Page 26 of Enemy of My Enemy
White House
Daytwo of Ethan’s tenure as first gentleman dawned with snow still falling over DC. The White House was blanketed, and most of DC shivered to a halt, the storm seeming to slow the world down for a moment.
Even the protestors thinned out across the South Lawn.
Ethan woke Jack by slipping under the covers and swallowing him deep before sliding together, body to body. After, Jack wanted to go back to sleep, but Ethan badgered him into the shower. They washed each other slowly, trading kisses under the spray until the White House’s old water pipes groaned and the water started to go tepid.
Daniels and Scott met them both at the base of the stairs, along with Secret Service agents dotted at the doors and hallways. A beefed-up presence in the White House had been a staple of life since the attempted coup.
Ethan could feel the hot stares of his former fellow agents. No one said a word about the Washington Eagle article scorching the front pages of DC, but they didn’t have to. Their wide, sympathetic eyes said enough.
In the Oval Office, Daniels and Scott crowded close, holding Daniels’s phone up for them to see.
“Mr. First Gentleman, your press secretary was on the early morning news shows talking about the article.” A video stream froze with Brandt’s face and the Office of the First Gentleman’s seal emblazoned behind him, side by side with a morning anchor from TNN.
“Shit.” A dull throb started at the base of Ethan’s skull. “Let’s see it.”
Scott and Jack hovered as the video restarted. Brandt, nerdy Brandt in his wire-rimmed glasses, talked fast, frowning with a thin crease furrowed between his eyebrows.
“Neither the White House nor the Office of the First Gentleman, comment on tabloid trash or salacious pieces of fantasy media,” Brandt said, speaking over the anchor’s fast questions.
At least he’d stayed with Pete and Jack’s statement so far.
“Do you want to shout about it or do you want to have a conversation?” Brandt glared and the anchor sat back, her lips pursed. “I have a few things to say in response to this article.”
“He’s not supposed to do this,” Ethan groaned as Brandt began to speak again.
“The first gentleman took over his Office yesterday and I had the privilege of meeting him then. This morning, we woke up to a piece of predatory media masquerading as journalism. Please let me remind you that the article you refer to speaks erroneously and egregiously about an American hero. The first gentleman of the United States is a decorated Army veteran and has served with distinction in the Secret Service for over ten years. He is responsible for saving the life of the president, all those living in the greater Washington DC metro area, and countless more overseas. While his accomplishments do not fully describe his character, they provide a remarkable representation.”
Ethan stopped breathing.
The anchor tried to speak again, starting with “But—”
“I’m not finished. In meeting the first gentleman of the United States, I found him to be an extraordinary, humble, and reserved man, completely at odds with the salacious story printed today. Every American needs to make up their own mind about the first gentleman, taking into account responsible, factual reporting. As for me, I am a fan of the man, and I’m proud to work for the first gentleman. It’s up to the American people now. But I, and everyone here, urge the American people to listen responsibly to their media and to take the measure of the man in full. Don’t just listen to garbage.”
The camera feed that Daniels was tuned into froze.
Silence filled the Oval Office. Daniels and Scott watched Ethan carefully.
“Well,” Jack said, after a moment. “He and Pete are going to be great friends.”
* * *
Irwin texted just before lunch,asking to see Jack and Ethan behind closed doors as soon as possible. Ethan headed over to the West Wing and ran into Irwin, who was scrolling through his cell phone with another stack of Top Secret folders under his arms.
“Lawrence.” Jack gave his chief of staff a tired smile as they both entered the Oval Office. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes I dread seeing you.”
“More intel, Mr. President.” He looked to Ethan. “I think it’s time for us to mobilize.”
Irwin opened the folders on Jack’s desk and pointed to three different photos of destroyed and smoldering prisons. Mangled cell bars and collapsed, scorched brick stared up from the photos, along with black smoke rising through the air and splatters of blood.
“Madigan?”
“We believe so. The same symbol was found at every site.” Irwin passed a photo to Ethan, a series of photo crops showing the bloody M circled on the destroyed prison walls.
“Why does he leave this? Why does he tell us what he’s doing?” Ethan frowned.
“He’s nuts,” Jack said before Irwin.
