Mando Bk. 03: General Badass Ch. 08

The air force general is next. "Point is, Madam President, we are proud to serve under you. You are a veteran leader in the heat of battle and never faltered, and your victory was swift. You have earned our respect and that of the agencies involved."    

An animated Chairman summarizes my situation. "Here is what we see happening right now; an inexperienced vice president inherited one of the most complicated positions in the world. You must make the correct decisions quickly for the good of all Americans."    The staff nods in silent agreement.

"Such a situation would stress anyone to tilt and overload. We want you to know that we support a fellow general and are at your service for the benefit of the nation. You are now officially a five-star general. Congratulations."    

I am touched. I have friends. "Gentlemen, I need your support and am stunned at the acceptance of a young, female general."    

The Marine General can't let that pass. "Just a minute, General. We know about that special program you were in. Word is that you were the top gun in that program and it was a bruiser. After a week with you they forgot your gender and judged you by your skills, abilities, and brains. We are the same. We see a phenomenal soldier and leader. We are blind to age, gender, and time in."    

This from a Marine General I now outrank. Wow!

Emotions wash over me like a tsunami. I'm accepted based on skills and performance. That's all I've ever wanted. "Generals, words can't express my gratitude for this visit. You are dead on about the overwhelming demands and maximum stress caused by a twist of fate. I am no more of a politician than I am a surgeon. I know I'll need your support because I stomp on toes, hurt feelings, ignore pride, ruffle feathers and prune dead wood. I'll need friends."    

Their grins lead me to believe I just affirmed their expectations. This girl has a good ole boy network! Dynamite!    

***    

Two weeks later the Republican election committee visits. Their purpose is straightforward. "Madam President, we wish you to consider taking Tom's place in the election. Will you consider running for president?"    

I reject them right off like any inexperienced bumbling politician would. "Gentlemen, if I run it'll be as an independent."    

"Madam President, that would work if you had enough time, but we're in the last hour. There is not enough time for you to secure the congressional representative support you need." Rather than flinch at my rejection, they overcome it with the ease of a fishmonger fileting trout.    

I don't have the patience for this right now. I sigh. "I'll look into the advantages of each and consider your proposal. Call me tomorrow."    

I stand and walk to the door and open it. "Thanks for the consideration, gentlemen. Good day everyone. Thank you for the proposition."    

I return to my desk. Shit. I'll never be a politician. That meeting proved it. I didn't care if my brusque mannerism offended them or not. That's poor politics. A sly smile creeps upon my lips. Yes, but it gets the job done without wasting time.    

Gino and I had already discussed this possibility, so I know where he stands. "Go for it."    

I discuss the pros and cons of running on an independent ticket with a Political Science professor.    

"Madam President, if your strategy is to show up this year and run in four years, fine. But you need the pull of a major party to gain all the districts. If you wish to win the next election, follow Tom Sullivan's path."    

When the Party representative calls, I accept the nomination to ride the Republican elephant down the campaign trail. Don't know why I did, but I did.    

***    

Six weeks later I'm in a meeting with our movers and shakers when Kammy buzzes. "Come look at the TV."    

I stand. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I should only be a moment, but if I get tied up the chief of staff will lead."    

Kammy sounds desperate, and when I enter the room, I see why. She silently points to the Television.    

"In Macon Georgia, a distraught factory worker has over twelve hundred employees locked in the factory," a concerned-looking commentator says. "He claims he wired the building with six bombs that will collapse the cinder block building with one boom. They verified the outside bombs from the air. We'll go live with Jessica. Jessica, you are on the air."    

"Thank you. Charles Henley is beyond upset. I shouted questions to him and this is his response."    

The video feed comes alive and shows the factory. It's huge. The lone bomber is on the grass lawn in front of the building. The doors are chained and locked. It traps the workers inside a building surrounded by explosives ready for detonation. Not good.    

     "Mr. Henley, what will satisfy you enough for you to decommission the bombs?" Jessica asks him.    

He is a man in his late fifties or sixties with a three-day beard, wearing coveralls and holding a switch high enough for identification.    

"I'm sick and tired of being treated like shit. I've had enough of that god damned being passed over for promotion year after year, and I'm damn well tired of the workers laughing at me and making fun of me!"    

