Operation First Lady
It was nearing three in the morning on a warm, humid August evening. The moon was not visible as dark clouds formed overhead being pushed by winds that grew stronger over Georgetown. The streets were empty and it was eerily quiet for even this time of the night especially considering how close it was to Washington, DC, as the unusual silence was sporadically interrupted by the sound of street cleaners and an occasional barking of a dog off in the distance.
Looking up at the sky and the gathering dark clouds Paper Bag Jones as he was called by other homeless drifters that knew him but didn’t know his real name, because he always drank his wine from a bottle that was concealed by a lunch bag sized paper sack, utters to himself, “looks like it’s gonna rain soon, I better get over to the White Cross Mission before the storm hits. “I can put up with some preaching by the Rev rather than getting caught outside in a downpour,” he tries to convince himself as he stumbles across “M” Street heading towards the mission about three blocks from where he now was.
Stopping to catch his balance and to take another drink from the bottle of wine concealed by the paper bag he noticed a older vintage Cadillac parked in the lot outside the entrance to the EZ- ZZZ’s motel as a man about six feet tall emerged from the room next door to the motel check-in area. The man seemed nervous and in a hurry as he was led from the door of the room by four very large men that surrounded him and kept glancing from right to left and front to rear as they escorted him to the waiting Cadillac. Helping the man into the rear seat of the car two of them got inside seating themselves in the front seat while the other joined him in the back seat. The fourth man rapidly walked across the parking lot and got into a plain black Ford sedan. Paper Bag Jones noticed the license plate on the Ford read GOV1 as it sped away from its parking place. As it passed by him he could hear the driver speaking on what had to be a police type radio, “CEO ONE safely onboard.”
As the vintage Cadillac sped past Paper Bag Jones he thought, “If he was being kidnapped he was certainly cooperating with his kidnappers. By now lightning was lighting up the Georgetown skies and a streak lit up the Cadillac as it passed by and to his amazement he could see the occupant that the other men had escorted to the car, “my God, it’s the President, Lucien Devens,” Paper Bag almost shouted, nearly dropping his bag with the bottle of wine in it, “I’ve been hitting this rot gut too much lately. Realizing who and what he had just seen had a sobering effect on Paper Bag Jones and he began to pick-up his pace as the Georgetown skies opened up and began drenching him and the area. Just after he passed the EZ-ZZZ’s motel a Yellow Cab drove into the driveway and a very attractive, well dressed young lady who appeared to be no more than 25 years old walked out of the motel room that he had seen President Devens leave, got into the cab and sped away into the early Georgetown morning. “Well, well, well, that certainly wasn’t the First Lady, Claire Devens,” Paper Bag sarcastically says.
It was after 4AM when the vintage Cadillac discreetly pulled into an alley behind a remote parking lot that was not visible from the street near the Whitehouse. Getting out of the Cadillac one of the Secret Service Agents opens the back door of the vehicle so that President Devens could get out. “Mr. President, Agent Rybold will drive you back to the Whitehouse in his Ford,” he instructed.
“Thank you Agent Bay,” President Devens says, “as always, where I was tonight and who I was with will remain a classified matter.”
“Yes Sir, Mr. President,” Agent Bay responds, “a state secret.”
Once inside the Whitehouse, President Devens goes directly to the Oval Office rather than to his and the First Lady’s living quarters in the Whitehouse. Opening the door he is surprised to see an obviously intoxicated First Lady, Claire Devens seated inside in his chair behind his desk. “Out with one of your bimbo’s again Lucien,” she asks in a slurring voice?
“Of course not Claire, I was in Georgetown at the Ukrainian Embassy meeting with Ambassador Reigenovsky and Secretary of State Smathers on a matter of mutual national security interests between our two countries.”
“You were there all night long? “Sure, and I was with the Pope convincing him that Priests should be allowed to marry,” she angrily retorts as she staggers towards the door of the Oval Office, slamming it behind her.
