Page 81 of Power Surge

“The media is demanding a press conference. They want to know exactly what happened in Egypt and how we’ll retaliate.” A calculating gleam sparks his gaze when it lands on my oversized ankle. “The fact that you were injured will make our responding attack justifiable in others’ eyes.”

The chair groans as it tips back, and I rest my head on the stiff cushion. Eyes closed, I weigh my options while processing the information Todd revealed. “Set up another call for the Egyptian president and me. I will do a press conference, but from behind this desk, not standing behind the podium in the briefing room. There will be zero mention of my injury, and I will highlight that three of the insurgents are already dead and no further military actions will be taken at this time.”

“At this time”is my loophole. Hey, Iaman attorney by trade, after all. What can I say? Once a lawyer, always a lawyer.

The two men bicker between themselves as they file out of the office, Todd visibly upset at my lack of military action. Once they're both gone and the door is sealed shut once again, I roll my head along the chair until I meet Trey's concerned gaze from across the room.

“Tell me your thoughts on what Smith did,” I whisper, though I’m not sure why. It's almost like my voice knows my body is running low on energy and needs to conserve.

“I don't know what to think. The surveillance footage we can find doesn’t show anything conclusive. In Smith’s initial statement, he said the men had ARs and were firing them at random into the air, increasing the confusion and fear around the embassy. But now… now he's clammed up, won't say another word to me, Tank, or those on the review board.”

“Maybe I should try. We have a rapport of sorts, I think.”

Trey's features turn contemplative. “Couldn't hurt for you try. There is something off about all this that I can't figure out. Maybe if you get him talking, pieces of this damn puzzle will fall into place.” Sleeve to his lips, he whispers something about Smith before lowering the arm to his side once again. “We'll figure out a time for you to meet with Smith before the end of the shift. Now, what the fuck did you do to your ankle? Run a marathon since this morning?” With a few quick, determined steps, he's at the desk, fingers carefully prodding the bandage nearly cutting off the circulation to my toes. “What am I going to do with you, Mess?”

“I can think of a lot of things, Trouble.”

His lips twitch. “How did the meeting with the military advisors go earlier?”

“Good. The general suggested Delta Force.” Rubbing a jagged nail along the edge of the iPad, I avoid looking up as I continue. “I agreed, and then I told them I want to talk with them before the mission. In person.”

The gentle swipe of his fingertips along my shin pauses. After a few moments, I relent on the avoidance and turn to gauge his reaction.

Face flushed, brows furrowed, lips pursed.

Not good.

“No,” he barks.

“Yes?” I say, tilting my head. “Pretty sure it's my call.”

“Damn sure it's not, Randi. I told you no more making life-threatening decisions without discussing it with me, with your protection team, first, and you go and do this shit?”

“I have to talk to them,” I hiss. Shifting my foot off the desk, I carefully lower it to the floor. “They need to know what they’re fighting for.”

“Call them! Hell, send them a secure text or email. But you arenotgoing where those men are stationed.”

“And why the hell not?” I yell.

“Because I know where they station those men. You are not putting yourself in that kind of unnecessary danger. The answer is no.”

“The answer is yes.”

“Randi.” Stepping back, he runs a hand through his hair. “Stop fighting me on this. Let me do my job. Let me protect you. I've told you I can't keep seeing you in harm’s way. Do you not give a damn about that?”

“I have to do this,” I say, a bit of the venom from earlier gone from my tone.

“No you don't, and it makes me fucking miserable knowing that you don't even give a damn about anyone else but yourself. You know I'm not trying to control you, yet that's how you're taking it. Stop being so damn selfish, Randi, and see what your actions do to me, to Tank. Hell, the whole team. This country. It's not just you anymore. If something were to happen to you, theworldwould be impacted.”

“Anything could happen to me at any moment,” I say, trying to keep my cool.

“Exactly, so why increase the odds by going into an area known as a terrorist hotbed? To a base camp where attacks happen daily and survival is only for those who can take the pressure of being under constant threat? Listen to me, please, Randi. I'm begging you. Do this for me. Don't push this. Don't go.”

The urgency in his forceful words, the plea behind his searching eyes, catches me off guard like a punch to the chest. To the heart, to be exact.

Could he be right? Am I being selfish not considering the impact of my every move and decision? Am I really willing to put the agents and the men and women at the base in harm’s way just so I can slough some of this guilt at what’s been done off my shoulders? This, and a million other reasons, is why I'm the shittiest president ever to occupy the White House. And the exact reason someone more deserving, tenured, should be in this role. Someone like Trey. He sees the big picture, the thousand-foot view. Whereas mine is the two-foot leap from the trailer park door to the cinder block makeshift stair below.

“You're right,” I finally say. Shaking my head, I lean forward, resting my face in my awaiting palms. “I wasn't thinking.”

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