Chapter 5

Two piles of papers rested on Jared’s desk. The shorter pile, which was only a few inches tall, was the case files yet to be read in regard to the different strategies Gordon might use against the United States, and the second, much taller stack, which stood at almost two feet in height, was what he’d already read.

Everything the president’s advisors had provided led to only two real, plausible scenarios. The first was to defeat the United States military, which Gordon was losing at a terrible rate, and the second was to run. And years of closing deals in the conference room had given him the nose to sniff out a runner, and he would bet his last dollar that Gordon was already packing his bags.

Earlier intelligence suggested the Chinese would provide some type of offer to Gordon to extract him from the country in exchange for the soil data. They had the deepest pockets and resources to provide such an escape, but as the sunset drew closer, there would be no doubt other countries would put their hat in the ring—off the record, of course.

A knock on his office door interrupted his research efforts, as Jared’s highest trusted advisor, Marcus Semp, entered in a hurried rush.

“We received confirmation on Sydney’s location,” Marcus said.

“Where?”

“Topeka.”

The heart of Gordon’s Coalition was impenetrable at the moment. He had tens of thousands of troops stationed around the city, but with his outside supply routes slowly disappearing, he wouldn’t be able to keep control of them for long.

Jared noticed a sense of trepidation in Marcus, waiting for the right time to say something he was afraid Jared would take offense to.

“What is it?” Jared asked.

“The president. He wants to speak with you.”

“About?”

“He didn’t say, but he wants to see you immediately. I already have the car waiting for you.”

Jared grabbed the stack of papers he’d yet to read, along with his jacket, and marched out to the vehicle. He’d had hundreds of meetings with the president over the past three years. They had ranged from negotiating the arms deal almost four years ago to become the United States military’s number one weapons provider, to helping allocate resources to find a soil cure for the devastating aftereffects caused by GMO-24. In those meetings, as well as the hundreds of thousands of others he’d either been a part of or led during his professional career in the business community, he had never felt a sense of angst, until now.

He knew what the president wanted to meet with him personally about. Anything else could have been discussed over the phone or through an email. But the fact that the president requested an immediate meeting meant only one thing: it was about Sydney.

The complication of his personal life in his business one was something he was always able to avoid by never mixing the two. He didn’t even want Sydney to be a part of the Coalition, but the boy’s mother wouldn’t let up until Sydney could have something that made him feel valued. And now his son was held hostage and possibly being used as leverage against Jared and the president for some sort of deal.

The reason Jared had always avoided any type of entanglement of his personal and professional life was so he wouldn’t have to make the type of decisions he would no doubt be faced with in just a few minutes. He would be forced to choose between saving the country, along with the prospect of being able to return his focus on his company, and saving his son.

Jared never held any self-delusions about the type of man he was, and in the adjectives that were used to describe him when he died, none of them would even be remotely close to “fatherly.”

The White House was in its usual state of panic when Jared arrived, and the secretary outside the Oval Office ushered Jared inside, where the president was currently meeting with the chiefs of staff. The moment Jared walked in, the president called the meeting to an end, and each admiral and general in the room made sure to give Jared a firm handshake with an equally aphoristic nod. When the final officer left and closed the Oval Office door behind him, the president gestured to the couch. “Please, Jared, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Jared, I can’t stress to you enough how much my administration, and the country, appreciate what you have done over the past three years to help keep us on track through everything that’s happened. We owe you a great de—”

“Mr. President, I have a lot of work to get done, so if you called me here to simply thank me for my contributions, I can tell you that could easily have been accomplished over the phone.”

The president stumbled a bit after that, unsure of how to respond, but eventually found his footing. “I know you’re aware your son is still under the control of the Coalition, but we received word today that he is currently reconstructing the stolen soil data and has requested that the United States military break him out.”

“He’s using the soil data as leverage?”

“It is Admiral Frizen’s analysis, which I agree with, that Sydney is trying to stall his work with the reconstruction in hopes that the war would be over before he finishes.”

Jared nodded, looking over the vacant desk in the room. “Gordon will kill him once he’s done.”

“Yes, we believe that’s why he’s taking his time. But even when we break through in Topeka and win this, Gordon will have a backup plan, which will most likely include your son.”

The president continued to speak, and Jared continued to listen, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the president’s desk. The most powerful men in the world had sat at there, signing some of the very legislation Jared had paid lobbyists millions of dollars to ensure they didn’t pass. And now, he was merely a few feet away from that desk, alone in a room with the president of the United States of America.

“Jared?” the president asked.

“You’re looking for my blessing,” Jared answered.

“Jared, I know how difficult—”

“It’s not difficult, Mr. President. It’s my job. I understand that you can’t guarantee my son’s safety. I understand that his fate will be left to that of a madman who I sent him to work with. I understand that the priority of the nation overrides any notion of fatherhood. But what I don’t understand is why you wasted my time telling me something I already knew.”

Out of every emotion Jared could have felt at that moment, he had one that surprised him: anger. He was angry that he had to be here. He was angry over what happened with his country. He was angry with the president. He was angry with his family, his staff, his job. He was angry with himself.

With the president still offering a few aphoristic apologies, Jared rushed out of the Oval Office and back into his car, waiting for him outside. He slammed the door shut before the driver could do it for him and roughly rubbed the frustration out of his forehead until his skin was a scarlet red.

The driver only confirmed that he would be taking Jared back to his office then remained quiet during the rest of the trip. Jared let his hand fall to the seat, where it landed on top of the stack of papers he’d brought with him, containing the information given to him from the president’s staff. Thousands of pieces of paper all saying the same thing in different ways. Jared picked up the stack and rolled down the window. The driver gave him a few odd glances in the rearview mirror as Jared released the documents into the air and watched them scatter along the highway behind them, but said nothing.

With the stack of bureaucracy firmly behind Jared, he rolled up the window and tilted his head back. Gordon would lose, but with the original creator of the GMO-24 vaccine MIA and his son working on recreating the formula for Gordon, Jared wasn’t sure whether the soil data would be a part of that victory or not.