***
The president smashed the phone from his desk against the window of the Oval Office. The outburst was a result of the reports coming out of the Pacific and Texas. The president’s surrounding advisors remained silent, staring at the shattered phone on the carpet.
“How did this happen?” the president asked.
The joint chiefs, the personnel aides, the vice president, and everyone else who should have answered the president’s question turned their heads to Jones, who was alone in the back corner of the room. Jones needed to choose his next words very carefully.
“Mr. President, I think it’s first important to understand the motives behind these attacks. Perhaps Gallo’s men assumed the USS Ronald Reagan was still operating under the deserter Captain Howard’s command?” Jones asked.
“And I suppose Texas was an accident as well?”
The president’s tone was mocking, and a very noticeable twitch had formed in the corner of his eye. As much power as Jones had in Congress, he still didn’t have absolute control over the presidency. And upsetting the most powerful man in the world was not wise.
“I do not suppose in matters of war, Mr. President. That is not my area of expertise,” Jones said, attempting to sway focus back to the joint chiefs.
“Jones, I’ll be asking Congress for a declaration of war. I expect you to make sure it’s passed.”
“Sir, I understand the need for retaliation, but I would strongly encourage opening a line of dialogue between yourself and the Mexican president. I’m sure there could be some—”
The president slammed his fist onto the table. The loud, resonating thump caused half the room to jump. A red tinge filled the president’s cheeks. “There is no agreement to be reached! They have attacked us by land, sea, and air. I want them crushed!”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
Politicians, generals, and assistants all slithered out of the Oval Office. Amid the hasty retreat, Jones cornered Vice President Johnson out in the hallway.
“Mr. Vice President, I’m hoping this doesn’t change what we spoke about,” Jones said.
“Whatever conversations we may have had were completely off the record, Congressman. Understand?” Johnson said.
“Of course, sir, but don’t you agree that we now need diplomacy more than ever? This war will bankrupt us.”
“You really expect me to publicly front an alliance with the Mexican government after what they just did?”
“I’m not asking for anything, Mr. Vice President. Simply take some time to think about it.”
“I don’t need time, Congressman. This discussion is over, and do not bring it up again.”
Vice President Johnson jammed his finger in Jones’s face to accentuate his point. Before Jones could utter another word, Johnson was gone, and he was left alone in the hallway outside the Oval Office. He was now the most marked man in Washington. For the first time in his twenty-five-year career in Congress, he was weak.
Years of planning, of putting the right people in place, of establishing the pull and control needed to coordinate such a stunt, had been undone the moment the first shots were fired over the fields of Texas. Jones couldn’t believe Gallo’s actions. All of this over some lost war more than one hundred fifty years ago, during a time when the wetback wasn’t even alive.
Jones dialed Gallo on his cell while walking back to his office. “Pick up, dammit!”
He tried three more times, but each instance only lead to an endless series of rings in his ear. Jones shoved the phone back into his suit pocket and climbed into the black sedan waiting for him outside the White House. Jones’s chief of staff, Ken, was already in the car waiting for him. Jones harshly unbuttoned the three studs on the front of his jacket, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.
“What kind of damage are we looking at?” Jones asked.
Ken answered by extending a brown envelope pinched between his bony, liver-spotted fingers. Jones snatched it from him and grabbed the contents inside. It was a single piece of paper with nothing more than a number to call and the time to do it.
“Have they reached out in a more official manner?” Jones asked.
“No. I’m assuming they want to keep this one off the books,” Ken answered.
For the past twenty years, Jones had had a very large benefactor making sure that he had the appropriate funds and contacts to stay efficient in Congress. His backer had also been responsible for the majority of his campaign funds and had blackmailed his opponents during reelection when necessary.
After a short drive, Jones’s driver came around to his door and opened it for him. Jones hurried up the steps to his office, with Ken lagging painfully behind him. Once behind closed doors, he rested the envelope on his desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. He pulled out a burner phone and dialed the number from the message. Two rings later, a voice answered.
“Hello, Jones.”
The voice on the other end of the line was hoarse. He’d never met the person on the other end of these calls, and he hoped he never would. Whatever creatures worked in the shadows for the Strydent Chemical Company only revealed themselves in dire circumstances. And Jones didn’t want to be the reason this particular creature emerged.
“You know I’m working on it,” Jones answered.
“We’re concerned, Congressman.”
“This has been a setback, nothing more. It can still be salvaged.”
“We have already invested considerable capital in Brazil. Without the muscle to back it up, we will lose every last penny.”
“Then I suggest you stop wasting my time with these phone calls so I can get back to work!”
Jones snapped the flip phone shut and threw it back into the drawer. He kicked it shut with the side of his dress shoe, and his pointed elbows thudded against the top of his desk as he collapsed into his chair.
His bony fingers rubbed the dark circles underneath his eyes. Those spots had become increasingly darker over the past twenty-four hours, like thunderclouds gathering before the beginning of a terrible storm.