The Legacy by Stephen Frey

shifted uncomfortably in his chair without saying anything. He felt the perspiration building beneath his uniform. He was too self-conscious to easily endure any kind of attention.
    Right. Jamison folded his hands together atop the desk and cleared his throat. Zahn was as stiff as a board, and it was silly to think that he might all of a sudden become an interesting conversationalist. It was better to get down to the matter at hand than to try and drag any shred of personality out of the general.
    In his peripheral vision Zahn noticed Walshs posture subtly stiffen as the presidents demeanor became serious.
    Update me on Operation Snowfall, Jamison demanded abruptly. He was all business now. Specifically, what we talked about last week.
    Yes, Mr. President. Zahn was happy. The idle chitchat, something for which he had never possessed an affinity, was over. Now they could get to work. We should acquire what we seek this evening, if we havent already, Zahn said, checking his watch. I have a report, from the man I told you about, that Cole Egan took something out of a safe-deposit box at the Chase Bank branch at Fifth Avenue and Forty-third Street in Manhattan this afternoon. We believe what he retrieved from the box is what were looking for.
    The president reclined in the chair and chewed thoughtfully on the end of his gold Cross pen for a moment. Really? He was surprised that it could be over so quickly, but then Zahn was efficient. He wasnt someone youd spend more than a few seconds conversing with at an Embassy Row cocktail party or a state dinner, but he was coldly efficient, and therefore the perfect man to head this mission.
    Yes, Mr. President.
    The president leaned forward over the desk. You know how goddamn important this mission is to me.
    Yes, Mr. President. Zahn was like a puppy dog in Jamisons presence.
    A minute of silence ensued as the president took in this unexpectedly positive piece of information.
    Zahn began rocking slightly in his chair. It was what he always did when he was about to address someone of superior rank without being prompted, and when he thought what he was about to say was humorous. Kind of ironic. Zahn cackled through his nose when he laughed. Isnt it, Mr. President? This whole thing, I mean. It was a feeble attempt at something other than his typically stoic demeanor, and it failed miserably.
    The presidents eyes narrowed. It sure as shit is, he hissed. He had no desire to be reminded of the irony.
    Walsh shook his head. What an idiot Zahn was.
    Zahn nodded nervously, wishing he could have taken back his comment.
    General Zahn, I hope for your sake everything works out well this evening. I informed my associate that you would acquire what we seek very soon. He was delighted to hear that. Jamison pointed a finger at Zahn. I dont want him to be disappointed, he said ominously. I cant have that.
    I understand, Mr. President. It was all Zahn could do to speak.
    Good. When you have procured the damn thing, I want to be informed immediately. You may call Mr. Walsh at any hour tonight. Jamison gestured in his chief of staffs direction. That will be all, General Zahn.
    Yes, sir. Zahn rose and walked out the door, which clicked shut behind him.
    What do you have on Zahn? Walsh asked, an impish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Why is he so petrified of you?
    The president stood up, turned and gazed out through the window into the darkness beyond. General Zahn comes from a very old, very high-profile Southern family. A family that has called Charleston, South Carolina, home for two hundred years. Jamison loosened his bright red tie. A very traditional Southern family from a very traditional Southern town, where gentlemen are gentlemen and ladies are ladies, he said in his smooth North Carolina accent.
    Whats your point? Walsh asked impatiently. He was the only one in Washington who could get away with so impertinent a tone.
    My point is that General Zahn leaves his wife and children one night a