The thunder showers that had inundated Georgetown, Washington, D.C., and the surrounding areas of Maryland and Virginia a few hours earlier did little to relieve the stifling heat. And as the morning rush hour approached the humidity was nearing 90% making the morning commute into the city even more difficult as numerous cars had overheated and were causing a tremendous traffic jam on the beltway. Seated in the back seat of his chauffer driven Lincoln Town Car, Florida Senator Amber Harvest picked up her secure phone and dialed the office of House Speaker D.I. Stout who had been working with her and other Senators to work out an agreement on the recently passed HR 32, the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill to be sent to President Devens for his signature. After several rings a voice came on the other end, “House Speaker Stout’s office.”
“Good morning this is Senator Harvest, is the Speaker in?”
“Yes Senator, he’s in, I’ll put you through immediately,” came the reply.
After a moments delay the Speaker answers, “good morning Amber, nice to hear from you, what’s on your mind?”
Skipping formality and protocol Senator Harvest gets straight to the point, “D.I. have you seen this morning’s Washington Post, and then before he could answer continues, it looks like the President is going to veto HR32?”
“Yeah, I saw it I bet that really pisses off the First Lady as she has been a staunch advocate of this legislation.”
“Correct D.I., not to mention some of our very powerful backers that helped get us re-elected. “We can’t afford to let them down, not if we want to depend on their continued support.”
“Do you have any ideas Amber?”
“Not really D.I. I was thinking maybe the House Appropriations Committee might think of something to add onto the Bill that will sweeten the pot and change the President’s mind.”
“Amber, I think we’re beyond that point because any amendments no matter what they are would meet with stiff opposition. “I know the Vice President is also in favor of the legislation even though he is not married and has no children, but he and the President only seem to work together in front of the cameras and press. “Let me give him a call and see if he has any ideas that will salvage the Bill and I’ll call you back by the end of the week. “In the meantime if you come up with anything, let me know immediately.”
“Will do D.I., will do,” Senator Amber Harvest says as she says goodbye.
After hanging up his phone, House Speaker D.I. Stout goes out of his office and tells his receptionist to please call Vice President R.L. Bellinger’s office. “Stacy, call the VP’s office and set up a time when I can talk to him.”
“On the phone or in person Speaker Stout,” she replies?
Thinking for the moment he answers, “See if he can meet me in person somewhere up on the Hill, if not a phone conversation will suffice.”
“I’ll do it immediately Speaker Stout,” Stacy responds.
In the shadow of Georgetown University, the phone rings at 34th Street and Massachusetts Avenue, NW, the Vice President’s home and is answered by one of his staff members assigned to work in the residence. “Vice President Bellinger’s residence,” the staff member replies.
“This is Speaker of the House Stout’s staffer; the Speaker would like to schedule a meeting or telephone conversation with Vice President Bellinger.”
“Please tell Speaker Stout the Vice President is scheduled to return to Washington tomorrow and will be hosting a conference in support of a variety of the President’s programs he wants Congress to enact.”
“Excellent, Speaker Stout is also scheduled to be at that conference, could you please tell the Vice President he would like to take just a few moments of his time on a very important matter?”
“I will give the Vice President this information and I am certain he can squeeze in a few minutes with the Speaker,” the staff member replies.
At that very moment, First Lady Claire Devens seated in front of a vanity mirror in room 1206 of the now infamous Watergate Hotel, carefully adjusts a wig with long flowing red curls that covered her short black hair. Looking at her reflection in the mirror she smiles as Vice President Bellinger walks into the room and his image is reflected in the mirror, standing behind her. “We wouldn’t want to start another Watergate scandal would we R.L.” she asks, looking into the mirror?
“Certainly not Claire,” he responds while bending over and kissing the top of her wig covered head.
“We’ll need to meet again discretely and very soon I hope, R.L.”
“I agree Claire, the sooner the better and in another location so our intimate liaisons will not be easily discovered.”
