for the campaign event, so maybe I'd be able to pass as some employee she's never met.... though about 98% of the average White House employees don't have access to the residence.
Fuck.
We take the outside elevator down. I pray to a god I don't believe in that I at least get to my secret service car escort before her motorcade pulls in.
So when the doors open and I feel the light breeze again, I think I'm in the clear. That is- until I take two steps, turn sideways- and she's there.
We almost run into each other.
Time moves in slow motion.
She looks me up a down. Recognition hits her like a truck.
"Tanya Clark."
"Madam First Lady." I fake smile. "Hi. I just met with your husband to get advice on campaigning-"
"Let's cut the shit." She interrupts. "Walk with me. Jamie- linger back a bit. Give us some privacy."
I gulp.
Jamie- which is apparently her head of security's name, listens.
We're a good ten feet from him before she stops and her whole demeanor changes again.
"I'm not an idiot. I knew he was cheating on me."
"Madam First Lady-"
"Lily. Call me Lily."
"Lily.... I never thought you were an idiot. Maybe... we were for thinking we could hide forever."
"Yeah.... You're both fucking Morons."
"I don't think-"
"I am willing to play nice for him in public. That is all- because I happen to think he's a pretty damn good president. If I ever see you here again I will kill you."
"Lily-"
"I'm not finished. The only thing keeping me from killing you right now is the charity event." Right- I forgot. She's hosting a fundraiser for St.Jude's tonight. "If I had it my way, and if we were alone right now- I'd beat the living shit out of you."
"Ma'm-"
Before I have a chance to react she slaps me across the face hard. I don't protest. I don't hit her back because I know that would get me shot.
Instead I turn my face towards her and, not in my proudest moment, say: "At least I'm getting some."
She loses it.
"YOU FUCKING WHORE-" She lunges for me. In a second, Jamie's by her side, pinning her arms hard.
"Ma'm I hate that I have to tell you this in this way but-" He pauses. "Calm the hell down. If you yell any louder somebody's going to hear you."
When she's given up struggling, she glares at me.
"I am going to kill you. That is a promise."