Oxley never finished his sentence. The top of his head exploded in a pink mist.
White looked over toward the chopper. The helicopter was painted with a matte black that made it almost impossible to spot at night. White knew that whoever had shot Oxley now had his head in his optics.
White nodded and started to jog toward the ATV. He had a flight to catch.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Kommetjie, South Africa
White had finally managed to stop the bleeding, and Pierre’s pulse had stabilized. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least White had given him a fighting chance. The chopper had two well-equipped medical emergency bags, and despite flying so low that the wash from the rotor was kicking up spray from the surf, the pilots were doing an amazing job of keeping the aircraft stable.
“You’ve done that before, haven’t you?” one of the four CIA paramilitary men asked, speaking into his helmet microphone. The man had a long black unkempt beard and piercing green eyes. Like the others, he was dressed in nondescript tactical clothing bearing no insignia.
“I was a combat rescue officer in my past life,” White replied.
“And now?” another one asked. White thought the man looked like his fallen friend Marcus Thompson. The man’s shoulders were too large to fit into a single seat back.
White shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Up until a few days ago I was with the Secret Service. Name’s Clayton White, by the way,” he said, introducing himself.
“No fucking way,” the skinniest of the men said. “The Clayton White?”
White stared at him with a puzzled look on his face.
“Vice President-Elect Hammond held a press conference and talked about what happened in San Francisco. He spent half of it thanking you for saving his daughter’s life,” the man explained.
White cursed under his breath. Hammond was taking control of the narrative.
“That’s true,” confirmed another operator. “And congratulations are in order, right?”
“What did Alexander Hammond say?” White asked, feeling sick just pronouncing the man’s name.
“About the engagement? To his daughter, Veronica?” the man replied, his tone indicating he wasn’t sure if he should continue with the subject or not.
“Anyhow, the VP-elect said you’re a fucking hero,” jumped in the operator who looked like Marcus. “That’s good enough for us.”
White forced a smile. “I appreciate the help, guys,” he said before taking a long pull from the energy drink one of them had thrown at him. “Thanks for showing up on time.”
Then, one after the other, they introduced themselves to White and gave him a fist bump. All of them were former military, and they all had a story to share about the great Alexander Hammond. As he listened to the men sing the praises of the vice president-elect, White realized that no matter what Oxley had told him about Hammond, he was going to have a hard time convincing anyone that Hammond was anything other than an American hero.
EPILOGUE
INAUGURATION DAY
US Capitol
Washington, DC
White was almost standing to attention as he watched the newly elected president of the United States take his oath of office less than twenty feet away. It was a still, cool day, and the sun hung high above the Capitol, which was much more pleasant for the large crowd that had gathered to witness the swearing-in ceremony than the storm that had raged with unabated fury for the last two days.
Veronica squeezed his hand three times in rapid succession. That was their own private I love you. Since his return from South Africa, they’d spent every single day together, and White had enjoyed each second he’d been with her.
Pressured by the news media and White’s newfound minicelebrity status, the Secret Service had closed the investigation into his actions in San Francisco and had swiftly concluded that he hadn’t broken any rules or regulations. They’d gone as far as to offer him a position at their training academy, which he’d flatly refused. Instead, he’d submitted his resignation. Within days, virtually all the government agencies he had ever heard of had contacted him with an offer of employment, even NASA. When White learned that the position NASA was offering him wasn’t as an astronaut, he had said no to them too.
At some point White had wondered if all these calls were due to his qualifications or to the implicit access to the vice president that hiring him would give them. Of course, none of these agencies knew White and Hammond had barely spoken since his return from South Africa.
Pierre, who White had learned did in fact work for the DGSE, was still at Walter Reed. He was getting better by the day, which pleased White very much. He’d become good friends with the small Frenchman, and so had Veronica. They spoke almost every day, mostly about wine. Never about South Africa.