Frowning she replies more to herself than the Vice President, “If my philandering no good, S.O. B. of a husband can chase after every skirt he wants then I can at least enjoy being with a good man like you. “Who knows, if the word got out that I was playing around maybe it would ruin him, but I don’t want to be responsible for destroying your political career, R.L.”
“Thank you Claire, for that I am very grateful.”
“How were you able to get away with this meeting, R.L.?” Claire asks?
“I advised my staff I was in some delicate and secret meetings but would be back as planned by tomorrow for the conference and could only be reached through the Secret Service. “What about you?”
“I told my secretary I was going to visit a dear friend in Virginia and would be driven there by my security. “Once outside of the Whitehouse we stopped in a desolate location and I changed into what you see me wearing now and had Agent Henry whom I trust implicitly bring me here to the Watergate Hotel.”
“Does he suspect or have any idea who you are meeting?”
No R.L., not in the least and even if he did know he would take a bullet before he would tell anyone,” Claire answers.
Seated at a table in the far end of a Starbuck’s Coffee Shop out of hearing distance of any other patrons two men, both well dressed, were involved in an intense conversation. Pausing for a moment one of them pulled out some photographs and handed them to the other man. “Take a look at these pictures Jack and tell me what you think.”
Putting his latte down and taking the photos from the first man he carefully examined each one, “damn Bill, where have I seen that vintage Cadillac before?”
“It belongs to one of the secret service agents assigned to the President, and I’ve heard rumors, albeit unconfirmed that the President has been seen riding in it,” Bill replies.
“What the hell does the President need to ride around in that car for even though it is a classic Cadillac when he has an entire fleet of government limos available for his use, then looking closer he points to a reflection in the rearview mirror. “Do you know who that is Bill?”
“These pictures were taken in Georgetown the other night by some anonymous photographer who said he was staying at the EZ- ZZZ’s Motel in Georgetown. “He said he thought it was some homeless person known around the area as “Paper Bag Jones,” his real name is unknown,” Bill answers.
“Interesting Bill, we need to get a hold of Mr. Paper Bag Jones and see if he can tell us anything he saw that night, President Devens has some very powerful and influential enemies up on the Hill that would probably be willing to pay a lot of money for any information that might discredit him. “Let’s find him.”
“Will do Jack, and I think a good place to start will be at the White Cross Mission as that seems to be the place most of the homeless use as a place to congregate and get out of the bad weather. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow and let you know what Mr. Paper Bag has to say.”
Taking a final sip from his latte and putting the empty cup down on the table and then standing Jack says, “I really look forward to hearing what you find out from this Paper Bag character, Bill.”
It was getting close to dinner time at the White Cross Mission as Bill drives into the parking lot. “Dinner time should be a good time to find Paper Bag Jones if he’s still around,” he thought. He noticed a large police presence and crime scene tapes placed around an area to the side of the building which was constructed using typical red brick. Pulling into the first available parking spot he could find and that the police allowed him to park in. As he opened the door and got out of his car he was immediately approached by an unkempt woman wearing a ragged plaid dress that was probably three sizes too large for her.
“Hey mister, got some spare change for me, I need to get some food.”
Looking at the disheveled, grungy woman that obviously lacked the desire or availability to bathe or exercise any kind of adequate hygienic practices Bill responds, “I could probably spare a couple of bucks but since you’re here at the mission and it’s dinner time I’m sure you can get a nourishing meal inside. “Besides, I think any money I give you will go to buy more booze or drugs.”
Glaring angrily the homeless lady turns as she says, “go to hell mister, you don’t know me or anything else about me, so get off your pious high horse of judging me.”
Feeling shame and more compassionate Bill tells her, “I’m sorry lady and yes my observation of you was indeed a value judgment and my offer still stands, no strings attached or further questions, here’s $5.00,” pulling it from his wallet and handing it to her.
“Thanks mister, turns out I misjudged you too,” she says taking the paper Lincoln from him.
