Aztec Treasure

President Laura Kettering’s POV

White House- Personal Residence

Six days had passed since the assassination of fired CIA Director Peter Sinclair, and we weren’t getting anywhere. No one had woken me overnight; since I left orders to wake me if we found anything, that meant we hadn’t.

The initial investigation was conclusive; DNA evidence and fingerprints recovered along with the sniper rifle proved Julio Salazar was the killer. Despite wall-to-wall press coverage and a nationwide hunt for him, he’d disappeared without a trace. The Secret Service had gone on high alert for a few days but had returned to a normal posture yesterday. You can’t make the White House into an armed camp without looking weak.

My valet helped me choose a dress for the day while my secretary went over my schedule for the day. There was little around here as precious as the President’s time. Every minute was planned out and accounted for by my secretary and my Chief of Staff. I listened as my valet, the first female in the history of the White House, helped me with my makeup. It was going to be a busy day.

I saw my husband Andrew emerge from his room. We didn’t maintain the illusion of a loving relationship in private anymore; he enjoyed the benefits of being the First Husband, while I needed him as a prop for photo opportunities and state dinners. He was wearing white golf pants and a red polo. “Golf today?”

“Finally,” he said as he walked towards the door. “The Secret Service is finally letting me out of this cage.”

I chuckled at that; for a cage, it was a gilded one. “Where are you playing?”

“Chevy Chase Club,” he replied. “Senator Fairchild has a membership. We’re playing with a few guys from Pfizer.”

“Keep things low-key,” I said. Andrew could play golf every day of the year with the politicians and lobbyists seeking his time and favor. I’m sure if they understood just how little time I spent with him now, they wouldn’t ply him with golf, food, and drinks. He’d dropped five strokes on his handicap since I came to the White House. He didn’t look back as he left, his lead Secret Service agent waiting for him just outside the Residence. His protection team would drive him to the course in suburban Maryland; he wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.

I never ate much of a breakfast, and I was used to getting to the office early. Agent Carter had the lead this morning, and I smiled as I met him at the door leading away from the Residence. “Good morning, Rufus,” I said.

“Good morning, Madam President,” he said to me. “Valkyrie is on the move,” he said into his wrist microphone. Agent Carter was a twenty-year veteran of the Service and was both imposing and capable. Rufus shaved his head because he didn’t like to see the grey reminding him that he was getting older.

I walked into the Oval Office at seven AM to start on my calendar. On the corner of my desk was a tray with a toasted bagel, a half grapefruit, and a large cup of coffee. My Chief of Staff stood up as I entered. “Good morning, Madam President,” Lynette Johnson said. “You have a busy day set up. We need to twist some arms to get your defense budget passed.”

“I’ll make sure I stretch out first,” I told her. Lynette treasured this time alone with me while I ate; she was my gatekeeper, and we needed to be on the same page. The Chief of Staff was the most powerful person in the White House who wasn’t me. It was her job to run the White House offices and advance my priorities, and she was damn good at it.

The steward took the tray away after I finished, and the meeting schedule began with the Daily Intelligence Briefing. General Curtis Ripley, my Director of National Intelligence, didn’t have much to report, and neither did Homeland Security. I was getting a little frustrated. “We’ve got NOTHING on him? We just lost him? He just got up and walked away after shooting Peter in downtown Washington?”

Homeland Security Director Strickland was getting a little defensive. “If there were jungles in DC, he might have done that. You are correct that Julio can’t stay hidden forever. We are doing everything we can to locate him.”

“He’s not like your typical fugitive,” General Ripley said. “We’ve never had to deal with someone who could become a jaguar and slip into the woods to survive unseen. He could stay out there for months, and we’d never find him.”

“We think it is most likely that he left the country already,” Director Alexander Strickland added. “He took out everyone on the oil rig, and now he’s killed the CIA people responsible. Julio is not stupid enough to risk getting captured again, and the whole country knows his face. He’s probably in Mexico.”

I shook my head. “Is there anyone in the Sons who could be helping him now?”

“I consider that unlikely,” Alexander replied. “Between the raids and RICO, there’s no one above a prospect left in the Club. All his family members are dead, save two, and we know he hasn’t contacted them. Chase would kill him if he tried.” Julio and his family held grudges, which is how the whole war started between the Sons and the Steel Brotherhood. Chase and his Pack had been instrumental in the takedown of the Sons of Tezcatlipoca. Julio would want his blood as payback for the loss of life. “If he wants revenge, he’ll be in Minnesota.”

In the end, it was all guessing. Julio would show up, or he wouldn’t. I went on with my day.

I was in the middle of my one o'clock press conference in the East Room when Rufus walked up to me with a grim expression on his face. “We have to go NOW,” he whispered to me.

“What?”

He wasn’t waiting as he pushed me towards the door, his hand in my back as he moved me away from the lectern. The reporters were shouting questions, all wondering what was going on. Rufus pushed me through the door, where five more agents surrounded me. All had their weapons drawn. “What is going on,” I asked because I couldn’t see past them. The agents didn’t go at my pace; instead, two of them had me by my arms. My toes barely touched the ground as they whisked me to the waiting elevator. Rufus and three other agents entered with me. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

“It’s a security situation, and we’re taking you to the bunker,” Rufus said. He ignored me as he listened to updates on his earpiece, and I knew better than to push it right now. The Secret Service’s response to threats was to get me to the safest location available. At the White House, that was the underground Situation Room.

Rufus left two men at the elevator while he walked me to the situation room. Only the skeleton staff was present, and they all stood as I entered the room. I stood at the head of the table, glaring at my lead agent. “Rufus?”

“The Secret Service detail assigned to your husband called in they were under attack,” he told me. “We’ve been unable to raise them since.”

I fell back into the chair; the news knocked the wind out of me. “How?”

“I don’t have that information, Madam President.”

It took fifteen minutes before I got a proper briefing, and by that time, the room was nearly full. The head of the Secret Service gave us the bad news. “Our team got ambushed on the thirteenth fairway,” Valerie Grunwald said. “The gunman used an AR-15 and killed three of the agents. The fourth was seriously wounded and unable to fight back. Mr. Kettering’s kidnapper took him through a cut in the fence to a waiting vehicle.”

“Where do we sit on the search?”

“We are mobilizing air assets and setting a perimeter, but he got a good jump on us. Our only witness so far said it was a white van.”

The screens showed the progress of the search. An hour later, officers checking on a white van at a local park found Andrew’s wallet and golf glove. There was no sign of the First Husband. “He changed cars,” FBI Director Patterson said. “I’m sorry, Madam President. He could be anywhere by now.”

It was after eight at night when the local news station received a ransom note from Julio.

“I have your husband. If you want to see him alive again, you must give me four things in return. The ten million dollars that you took from my Club. Chase Nygaard, the wolf directly responsible for the deaths of my Club brothers. My only living family members, Maria Meztli and baby Maritza. And a private jet and crew, fueled and ready for me at eight PM tomorrow at the Leesburg Executive Airport. Don’t even think about trying to arrest me or stop me; Andrew only has enough air to survive for forty-eight hours or so, and I’m the only one who can tell you where I have him buried.”

I leaned back in my chair, my headache pounding away. My hands were shaking as I reached for my glass of water. What the hell was I supposed to do now?