His voice climbs in volume with each word. He's getting more agitated by each tick of the clock. "Kammy, I hope the reporter has sense enough to stop and let him cool down."    

Jessica shouts another question. "I understand why you are upset..."    

He snaps at her in an escalating yell. "I ain't upset, I'm pissed off and mad enough to blow the hell out of the factory, the people inside, and me too. I don't give a shit."    

"Understood. Thanks for correcting me. What do you want the company to do for you?"

He scowls at the camera. "I'll tell you what I want, you goddamn right. I want to retire. I want enough money to get out of this shit hole and never see none of these uppity bastards again."    

"I understand." Jessica stays calm even though I can see fear in her eyes. She's trying to negotiate. "What amount of money is enough to start your new life?"    

"I want a goddamn hundred million dollars."    

"Wow, you must have big plans for your retirement."    

"I goddamn sure as hell do! Now when can I get my money?" His face is red from anger like he will explode. When he blows, the bomb blows.    

"I don't know Mr. Henley. That much money could take some time to put together. I'll talk to the authorities and get an answer, deal?"    

He frowns, his face twitches, and he slaps the back of his head.    

Kammy is nervous. "What do you want me to do, Danny?"    

I take a big breath and trickle it out. "Kammy, I want you to go solo, but it's too soon, and this man is a powder keg that could press that plunger without warning. The FBI will send a negotiator to buy time. I'll call Gino and see if he can help."    

I speed dial his number. "Gino, did you hear the news about the nut job holding twelve hundred factory workers hostage in their factory with six bombs in place?"    

"No, Danny. I haven't been near a TV set. What's on your mind?"    

"Do you have time to take this one?"    

"Sorry, Honey, but I won't be leaving for another six hours."    

"OK, I knew it was a long shot. Thanks, now quit gabbing to your wife and get back to work. Bye." I blow dry kisses through the phone.    

"Yes sir, mam. Bye."    

I switch my attention back to Kammy. "The helicopter has standard gear, let's load up." I wince when I remember our shadows. "Drats."    

"What?" She wrinkles her nose and purses her lips, trying to guess what my "darts means.    

"The secret service. Damn!" I curse and frown.    

"Who's boss?"    

"Even bosses should listen to their security team or guards. They are a lifeline. "    

I buzz the secretary. "Missy, tell the chief of staff in the nearest conference I was called away for an hour and a half."    

The security chief is next. "I have a personal emergency I want to handle alone. I'll go in the chopper. I'm leaving within the next ten minutes."    

"Excuse me, General, but I can't let you do that." His husky voice is uncompromising.    

"Miles, this is an FYI call so you'll know where I am and where I'm not. I am informing you, not asking permission. We'll go out the back door to the south lawn. Notify your men we are coming through. I'll notify you when I return. Bye." I hang up before he has time to respond. "Let's go Kammy."    

We hurry to the door. Surprise! Agents block our way.    

"Gentlemen, time is of the essence, I don't have time to kick your ass. Let us through."    

The agent closest to me shakes his head. "Sorry, I can't do that Mam."    

"Boys, I warn you if you do not move I will kick your ass. I really don't have time for that."    

They're grinning. "You can try, Mam."    

"Thank you. I have your permission to whip butts and crack skulls?" I narrow my eyes at them.    

They are still grinning at each other. "Um, yes Mam, but we don't advise it."    

I am done talking. I bound in between both men, grab their ears and crack their heads together. I worry I'll crack their skulls for real and kill the poor lemmings    

I dash out the door and head for the chopper fifteen feet away.    

By the time Kammy is buckling her seat belt, the rotors are turning. We're lifting off when four agents run out the door to stop us.    

"Persistent fellow, the SS chief, huh?"    

"Yes Kammy, he's a real bulldog."    

An agent shouts. "MAM. You must have someone with you."    

I do. Kammy.    

***    

"Kammy, take over while I dress, strap up, and become a dickless man. I enter the name of the factory on my I Pod, notate the address and log in the coordinates. I've already sent the code to the tower to identify the craft and classify my info.    

Forty-five minutes later we find a hotel close by and land on its roof. I call my new FBI contact since it is an FBI matter. "Don, this is Mando. Your guys are in the hostage situation in Macon aren't they?"    

"Yes, sir. Can you go? They're at a standoff."    

"Who's in charge?"    