“I’m looking for a man that goes by the name Paper Bag Jones, lady do you know him or where I can find him?”
Examining the $5.00 bill as though she suspected she had just been given counterfeit money and without looking Bill in the eyes she points towards the police crime scene tape, “he’s over there,” she quietly says.
“Where, over there, all I see are policemen and crime scene tape? Then it hit him like one of the red bricks from the White Cross Mission building had fallen on him as he sees several crime scene photographers bent over taking pictures of what had to be a body. “What, he gasps, “do you mean that body over there is Paper Bag Jones?”
“You got it mister, that’s or maybe I should say was Paper Bag Jones.”
A feeling of disappointment instead of loss or compassion flooded over Bill as he realized he and his fellow detective Jack had probably just lost any hope they would probably ever have of trying to find out who was in the vintage Cadillac the night the photos were taken he had been shown. “Geez, lady, any idea what happened? “By the way, what’s your name?”
“I don’t know what happened other than some of the regular customers here at the Mission said Paper Bag’s body had not been discovered for two or three days until old Joe over there stumbled on it as he was looking through the trash for some cigarette butts, and my name is Hilda. “Joe said he heard the police telling the coroner it appeared as though he had been shot.”
Turning, Bill starts to head back to his car “thanks Hilda, I don’t see a need to remain here any longer.”
Before he could reach his car Hilda once again approached him, “what’d you say your name is mister?”
“I’m Bill,” he replied, “why are you asking?”
Reaching into a pocket of her three sizes too large dress and pulling a folded and soiled piece of paper from her pocket she says, “mister, uh, Bill, it’s not often someone comes here to the Mission wanting to actually meet and talk to one of us and your reason you wanted to talk to Paper Bag is none of my business and frankly I don’t give a damn, but in our world friends are few and hard to come by and for some reason Paper Bag liked me and we would usually hang out together. “Two or three nights ago during a loud thunderstorm, probably not long before he was shot he ran over to me, out of breath. “Hilda, you’re not going to believe who I just saw leaving the EZ-ZZZ’s MOTEL, she recalls Paper Bag Saying. “It was raining so hard and I was trying to find someplace to be that would help prevent me from getting soaked more than I already was so I wasn’t in a particularly good mood and sarcastically answered, let me guess, the President.”
“Damn Hilda, you see him too,” his bloodshot eyes widening?
“C’mon Paper Bag, why you bull shitting me, what the hell would the President of the United States be doing in a rundown area like this?
“No B.S Hilda, I saw President Devens riding in a white classic Cadillac and there was maybe three or four very big guys with him. “I’m a little afraid because I think one of the big guys saw me. “Here Hilda, take this, I wrote everything down I saw and I want you to give it to the cops if something happens to me, handing her the soiled and folded piece of paper.
“What is it Paper Bag, I remember asking”?
“I don’t want to say anymore other than what I’ve already told you because I don’t want anything to happen to you if something happens to me, so the less you know, the better and safer it will be for you,” Paper Bag told me.
Intrigued, Bill asks, “Hilda did you ever read what he wrote on that piece of paper,” Bill asks?
“No, I never did as I thought Paper Bag was really bull shitting me or the rot gut wine he always drank had finally killed what remaining brain cells he still had left. “I guess he wasn’t bull shitting me or else he wouldn’t be lying dead over there by the building with a bunch of cops taking his picture.”
“Hilda, can I take a look at the piece of paper Paper Bag Jones gave you?”
“Sorry Bill, Paper Bag said to give it to the cops if anything happened to him.”
Pulling out his wallet and taking five $100 dollar bills from it and holding them up in front of Hilda Bill says, “Hilda, I represent some very wealthy and influential people that would be willing to pay a lot more than what you see here if the information I think is written on that paper by your friend Paper Bag can be corroborated. “Just consider this $500.00 as a deposit with a large balance owed you.”
“You think maybe $100’s more,” Bill?
“No Hilda, I think thousands more and I will deliver it to you personally, in cash.”
