Render - a Shadowboxer thriller chapter four
RENDER – CHAPTER FOUR
“Mr. President.”
“Hey Senator, damn good to see you.” The President lifted himself out of the chair behind his desk and moved around to shake the Senator's hand. “I'm glad you could make it.
“Thank you sir.”
“Cut the sir crap, you want an iced tea.”
The Senator settled into the couch by the fireplace and looked up at the portrait of John F. Kennedy with his head bowed. It normally hung on a wall in the hall in the East Wing, but the President had his decorator move it into the Oval Office so he could capture comparisons to his young predecessor.
“That sounds good, Mr. President.”
The Senator had known the man for a long time, but he respected the office enough to know the honorific was warranted.
The President turned back to the desk and picked up the phone.
“Can we get a pitcher of iced tea brought in please?”
He hung up without waiting for an answer and settled onto the couch across from the Senator. He stretched out his long legs and put both hands behind his head, looking confident and relaxed, even though his dark hair had gone gray almost as soon as he took office. A hazard of the job of being the most powerful man on Earth at times.
“You want to wait or jump right in?”
“Let's jump right in,” said the Senator. “You remember that boy we sent to South Africa?”
A frown marred the visage of the President as he massaged up a memory.
“Smart something, right? First name was Smart.”
The Senator grinned. The President had a gift for names and never failed to remind them of that talent.
“Brilliant,” he answered. “Brill.”
“Brill Wingfield, that's right. Good old small town boy. He died in Angola right?”
“That's what we were told.”
“Is what we were told true?”
“No Sir.”
The President sat up and this time massaged his temples. It was a simple off the books agreement between the Senator and a boy they selected to do some reporting back to them prior to him taking the Oval Office. In the years since, it might have been called insider trading or corporate espionage, the intelligence gathering they tasked him with, but they felt enough removed that it wouldn't come back to bite them in the ass.
Especially once he died.
“He's not dead?”
“A CIA team picked him up this morning. Same name, same fingerprints in our systems, but he's a South African citizen.”
“How is that?”
“The Minister we sent him to spy on reported him dead with his daughter when rebels attacked the camp they were in,” said the Senator.
“He lied.”
“It seems so.”
“And now we have him?”
“Brill. He was pulled in this morning along with other operators in a sting operation set up by the CIA.”
“Working with terrorists,” the President crinkled his brow.
“It was a low level threat to us, so you were debriefed on it several months ago. The CIA acted on a tip and closed the net.”
“Is he a joint citizen?”
“He is,” the Senator nodded.
“Then bring him home.”
There was a quick knock on the door and it opened to admit the President's secretary bearing a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. The President hopped up and took the tray from her.
“I'll get this, thank you,” he said to her and placed the tray on the coffee table between the couches. He poured a glass for Shelby and another for himself. They both took their time taking the first sip.
“Damn that's good iced tea,” said the Senator.
“I have the water flown in from home,” the President smacked his lips. “Seems like it might be a waste til you taste it.”
“Nothing like our water,” Shelby agreed. He set his glass down on a coaster.
“So we render him Mr. President and bring him in for questioning.”
“I spent some time worrying about that boy,” said the President. “I'd like to find out what he's been up too.”
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