Chapter 9

The phone in Jones’s office wouldn’t stop ringing. Ever since the speech Smith made after his trial, the media wanted a comment on whether Jones would accept the debate. After the first hour, he just told his secretary not to disturb him for the rest of the afternoon. He even had lunch delivered so he wouldn’t have to face the hordes of reporters waiting for him on the steps of his office building.

Jones gave a smug smile, cutting into the grilled fish filet. He knew Smith was just baiting him, trying to lure him out, but Jones was patient. The media frenzy would peter out. He just had to keep himself busy with other matters, which, in the current climate, weren’t hard to find.

A knock on the door broke Jones’s faint concentration on his lunch, and Cindy poked her head inside the office, breaking the seal of quiet from the noisy anteroom where her desk sat.

“Cindy, I told you I did not want to be disturbed,” Smith said.

“I’m sorry, Congressman, but there’s a man here who has been incredibly insistent to see you.”

“Then call security and escort him out.”

“I did, sir… They wouldn’t move him.”

The piece of filet that Jones was cutting through hung open and exposed as steam escaped. Jones set the fork down. “Send him in.”

Cindy nodded, and a few moments later, a man, completely bald and wearing a fine tailored suit, stepped inside. He wore no flag pin on his lapel, but Jones already knew he wasn’t a politician. There was only one reason security hadn’t escorted him out when Cindy called them. This man was from Strydent.

“We need an update,” the man said.

“You need to leave. Now,” Jones answered.

“My client wants progress. They’re not seeing it.”

“You have the audacity to come here? To my office! You tell your client that I will contact them when I am ready. Understand?”

The distance between himself and the man was what prompted the courage, but after the first few steps the unwanted guest took, Jones found the foundation of courage shrinking in proportion to his proximity.

“Do you know who I am?” Jones asked. “Did they even tell you?”

The man reached into an inside jacket pocket, and Jones flinched as he pulled out an envelope. He dropped it on Jones’s desk on top of the plate of fish.

“What is this?” Jones asked.

“A push. If my client doesn’t have an update by the end of the week, then I’ll be back. And the next time, it won’t be an envelope I give you.”

Finally, after it seemed that the fish under the envelope had gone cold, the man disappeared, closing the door behind him. The envelope felt thin. Jones tore the top open, and a plane ticket slid out. It bore a departure time of this afternoon to Mexico City.

“Christ.”

Jones tucked the ticket inside his jacket and picked up his phone. “Cindy, I need to speak with the president immediately. Don’t take no for an answer.”

Before Cindy could respond, he hung up. He fell back into his chair and looked at the half-covered salmon on his plate. The knife still rested in the fillet, splitting it in half. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk, staring at his uneaten lunch.

The flight was in three hours. Jones knew that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything without the president’s support now. The country was screaming for justice for the attacks by Mexico, and the president had inked the declaration of war to appease its appetite.

Jones caught his knee bouncing nervously. He chewed the nail on the end of his thumb. If he were to make the flight by four, then he would have to meet with the president within the hour.

He reached for the receiver hastily and dialed Cindy again. “Cindy… Well, keep trying. I know he’s in town this week for the war meetings…. Good, well, keep me updated. And I also need to speak with Congressman Hunter. Get him on the line for me immediately, but if the president’s office calls back, that takes priority.”

His thumbnail found his teeth once more. A few moments later, the phone rang, and the haggard voice of Congressman Hunter sounded on the other end of the line.

“What is it?” Daniel asked.

“I need you to come with me to Mexico this afternoon. Our flight leaves at four p.m. Be ready. I’ll have a car come and pick you up.”

“I told you we’re done.”

“Listen to me, you sniveling hypocrite. You will be on that plane!”

Jones slammed the receiver back onto its cradle. The ruckus made Cindy peek inside. “Sir?”

“Don’t bother me unless it’s about the president!” Jones said.

Cindy sheepishly closed the door. Jones picked up the plate of fish and flung it across the room, where it splattered on his bookcase. All Jones wanted to do at that moment was rip everything apart. But then he closed his eyes. He drew in three deep, heavy breaths. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. There was still a chance. He wasn’t done yet. The phone on his desk rang. “Yes?”

“Sir, the president can meet with you in one hour.”

Jones said nothing. He hung up the phone and walked to the office door but stopped with his hand around the doorknob. The press was still waiting for him outside, and there was no way he could get past the media without any comment.

When he showed his face on the other side of his office door, all of the interns grew quiet. He buttoned the jacket of his suit and brushed past them without a word.

The rush of reporters that swarmed him the moment he stepped out of the building stopped him dead in his tracks. They weren’t going to let him pass without something.

“Congressman! What are you going to do about the debate?”

“Do you have any comment?”

“There has been strong speculation about your relationship with Strydent Chemical. What do you have to say about that?”

Jones raised his hands. “Please, ladies and gentlemen. The comments made by Congressman Smith are nothing more than wounded lashes from someone trying to salvage his career. However, the notion that any of my actions have not been in the best interest of the country are outrageous, and I would happily defend them in any platform that Congressman Smith would like.”

Another explosion of questions bombarded him, but Jones’s comment was enough to grant him passage through the blockade of bodies. He ignored the microphones and cameras jammed in his face and headed straight for his car, which his driver had ready on the side of the road.

Jones knew that the airwaves and social media outlets were going wild with his comments. He just hoped that the president would see them before Jones made it to the White House to meet him. It could buy him some credibility—and some leverage to try and pull the president out of the war.