Hilda’s eyes lighted up as though a cash register was going off in her head as she took the $500 dollars from Bill’s hand and gives him the soiled piece of paper as she thought, “sorry Paper Bag, you’d do the same if the opportunity like this ever presented itself, besides the cops won’t do anything with it except probably destroy it in order to cover up for President Devens.”
Taking the soiled and folded piece of paper from her Bill gives her his business card and says “we’ll be in touch Hilda and I promise you I will make good on getting the cash to you. “If you think someone is going to harm you, call me immediately and I’ll come and pick you up.”
Bill couldn’t wait to get back to his office, the P.I. on the Hill Detective Agency and go over the note’s contents with his partner Jack which read, “I go by the moniker Paper Bag Jones but my real name is Talbert Riley and even though I am homeless and an alcoholic I swear I was in full command of my mental state on the night of August 11th when I witnessed President Lucien Devens leave the EZ-ZZZ’s MOTEL in Georgetown, accompanied by three or four men in a white Cadillac. “One of the men got into a grey Ford Sedan with the license plate number CEO 1 on it. Moments later I saw a very attractive young lady, probably in her twenties leave the room that the President came from and get into a taxi cab. “As the white Cadillac left one of the men in the car with the President saw me and I’m not sure they will just forget I saw them and the president. “If something happens to me whoever finds this note I want the police to have it.” It was signed in surprisingly legible and neatly written handwriting, Talbert Riley.
“Bill, this is beyond belief if it’s true and can be corroborated.”
“Sure is Jack and worth a lot of money to the right bidder of which there are probably many considering this is D.C. and President Devens has a lot of enemies that would love to use this kind of information against him, especially I bet the First Lady.”
“Check it out Bill and then will let the bidding begin.”
“Right away Jack and by the way I promised the person who gave it to me a substantial payment for selling it to me instead of giving it to the police.”
“How much Bill?”
“I didn’t say how much other than in the thousands.”
“Hell Bill, we can probably sell this information to multiple sources, pay your person the thousands promised and still make a bundle.”
“Yeah, and be doing a public service at the same time, Bill said laughing in a facetious manner.
Speaker of the House Stout was meeting with Senator Harvest, Vice President Bellinger and a reporter from the Post newspaper about the pending legislation President Devens had promised to veto rather than allowing it to become law. “Mr. Vice President and Senator Harvest, I have just been provided with some information that may make the President change his mind about vetoing the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill.”
“Mr. Speaker, the only thing I can think of that would cause the President to change his mind about vetoing this Bill would be if you had pictures of him looking at kiddy porn in the Oval Office,” Vice President Bellinger says.
“That would be too easy to spin away Mr. Vice President. Then taking out some photos and a copy of a handwritten note from a large mailing envelope, pushing them face down across the table Speaker Stout continues, “what you are about to see Mr. Vice President is something far more serious and damaging than a picture of the President looking at kiddy porn, it’s photographic proof of his marital infidelity and possible, no probable evidence of his being involved in a murder of a homeless man in Georgetown just a few nights ago.”
“D.L.,” Senator Harvest interrupts, “not only would this mean almost certain impeachment of President Devens but also conviction by the Senate that would probably be unanimous because no Senator in his or her right mind would vote against finding him guilty regardless of party loyalty or favors they might owe to him. “We need to leak this information to the public immediately.”
“I agree Senator Harvest and that is why I have invited a reporter from the Post to this meeting so he could help us do just that,” Speaker Stout remarks.
“Mr. Speaker, Senator Harvest, while it is generally known the President and I do not see eye to eye on many of the issues and problems confronting this nation I do think the First Lady should be made aware of this before she reads about it in tomorrow’s Post,” Vice President Bellinger says.
“Point well taken Mr. Vice President, we’ll ask our friend here from the Post to wait 24 hours before this news becomes public. “Since you brought up this point who do you think should tell the First Lady?”