"Bryn Peterson. When shall I tell him to expect you?"    

"Within the next few minutes. Give Agent Peterson the rules. I work alone. I may or may not talk to him when I get there, and I come and go quickly. The FBI takes credit for solving the puzzle. I'm wearing black tactical gear. Keep his men back and if there is a crowd move them out the way for their safety. Get authority for lethal force to me, proton, clear?"    

"Clear."    

"I'm off."    

I check out the factory through binoculars on the way in. "Yep, he's got bombs, but he's a dimwit."    

"Dim wit?" Kammy never heard this phrase. Guess it's not used in China.    

"The trigger is a plunger, and the bombs are wired in series."    

"That means?"    

"Cutting one wire between the trigger and the first bomb disarms the ones behind it."

"Cool."    

The phone plays the FBI tune. "Talk to me, Don."    

"Mando, this is Frank, the DD. You have full authority to use lethal force. I'll notify Agent Peterson to back off and let you work. No questions."    

"Good. I'll be there soon. If you can't reach him, call me within five minutes. I don't want those policemen to empty their riot guns in my ass."    

He laughs. "Not to worry. He'll answer my call or answer the suspension boards' questions. Good luck."    

I jog the last block when a text message from the Deputy Director pops in.    

Mando has full authority to use lethal force to contain the hostage situation at the Palmer Plastic factory in Macon Georgia on this date.    

I reply. "Going in."    

     I run the service road behind the factory and cut the wires from the detonator at the first bomb  and tie them off without being seen. The rest are dead. Now the workers will live. Time to go at him from the side. I peep around the corner. All's clear.    

Tick-Tock. Time to rock and roll.    

     Out of nowhere, the crowd sees a black-clad figure zip into view and sprint at haul ass speed toward the bomber. The newcomer punches the bomber just above his ear. The blow shatters bone and shoves the shards into his brain.    

Before his body drops to the ground like a rag doll, I snatch the trigger from his hand, rip the red wire from the base and tie it to the wire a foot from the trigger so everyone knows it's harmless. I unsnap the keys from his belt and run up the steps, remove the chains, throw the doors open and shout, "GET OUT! WALK. DON'T RUN, WALK. THE DANGER IS OVER. Walk!" I leap out of the way.    

Walk. Yeah, right. They're surrounded by bombs, and they will walk?    

Like a herd of stampeding cattle they run screaming from the building. I dodge behind them, sprint around the corner, return to the service road, and trot to the hotel. I clamber up the fire escape, hop onto the roof and scamper to the chopper.    

I jerk open the door and climb in. "Liftoff Kammy

I call the FBI Deputy Director who answers on the first ring. "Mando?"    

"Yes."    

"God damn, son. The agent in charge called five minutes ago. He said it happened so fast he almost missed it. He's quite impressed with your skills." He pauses. "And you are a TV star. Again."    

"Oh shit. They caught it on camera?"    

"The news reporters had their cameras on, and the entire event is digital." That confirms my worst fear.    

     "Darn it, Frank! How can I remain anonymous if they keep taking pictures? Damn." I want to punch something. Or someone.    

"Mando, the video had a timer. The entire rescue took fifty-seven seconds from the time you arrived until you opened the door. But listen to this: punching the man and disarming the trigger took nine seconds. Damn."    

I'm disappointed. "Shoot! It was those steps and undoing the lock and chain that slowed me down." I run a hand through my hair. "Anyway, did you warn him he would need a body bag instead of cuffs or a straight jacket?"    

The DD's chuckle turns to a laugh. "I did, but he thought I was blowing smoke up his butt when he saw you punch the man and jog toward the factory. Then an agent called him over and pointed to the place you hit. Your single punch broke his skull and shattered bone." He chuckles. "You made a believer out of Peterson." He laughs again. "He thanks you for saving him from all the paperwork and Psych evals. "    

"I bet that is a serious statement. I swear they should issue you guys a big pen and a small gun." I laugh.    

"You've got that right. HOT DAMN I can't wait to see the video clip." He's one excited Deputy Director.    

Time to quit talking and git.  "Thanks for the help, sir. I'm off."    

"Kammy, did you watch through the binoculars?"    

