BLACK PRESIDENT- CHAPTER 77. John has to tell SOMEBODY about the switch...

https://www.shondaland.com/live/a43315511/the-case-for-keeping-secrets/

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Waking up the next morning John found Rudy across from his bed, looking comfortable in the visitor chair, coddling a cup of coffee. Secret Service agents’ feet could be seen as faint, shadowy outlines at the bottom of the door outside.

“Happy morning, Jackson,” said Rudy, trying to interject some good spirits into his stepson. “How’s it going?”

For the first few seconds, John didn’t remember where he was, or for that matter, who he was supposed to be. Not John but Jackson. Oh. OK!

“Pretty good, I guess. What time is it?” John caught the edge of his reality and stalled it out for a second.

Rudy looked down at his watch and then spoke, “9:45 AM.”

“Looks like you’re getting some good sleep in here. Just wanted to let you know that Cissy is bringing the kids today, sometime around 11:00. It’s Saturday, so they’re out of school. Anyway, if it gets to be too much for you, just look over at me, give me some kind of signal, and I’ll make sure you get your privacy back. I realize that their questions, however innocent, could wear someone down. Someone who’s been jostled. You took a pretty good hit.”

“Thanks Dad,” said John, aware that Rudy was the one person he could imagine confiding in about the switch. Rudy, a vet and all- around knowledgeable guy, could surely handle it. And just as suddenly as the thought occurred to him, he acted on it. John suddenly realized that without someone knowing, he wouldn’t have anyone watching his back. He needed the extra strength that sharing his secret would give. He understood that he couldn’t really go it completely alone.

“Rudy, please come over here, close to me. I need to whisper something.”

Without hesitation Rudy placed his coffee down on the side table, stood up, took two small steps and leaned in. He felt honored that their relationship was solid enough for Jackson to confide something. As soon as his ear was close to his stepson’s mouth John spoke up, careful to not be heard by anyone else.

“Rudy, you need to know something. We switched that morning in the Oval office. I’m not Jackson. I’m John.”

Rudy immediately pulled his head back and stared hard. His face had a concerned expression as he examined his stepson’s face closely.

“No shit?”
And again, quieter, Rudy repeated, “No shit.”

“Oh my god. OK. Wow! Alright, so...”
John kept nodding. Then waved Rudy in again. In a deep whisper

John continued.
“No one else will ever know. Just you.”

Rudy nodded, solemnly.
“I’m going to go after some bad guys while playing President, and I will need your help. We’ll get a few of them before they get me, OK? It’s payback time – for Jackson.”

Rudy nodded. In his physical gesture – slightly pursed lips, eyes staring straight open, unblinking – he gave the assurance to John that he was in total agreement, on Team-John, and ready to help him proceed as if he was President Jackson Little. A relief spread through John as he became convinced that he had made the right decision, confiding in his stepfather. The old guy had been a great partner to his mother and a loving dad to him and his brother. Rudy was as loyal as it got, and maybe together they could make it work.

When Cissy visited a few hours later, John did his best to be fatherly to the kids and act like a husband to Cissy. While his injuries helped to shield the truth of his identity from the kids at least, for the time being, he wondered if Cissy suspected anything. She was usually very insightful. In any case, he had trouble reading her glances in his direction. Fortunately, Rudy had been present throughout the visit, and had cut in at the earliest possible moment to clear the room. And he knew just the right words to say, using “recovery time,” and “exhaustion” buttons as his extraction tools. When Rudy returned to the bedside, the men continued their conspiracy.

John whispered to Rudy, “Can you do some research for me?” “Of course,” returned Rudy.
“Please find out how many US banks are part of the Federal Reserve system, where they’re located, and who’s on the Board.”

***

A few miles outside of Arlington, Virginia, several men sat together in a wood-paneled room, with stately lawns and well-trimmed hedges beyond the picture windows. An older, distinguished-looking man at the end of the table listened carefully as his subordinate, known by just a first name, Salvador, recapped the failed mission.

“We had enough C-4 inside that desk to blow out every wall surrounding it. I can accept that the President somehow survived the blast, but it’s still hard to believe. How he beat the explosion – like Hitler – is astounding. A thick desk maybe shielded him somehow. Anyway, that man has nine lives!”

The older man’s face turned sour. No one liked excuses, especially him. He had heard too many already.

“If you are saying that we can’t terminate him I find that simply a stupid and superstitious response. We must keep trying, before his administration does some real damage. He has more than three years left to wreak havoc on the programs we’re paid to protect.” His dry mouth demanded another sip of bourbon, the ice cubes cooling his lips upon contact.

“His anti-war stance will gut the Pentagon and other military services. And, as you know, armament factories currently have huge inventories – a glut – mostly due to the rioting in Afghanistan. Anyway, they need to be emptied for the new products. That’s why we’ve given you this the highest priority.

“From this day forth we will use two teams with different methods, operating at the exact same time and place. That crossfire approach will leave little room for escape. And more major armaments like Stingers will be hard to duck.”

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