Tom Lewis - My King the President

Praise for This Novel

A new and chilling novelbegins with a shockermoves rapidly. Keeping pace with the action will keep the reader on his or her toes. The writing is crisp and the actionis non-stop. Tom Lewis has a gift for the well-turned phrase. I enjoyed this book, and I imagine you will, too. Good story!

Ken Gruebel, Sun Journal

A terrific bookreads fasttautmore twists and turns than a tornado! It is indeed a thriller and the ending is explosive. One reader told me it was the most intriguing book she'd read in a long time. I totally agree.

G.K.Lewis

WOW! This thriller has the best prologue I ever read. It moves so quickly and cleverly that I had to put it down every few minutes to catch my breath.

Kaa Byington

Other Books by Tom Lewis

SUNDAY'S CHILD

HITLERS JUDAS

SONS OF THEIR FATHERS

LUCIFER'S CHILDREN

ZENA'S LAW

SHORT TALES and TALL

50 YEARS TO MIDNIGHT

A NOVEL BY

Tom Lewis

McBryde Publishing

NEW BERN, NORTH CAROLINA USA

MY KING THE PRESIDENT

Copyright 2008 by Tom Lewis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

eBook ISBN 978-0-98-431845-2

First Printing April 30, 2008 By VP Publishing, LLC

Second Printing August, 2009 By McBryde Publishing

Lovingly,

For the younger Lewis bunch:

Erik and Elaine, Tony and Julie

And

Big John

Prologue

OFFICIALLY, a day begins just after midnight. Most people ignore this fact, assuming a new day starts at daybreak, or when they themselves have to arise, whatever the actual time. This particular day began no differently. Later, people would refer to it in different ways; some would call it Doomsday, others Judgment Day. I would always call it Deliverance Day.

For two other men, it would be their last day.

On this morning, one of them, a man named Robert McCarty slid out of bed, glancing at the clock. He had not set the alarm the night before, knowing he couldnt have slept anyway. After making love to his wife, he had held her close until she fell asleep. Afterwards, it had taken all his mental strength not to lie there all night crying.

He looked over his shoulder at her. She was still so beautiful. He almost wished she would wake up just long enough for him to see her eyes one last time.

But Abigail McCarty didnt stir at all. She was used to his leaving at odd times, whether day or night, a common occurrence for wives of Secret Service men. Blinking back fresh tears, he turned away from her naked loveliness and stood. His own body was cramped from lying in the same position for so long. He held his legs straight and bent down from the waist to touch both palms on the soft carpet five times in succession, then headed for the bathroom.

He allowed the steam from the shower to totally cloud up everything instead of finishing off with his customary cold blast. No need. He was alert enough, and he didnt want to see his face in the mirror. Not today. He didnt want to look at himself and have to question whether he was staring at a hero or a coward. He dressed quickly, amazed at how calm his movements were. He knew it was the training, yet his self-control still surprised him.

Abby hadnt changed her position in the queen-size bed. Robert gazed at her for another long moment before quietly unlocking, then reaching into the nightstand drawer for his weapon and shoulder holster. The clock read 4:50 A.M., its luminous digital characters blinking like captured fireflies. He sighed softly and walked to the adjoining bedroom. The twin boys were two small lumps beneath their identical Disney World blankets. He bent down and touched his lips to each ones head, not trusting himself to do more. Then he turned and silently left the room, leaving the door ajar, knowing that if he shut it, no matter how carefully, it would still make a sound and Abby would be instantly awake. He didnt want that kind of goodbye. He had left his goodbye deep inside her a few hours ago. He prayed, for her sake, that she would not conceive again.

Robert went through the kitchen to the garage, touching familiar things on the way. Since he knew every step from memory, turning on a light was unnecessary. Skirting Abbys Volvo station wagon, he settled into the silver Corvette, his only other passion in this life besides his wife. No, that was not true. There was one other passion; one that dwarfed his affection for the old car, and lodged deeper in his soul than even his love for Abby and the boys. It was his honest and old-fashioned feeling of loyalty to his country.

The thing called duty.

He started the Corvette without touching the gas pedal, grunting with mild satisfaction when the powerful engine immediately purred into life. As it idled softly, he fingered the automatic garage door switch. He had always kept its cables well greased, and it opened with only minimal sound. He removed the 9mm pistol from its holster and checked its clip again, though he had done so a dozen times the night before. He slid the gun back into the worn leather that was as much a part of his everyday dress as a shirt and tie.

He backed the Corvette out of the garage, thumbed the door switch again, and headed down the empty street. At this time of morning, he knew it would take exactly twenty-nine minutes to reach his assigned parking space at the White House, another five to check in, and three more to be in his place by six, when his shift began.

Robert looked at the dashboard clock. 5:15. Still dark. Very little traffic. There hadnt been much traffic in Washington this year, vehicular or otherwise. He thought about the handwritten note hed given Father Tim, hoping he hadnt placed his priest in jeopardy. Aside from Abby, Father Tim Flaherty was the only person on earth he had complete faith in. Well, it was too late now to worry about that. There could be no second-guessing. Hed have to trust. The few lines of the message hed written to his old college team mate burned across his mind like a laser beam, but he banished them from his brain and concentrated on his driving.

And his mission.

He glanced at the clock once more. On time.

Secret Service agent Robert McHale McCarty easily made his 6:00 shift, and, at 6:21, opened the door he was guarding, took three quick steps inside the Madison room, drew the Walther one final time and fired two bullets into the head of his father-in-law, the President of the United States.

Chapter 1

I HATE FUNERALS. They give me lasting feelings of helplessness. Standing hatless in the late September rain, I told myself, Jeb Willard, this is the last time. The last one . I felt safe making such a stupid prediction because the only one I knew I would be absolutely forced to attend in the future would be my fathers, and Cal Willard would probably live forever. Outlive me for sure, the stubborn old hack.