No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) by Mark E Becker Page B
Authors: Mark E Becker
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other jump seats, gazing out the windows at the view on the ground, occasionally scanning the horizon. If I don’t get the hang of living in DC, it’s going to be a long time between dates, he thought as the drone of the helicopter mercifully took the edge off his state of arousal. Andrew tried to focus on the day’s agenda, but his imagination was getting the best of him. I’ve got to get a life, and soon.
Somewhere over South Alabama, Max strapped himself into his seat, and Rachel took the co-pilot’s seat once again.. He focused on his surroundings, and was astounded at the amount of gear that had been packed inside, still leaving room for four comfortable passenger seats and two drop seats for his Secret Service contingent. It reminded him of how close to death he had come before he became president. Their seaplane, piloted by Rachel, had almost been knocked from the sky by an assassin’s mortar round. The dum dum bullet had missed the control cables by inches. He wondered if another attack would just bounce off the armored shell, or whether there was some kind of technical gadgetry that would save them.
He looked at the golf clothes with disdain, and pondered what other surprises the day held in store for him.
The next stop for Max was nine holes of golf with the Governor of Alabama, and then back to the White House for briefings that would go into the night. The other members of the transition team were busy vetting candidates for key governmental positions, and the incoming president was required to make final approval of his cabinet and agency heads. None would be retained from the Blythe administration. Least of all, the Director of Homeland Security.
uuu
The press contingent in Alabama was not the same as the one at the oil spill. They were more of a skeleton crew assigned to get video clips of Max and the Governor, a photo opportunity that politicians crave to show their constituents that they are important. With this president came the unprecedented chance for members of any political party to boost their popularity and poll ratings. He had run as an Independent, and they could gain votes by being seen with the winner.
Andrew was convinced that the golf idea was a bad one. It had not occurred to him that the president of the United States was not an avid golfer. He had just assumed that every president played golf. He heard Max’s dismay when he changed into the golf clothes that had been arranged for the scheduled appearance, and he took careful mental note that Max would not be doing this again. He’s not your typical politician , he reminded himself.
u
CHAPTER 16
F
rom the start, the golf appearance took on the characteristics of the typical train wreck. Max exited Marine One in his brand new golf clothes: bright yellow, his least-favorite color. He looked clearly uncomfortable, and upon shaking the governor’s
outstretched hand, he was turned toward the cameras to stand next to the large, red-faced man. The governor beamed, his white teeth making quite a contrast to his shiny face. It appeared to Max that the man had been waiting in the bright sun all day to get that sunburn, and he took an immediate dislike to this loud stranger who was ostentatiously feeding off of his popularity.
“I don’t do golf,” Max announced, the first words spoken after the cameramen had paused in their efforts to preserve the moment for posterity. The governor, taking his comment as a joke, laughed heartily.
“Don’t worry, Mr. President, I brought along a good friend of mine, golf legend Henry “Shank” Mulligan, to be here today, and he can teach you a few tips before we tee off. Come on up here Shank, Ol’ Buddy, and meet our new president.” Mulligan, fresh off a full security scan from the advance team of Secret Service agents that preceded the arrival of Marine One, was allowed to approach. He was trim and tanned and looked like the prototypical pro golfer: dressed in clothes that bore his label,
Somewhere over South Alabama, Max strapped himself into his seat, and Rachel took the co-pilot’s seat once again.. He focused on his surroundings, and was astounded at the amount of gear that had been packed inside, still leaving room for four comfortable passenger seats and two drop seats for his Secret Service contingent. It reminded him of how close to death he had come before he became president. Their seaplane, piloted by Rachel, had almost been knocked from the sky by an assassin’s mortar round. The dum dum bullet had missed the control cables by inches. He wondered if another attack would just bounce off the armored shell, or whether there was some kind of technical gadgetry that would save them.
He looked at the golf clothes with disdain, and pondered what other surprises the day held in store for him.
The next stop for Max was nine holes of golf with the Governor of Alabama, and then back to the White House for briefings that would go into the night. The other members of the transition team were busy vetting candidates for key governmental positions, and the incoming president was required to make final approval of his cabinet and agency heads. None would be retained from the Blythe administration. Least of all, the Director of Homeland Security.
uuu
The press contingent in Alabama was not the same as the one at the oil spill. They were more of a skeleton crew assigned to get video clips of Max and the Governor, a photo opportunity that politicians crave to show their constituents that they are important. With this president came the unprecedented chance for members of any political party to boost their popularity and poll ratings. He had run as an Independent, and they could gain votes by being seen with the winner.
Andrew was convinced that the golf idea was a bad one. It had not occurred to him that the president of the United States was not an avid golfer. He had just assumed that every president played golf. He heard Max’s dismay when he changed into the golf clothes that had been arranged for the scheduled appearance, and he took careful mental note that Max would not be doing this again. He’s not your typical politician , he reminded himself.
u
CHAPTER 16
F
rom the start, the golf appearance took on the characteristics of the typical train wreck. Max exited Marine One in his brand new golf clothes: bright yellow, his least-favorite color. He looked clearly uncomfortable, and upon shaking the governor’s
outstretched hand, he was turned toward the cameras to stand next to the large, red-faced man. The governor beamed, his white teeth making quite a contrast to his shiny face. It appeared to Max that the man had been waiting in the bright sun all day to get that sunburn, and he took an immediate dislike to this loud stranger who was ostentatiously feeding off of his popularity.
“I don’t do golf,” Max announced, the first words spoken after the cameramen had paused in their efforts to preserve the moment for posterity. The governor, taking his comment as a joke, laughed heartily.
“Don’t worry, Mr. President, I brought along a good friend of mine, golf legend Henry “Shank” Mulligan, to be here today, and he can teach you a few tips before we tee off. Come on up here Shank, Ol’ Buddy, and meet our new president.” Mulligan, fresh off a full security scan from the advance team of Secret Service agents that preceded the arrival of Marine One, was allowed to approach. He was trim and tanned and looked like the prototypical pro golfer: dressed in clothes that bore his label,
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