“I will Mr. Speaker, all I ask is that you promise not to release this career destroying evidence until after I talk to her and perhaps not at all if she showed it to the President and his mind is changed about vetoing the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill at her insistence and threat of exposing him in this matter.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Vice President, even though nothing would please me more than taking down this President I don’t want to put the country and the international community through such a scandal and the potential ramifications this may have if this is allowed to run its ugly political and criminal course,” Speaker Stout promises.
Putting the photos and the handwritten note back into the mailing envelope Vice President Bellinger says, “The First Lady will be attending a luncheon I am hosting tomorrow on the Mall and I will go over this information with her then when I can get her aside in private.”
“Mr. Vice President, the First Lady can keep them as I can assure you there have been many copies made in the event these are lost in addition to those in the possession of our source that made them available to my office, and at great cost.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Speaker, I get your point and the information you have just given me will not mysteriously disappear,” Vice President Bellinger says.
The luncheon had just concluded and only a few of the guests remained as Vice President Bellinger approached First Lady Claire Devens. Both he and the First Lady’s secret service agents were close by as he reached out his hand to shake hers, acting as though he rarely saw her instead of currently having an affair with her he greets her, “thank you for attending today’s luncheon Mrs. Devens, by your support and influence much of your husband’s policies would probably fail passage in Congress. “Now if you could get him to support the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill it would add yet another success to his legacy after he leaves office.”
“Thank you Mr. Vice President, I will try and use whatever influence I have to get him to sign the legislation when it reaches his desk. Then thinking “the only way I could influence him these days is if I arranged a ménage a trios with him and one of his sluts.”
“Before you leave, could you spare me a few moments, I have something I want to share with you,” Vice President Bellinger says?
“Certainly, go right ahead,” she replies.
“The information I have to share is highly sensitive and should only be heard by you. Looking around the room where the luncheon had just been held Vice President Bellinger points to a corner in the rear near the speaker’s podium. “Let’s go over there,” he says.
First Lady Devens followed by her secret service agent Henry and the Vice President along with his secret service agents walk over to the table. Sitting down he asks their agents to please allow them some privacy, “gentlemen, please allow the First Lady and I a few moments to talk in privacy.
“Yes sir, Mr. Vice President, we’ll wait right over there,” one of his secret service agents says, pointing to a table probably 30 feet away from where they were now seated.
First Lady Devens, noticing a look of concern on the face of her agent said, “it’s okay Agent Henry, please just wait over there with the others. Once the agents had left and were not within hearing distance she says, “Good to see you RL, as she referred to him whenever they met in private. “What do you need to tell me that is so urgent and confidential?”
Taking the mailing sized envelope from his attaché case he hands it to the First Lady, “here Claire, see for yourself.”
Taking the contents from the envelope and looking at each photo, first slowly and then rapidly as her face grew red with anger but no expressions of surprise or disbelief she puts them back into it and slides it across the table to the Vice President. “This only confirms what I already suspected and the rumors I’ve heard about my cheating S.O.B. of a husband and I’m not surprised that he would even resort to murder to keep his sordid life private. “Why are you showing me these photos and the note, R.L.?”
“I have been approached by some very powerful people up here on the Hill who want this information leaked to the media unless they can be used to influence the President not to veto the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill. “They have given me 24 hours to talk this over with you to see if you can use them to assure the President’s cooperation in this matter. “If you can, nothing further will come of this and all the photos and the note from the murdered homeless man will mysteriously disappear.”
“R.L. my gut reaction tells me to go ahead and let the information become public and destroy the bastard, but my scorned woman instinct tells me otherwise, so tell whomever those powerful people are I will handle the situation personally and not allow this information go public. The President and I are going to Camp David this week-end and I will reveal to him just how much of a bastard, degenerate and murderer he is. “Reassure them that the President will not veto their legislation.”
“Okay, Claire, you have my word, I’ll relay your assurances to them,” he says as he hands the envelope back to her, “and Claire, they told me if what you have gets lost they have many more copies they can use.”