She grins and slaps her thigh. "You disabled the bomb, stopped the bomber's clock, made a show of disabling the trigger for the bomb squad to see quicker than a skunk can stink "    

I can't suppress a laugh at the skunk part. "Are you looking forward to the day you can solo, or do you even want to do it?"    

She glares at me like I've lost my mind. "Do I still want to do it? Danny, I'm bummed that you asked me that. That's what I work for everyday."    

***    

As expected, when we return to the White house the agents notify the director of the secret service I'm back. He calls. "Madam President, may I come see you?"    

"One minute and I'll check the schedule." I check with Merriam.    

"Madam President, the next available time is at six forty-five."    

"Great. Call the Director of SS and ask if that suits," I command.    

At six o five PM the DD texts me. "Turn on the news."    

I keep the TV on the news channel on mute. I UN-mute and watch the factory rescue. A fool appears out of nowhere hauling ass to the bomber to disable him and disarm the bomb. I watch him snatch the man's keys from his belt and scoot up the factory steps to unlock the door and release the workers. The announcer's voice comes on.    

"That was a scene at the Palmer Plastic factory in Macon Georgia where a mysterious man in black saved the workers from being blown up in their factory by a mad bomber. Jessica is on the scene to tell us what happened." The monitor fills with the beautiful Jessica staring directly into the camera. "You're live, Jessica. What can you tell us?"    

She does her spiel in that typical newscaster voice. "After three hours of threatening to blow up over twelve hundred workers in the factory, an unidentified individual defused both the bomber and the bombs in a matter of seconds. The scene you just saw was the entire rescue. In under a minute the hostages were running out the doors." She sports a puzzled look. "But what happened to the bomber? Is he in jail or the hospital?"    

She shakes her head. "The answer may surprise you since you saw the man in black punch him only once. He had neither guns nor knives, just his killer fist. That innocent looking punch was deadly. The bomber is dead. The crowd is abuzz about the mysterious savior. Where did he come from? Where did he go?"    

She frowns.    

"Hmm. It gets more interesting. When asked the man's identity the police shrugged and suggested he was an FBI agent. But..." She pauses for dramatic effect. "When reporters spoke to the FBI about the man in black, an agent gave them the phone number to FBI headquarters. When asked specifically if the man was an agent, the man in charge replied, "Never thought about it. When we ask headquarters for help they send a qualified specialist. He arrives, does the job, and leaves. End of story."    

She deadpans. "So now you know; the man in black is a classified specialist. Glad they cleared that up."  

Gino calls. "Danny, honey was that streak of black lightning in Macon you?"    

I laugh. "One black lightning bolt speaking, sir."    

"The president of the United States performing rescues? Better rethink that, Baby Doll."    

"I couldn't let twelve hundred people get blown up, could I?" Just the mere thought of what could happen if I weren't there gives me shivers.    

"No, you couldn't. That was remarkable, Danny. You were faster than a fried fart."    

I giggle. "Fried, you say?"    

"Yep. Deep fried fast food served with fries, but I don't advise super sizing."    

I light up. "Deep fried? Speaking of deep, come home early and go deep and defuse us both."    

I love hearing his musical laugh. "Got that deep diver right here. I'll come home cocked, primed, and ready to shoot my wad."    

I holler with glee. "You here yet?."    

***    

It's six forty-five, and a red-faced Miles shows up, yelling. "Madam President, what the hell was that? You leave without agents and beat two up. What the hell is going on?"    

I study him for a few seconds. "Miles, I informed you I was going out. You had the gall to tell the agents to stop me. That better not happen again."    

He goes ballistic. "HAPPEN AGAIN! HAPPEN AGAIN?" He takes a moment to take a deep breath. "What does that mean?"    

I stare him down. "That means when I tell you I am going out alone, do not contradict me and give your agents instructions to stop me. They were actually under the illusion they could. Then you send four more! That better not happen again."    

"Madam President, how do you expect me to protect you when you disappear like that? Tell me!"    

"Miles, the question surprises me. How can you protect me when I disappear? You can't. I do not expect you to protect me when I go out alone. Log that call in so you'll have on record that you were following my instructions for not accompanying me, and you're in the clear." I can see the vein in his forehead twitch. He's not fond of the idea.    

"For clarity, I will instruct you to have your guys stand down and wait for my return. That will relieve you of accountability for that time period," I want to make it painfully clear this is something I'm not willing to compromise.