Cloud Rebel (R-D #3)(48)
"How about Macallan?" I asked.
"Thirty year," she held out a hand and a bottle appeared there. "Glass with ice," she said as those items appeared in her other hand.
"I love you," I said while opening the bottle.
"Just as long as it's you," she sighed. I understood exactly what she meant. The other me—the obsessed me—terrified her. I sipped excellent Scotch before turning back to her. "Here," I turned her head toward me with a finger and leaned in for a kiss.
"Mmm, Macallan," she whispered as she tasted it on my lips. "My favorite."
*
Corinne
My second day as a White House staffer was much like the first. Nobody I saw knew anything. Yes, Val and I had already employed our Looking skills, with no results. Whatever had happened was successfully blocked by Sirenali involvement.
Some employees, these closer to Madam President than those the day before, wept as they answered interviewers' questions. I heard through rumors and by reading it in some employees' gazes that Graye Sanders was packing to move out of the residence.
His personal staff would be leaving with him. I made a mental note to ask President Granville for a moment with them before they left.
Meanwhile, Norian Keef's scheduled arrival the following day weighed on my mind. I worried that he'd walk in with guns blazing, or slither in with fangs dripping and things would go south in a hurry.
In addition to that, I had an unnamed worry that aggravated my senses and wasn't identifiable in any sense. Forcing my thoughts away from that sense of dread, I focused on the line of people waiting to be interviewed.
*
"Did you know about this?" The Chief of Staff and I were having another lunch meeting with President Granville. We watched the noon news program while they had sandwiches.
There, on the screen, was the last thing I expected to see.
The perfect image of former President Phillips spoke with a well-known and respected news anchor. "Yes, I've issued the invitation to Graye Sanders to stay at my home in Virginia," the Phillips clone announced. "I spoke to him this morning, and he's considering my invitation—for after the funeral, you understand."
"Have you spoken with President Granville?"
"I've left messages for him, but I'm sure he's rather busy at the moment. Taking the reins of the finest country in the world is a heavy burden, especially when it lands on your shoulders so abruptly."
"He hasn't left me a goddamn thing," Granville growled.
"He was always good at spouting fiction," I said. "And this is his clone, in case you hadn't guessed already."
"I know the original is dead," Granville nodded. "What I can't figure out is how they got him to look like his former self."
"Surgery can be an amazing thing," I sighed. "Because that's exactly what has happened, here. You need to warn Graye Sanders that he needs to reject the invitation."
"I'll do that tonight," the President said. "I have a full schedule this afternoon. Kyle, make sure to send word to Graye."
"I'll see to it," the Chief of Staff agreed.
"Cori," the President turned to me. "What do you think they're doing?"
"Trying to get back in the White House, if my guess is correct," I said. "And then he may set his sights on world domination again."
"I hate this," Granville shook his head at the screen.
*
As it turned out, Graye Sanders didn't wait for a visit from President Granville. He and two staffers left in a limo that afternoon, with packed bags.
Word came to Granville through others that Graye would be staying at Phillips' estate in Virginia until after Amelia Sanders' funeral, scheduled for the following week.
Auggie, Matt, Rafe, Val and I fit ourselves into the meeting time Granville originally scheduled with Graye Sanders.
"The media is fascinated by the fact that the opposing party is now extending its hand to Amelia Sanders' husband," the President huffed.
"Sir," Kyle Lakin poured two fingers of bourbon in a glass and handed it to Granville while we sat in the Oval Office. Granville nodded his thanks and drank it in two swallows.
"What do you think?" He turned to the rest of us, then.
"The law states that Phillips can't run for the White House again," Matt began.
"But it doesn't keep him from bucking for the VP position," Auggie pointed out. "I'm waiting for somebody to suggest just that."
"That means they'll need my cooperation," Granville countered.
"Which will be easy if they get one of their schmucks to place an obsession," I said.
"You know what will happen if we attempt to call them out on this—in public or private," Matt agreed. "It'll sound like bad blood and sour grapes between parties, at a time when everybody is harping that we need to stand together."
"I'm sorry Amelia didn't announce his death when he actually died," Granville said. "We're stuck in the middle of a mess we made for ourselves."
"It would have taken some creative explaining," Matt nodded. "He wasn't slated to be here. The Secret Service records indicate he was abroad at the time."