“They are serious adversaries aren’t they R.L?”
“Yes Claire, more serious than one could imagine.”
At last a break in the high temperatures and humidity that had been prevailing in the Washington, Virginia and Maryland area arrived as the President, First Lady were being driven to Camp David by her trusted and loyal Secret Service Agent Henry. As they neared Camp David in a remote part of the Maryland wooded countryside Claire takes out the mailing envelope that Vice President Bellinger gave her two days ago at the luncheon. “Lucien, I have something to show and discuss with you.”
“Can’t it wait Claire; I’m working on a speech I want to give in Boston next week?”
“No Lucien, it can’t, we need to discuss it now, while we are alone and can talk.”
Sighing, President Lucien Devens says, “Okay Claire, just what do you need to talk about that is so important that it can’t wait until we arrive at Camp David?”
“Here, take a look at this you arrogant bastard,” she angrily says, throwing the envelope in his direction.
Opening the envelope and thumbing through it the expression on the face of the President changes from irritable, to surprise and finally alarm. “Where did you get this, who else has seen it, what do they want,” he demands?
“That’s not important you lying, cheating no good bastard, other than they want you to forget vetoing the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill.”
“Are you in on this Claire?”
“Lucien, we both know about your womanizing and many indiscretions since you became President and probably years before, but no, even considering them I was not involved.”
Taking the photos, note and mailing envelope and tearing them up into small pieces, placing them in the ashtray in the rear seat of the limo they were riding in he sets them on fire. “Laughing he says, “where’s your proof now Claire?”
“Lucien, Lucien, Lucien, neither I nor the persons who gave me this information are as stupid as you think we are. “Don’t think for a moment those were the only copies, I can promise you they weren’t.”
“Claire, I beg you, think for a moment how this will ruin me and how scandalous it will be for you, we have to get all the copies back no matter how much it costs.”
“Lucien, I don’t really give a damn about what it does to you, your career or legacy, and as for me I’ll survive, which is saying a lot more than it does about you”, as she then takes Agent Henry’s service revolver from the arm rest where he had placed it, levels it at her husband, pulling the trigger, killing him instantly and then turning the gun on herself pulls the trigger again wounding but not killing herself.
Agent Henry takes the pistol from her, calmly wipes off her finger prints and tells her, “First Lady Devens it has been my pleasure to serve you for the past several years. “Now it’s time to part ways,” he says as he gets out of the limo he was driving and pulled to a stop on the side of the road.
By now, several other cars with Secret Service Agents including the vintage Cadillac owned by one of them had reached the President’s limo. Getting out of their cars, the driver of the Cadillac yells to agent Henry, then seeing the pistol in his hand yells “gun” and he and the other agents bring down agent Henry in a hail of gunfire. Running over to the President’s limo he sees the President who has been mortally wounded and a conscious but bleeding First Lady. “Agent Henry has just killed the President and wounded the First Lady, get his doctor riding in another car over here immediately to tend to her wounds,” he yells.
Several months had passed since that fateful day in the Maryland countryside. It was now spring in the Nation’s Capitol, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom and it was a beautiful and warm spring day as now President R.L. Bellinger stood at the front of the Rose Garden looking upward at the red velvet carpet that extended nearly the entire length of it. Walking down the red carpet towards him was Claire Devens who in just minutes would make history by becoming the new First Lady Claire Bellinger for a second time as they wed at the White House. Everyone in attendance stood as Speaker of the House Stout accompanied her down the aisle to give her away to the awaiting groom, President Bellinger as a beaming Senator Amber Harvest her maid of honor looked on.
Seated among the guests was one of the children who had become the poster child of the Disadvantaged Children’s Relief Bill campaign and a former homeless lady known only as Hilda who was now dressed in the most fashionable clothing that money coud buy. After all she had earned it.
“Lucien, you bastard, I told you I would be okay, why I’m still the First Lady,” she thought as her smile widened.
THE END