Читать книгу Rogue President - D.K. Wilde - Страница 6

Sitting in the oval office President Markham had all the direct links he needed to his most senior people. All lines in and out were secure and repeatedly checked for hackers or bugging. His chief aide had just left the office when an insignificant, untraceable, encrypted mobile phone rang in his left pocket. Knowing that only one person had the number he didn’t look as he brought the phone to his ear.

“We have a problem,” said the voice.

Aware the two men always tried to limit how much they said on the airwaves Markham replied, “What sort of problem?”

“A four man squad had been deployed from the Bush carrier. They were ambushed, near Dambara, as we had arranged but two got away … one of them is Wade Ross,” came the concerned reply.

“Fuck,” swore Markham as he slapped his hand on the table. “How the hell did we let him get down there and who are the others?”

“We’re not sure. No identification. Plower only knew Ross. But we can guarantee they’re professionals if they’re with Ross. It seems someone got authority through OpNav.”

The two men were quite as Markham tried to gather his thoughts. Twenty seconds passed before he spoke.

“We keep this quite. You use the military to get rid of them. I’ve got some people who can find and take care of Ross’s wife. She could be a good bargaining tool if needed … We meet tonight at Goliath at 10,” then the phones went dead.

Walking from behind his desk he stood and looked out the French doors across the White House lawns. He removed a crumbled and folded piece of paper from his top pocket. The photograph had faded. A tear started to form, as it always did, whenever he looked down at the image of his older bastard brother, Stephen Paultier.

Markham, an only child, and in his first year at university, had noticed the attractive French woman at his father’s funeral. Standing away from others in her drab, cheap clothing, which was in stark contract to the ridiculously expensive outfits worn by the rich and famous attending; he watched the tears flow down her cherry red cheeks. Markham’s father was a very disliked man and not one other person shed a tear even though they all knew they needed to make an appearance. The power of money and position still evident even after death.

At the conclusion of the service he approached the woman.

“Hello. Leo Markham,” he said with his hand outstretched. “Thanks for coming to my father’s funeral.”

“He was a wonderful man,” she said, between sniffs, with her head bowed and dabbing a handkerchief to the sides of her eyes.

“That is nice of you to say but he wasn’t really very pleasant or wonderful at all.”

Markham Snr, was a womanizing self made multi millionaire who hadn’t cared who he trod on to succeed. To the point that many attempts had been made on his life only to be concluded as accidents. His businesses were highly regarded in both the private and public sectors.

Looking up she reached into her purse and pulled out a photo.

“Your half brother. My son. Murdered,” she said handing over the photo and turning to walk away.

Stunned Markham looked down at the face of the twenty four year old man.

“Wait … don’t go … what is this all about?”

“Don’t follow me Mister Markham. I have no answers. It is up to you to find the truth,” she said as she shuffled away like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

Regaining his composure, he called his aide to organize General Razen, Chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Charlotte Bysmith, Secretary of State and Leroy Mackinnon, the new Director of National Intelligence to be in attendance at Camp David that evening.

He then called Hank Jasper, his head of the US Presidential Secret Service.

Hank, a former FBI special agent and leader of a combined agencies special ops department, entered the room and stood at attention on the presidential seal embedded in the rug directly to the front of the president’s desk.

“Hank, please take a seat,” said Markham pausing until both men were settled. “This is off the record,” he said waiting for Hank to acknowledge the importance of the statement. “I need you to find out all you can about a Crystal Carters (nee Ross). She’s an ex US Navy helicopter pilot and I believe her father lives in Maryland. She is the wife of Wade Ross, ex Australian SAS. They live in Australia but she is on route to Maryland. Once you find her I want to know, at all times, what she is doing. I want only your best people on this and they must be prepared to eliminate her if required … is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, sir.” He replied, not flinching, sitting straight as a board.

“Good. Remember Hank, as per last time, I will definitely make this worth your while. Okay?”

“Yes sir, Mister President.” He stood and headed for the door.

“One last thing. Are you still watching the First Lady?”

“Yes sir.”

“Nothing to report?”

“No sir.”

“Good,” smiled Markham as he waved him out the door.