Commander And Chief

By Don L Clark

The story of the first Native American to become president of the USA. Billy Always Dancing Dent (Billy Badd) pairs up with his former TV reporter and new wife to change the face of American politics and policy, setting a good for the country first approach that stuns and angers his rivals. All the while Billy is striving to hide a dangerous secret from his past that could unravel all his success.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don L Clark
• Release date: Oct 24, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458067593

Don L Clark

Mr. Clark is a retired USAF colonel and college professor/administrator. During his USAF career he primarily worked in Intelligence and also served as a military attache in the USSR and on the Joint Staff where he provided military imput into strategic international negotiations such as SALT. MBFR, Laws of the Sea, etc. He has a third degree black belt in Juo and taught courses at Montana State University in International Affairs (how to get a date in Paris).For sseveral years he wrote weekly newspaper columns about international affairs entitled "Hither and Yon" and excerpts from it were occasionally exceprted on Voice of America.Mr. Clark's novels are all action/adventure types in several settings ranging from Texas rangers who team up with a Chinese female assassin back in the late 1800's (Yala) to what UN Peace making force might be like by the year 2030 (Sunday in Sudan.) All of his novels are intended for adults and all include some sexual implications as well as proffer what he thinks would be better ways for the USA to deal with the problems it is facing globally and internally today.His novel Yala was nominated for (but did not win) an international Frankfurt Award for e-booksBesides writing he currently engages as a CASA volunteer. His one foray as an author into non-fiction is "A Fix for America" in which he proffers moderate soultions for all of the major issues dividing this nation.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

THE INCIDENT

Second, third and even fourth thoughts flashed through Billy’s mind as if fired from a laser gun. You idiot," that nasty little voice deep down inside him kept repeating. What the hell are you doing here? You’re not some avenging Ninja, even if you are dressed like one. For God’s sake, man, you’re the vice-president of the United States of America. Turn your stupid ass around and get the hell out of here now before you do the dumbest thing in your life.

Billy was just about to respond to his smart-ass inner voice by declaring I’ve already done that when suddenly it became extremely difficult to do so. That was because he heard a rather muffled cry for help, turned his head in the direction of that utterance and felt his tension level zoom up another notch or two. Damn it!, Billy, it was he himself rather than his conscience speaking this time, and as he did so, oddly, he felt a bit calmer than he had just a few seconds earlier. It was suddenly a lot like the old days back when he was trying to throw a touchdown pass with two big blitzers baring down on him with malice aforethought in their minds.

Billy narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on detecting more sounds and determining just what was happening over there in the direction from whence that original cry for help and scuffling noises had come. His eyes were drawn to a place about twenty yards to his left where he was now sure he heard panting breaths and the sounds of a struggle mixed with a few curse words, some of which were in…damn it, English.

The bright moon light enabled him to detect what looked very much like a woman’s high-heeled shoe sticking out from behind a rather large, sculptured bush. The foot inside that shoe, Billy observed, was obviously struggling for some leverage on the ground. He heard the distinct sound of fist hitting bone, followed quickly by a moan, and then watched, his tension rising, as that single visible foot appeared to go limp.

Take that you Yankee bitch! Billy recognized the Spanish words that meant roughly that and more, and he began to move rapidly, albeit low and close to the ground, towards that bush. On arrival he peered around it and found pretty much what his mind had conjured up: a man on top of a woman, pulling his pants down with one arm while clasping her wrists together back over her head with the other and all the while mocking her position of weakness.

Billy had no doubt where this event was headed. As he moved in to intervene, he heard the victim cursing under her breath, still in English, and pleading, albeit now rather weakly, for help from somewhere—and fortunately, she got it..

Billy stepped into view and just as the man on top sensed that he was not alone and turned his head towards the intruder, Billy’s foot caught him square in the face and sent him flying off his victim and into temporary oblivion. Billy had not only quarterbacked both in college and as a pro, but also punted and kicked extra points throughout his college career so his foot could pack one hell of a wallop.

You OK, Miss? Billy then asked, remarkably calmly.

The woman was stunned. She had called out for help instinctively but had not really expected any. After all, she knew where she was and the risks she had taken to get there. Her one ally, at least the only one she was aware of within the grounds of this exclusive estate of a Mexican Mafia Don was, she knew, lying unconscious on the ground just a few feet away. So, her mind asked, who in the hell is this…this…person in black—this hooded and very powerful looking man who is reaching down to assist you to your feet?

You OK, can you stand? Billy sounded so much calmer than he really was. I hope I didn’t break up a game of rough but consensual sex here, he said, laughing a little self-consciously. It was just dawning on Billy how out of place his attire might appear to her and he instinctively lifted the hood up and off his face. Then, when he realized that could prove a big mistake, he pulled it back down and sort of turned his face away from her. Before he did so though he realized that he had very much liked what he had seen. She not only had attractive legs coming out of those high-heeled shoes that had lured him to this spot, but was also damned good looking, even with a bruised and bleeding face attached to the other end of her body. Billy fumbled to offer her a kerchief that he had carefully placed in his back pocket in case he needed to wipe off any fingerprints he might leave while he did his wooly deed this night.

You’re safe now, Billy tried to reassure her as he pulled the woman to her feet.

I rather doubt that, she replied hesitantly, groaning again as she came upright. That son of a bitch you just cold-cocked is Juano’s chief of security. And since he now knows who I am, my cameraman and I—over there…. she pointed to a figure Billy had not seen before, another unconscious body on the ground about six feet to her right, we’re…he and I at least, are in deep trouble, and you likely will be too for helping us. But you…you’re not one of Juano’s boys, are you? In fact something tells me, I guess it’s your attire, that you’re here to do him harm. Am I right or just crazy?

As the woman spoke, she was looking around nervously, only occasionally glancing at Billy as if she feared it might be wise not to examine him too closely.

The two of them instinctively moved to the side of her downed companion. Did you say he was your cameraman? Billy asked, becoming additionally nervous with that thought.

She was tapping the cheek of the man on the ground and shaking his shoulders gently. Mack, come on, Mack, tell me you’re OK. Come on guy. She glanced up at Billy as she worked over her partner and noticed that he had again removed his hood in order to take in the scene better. This time she saw his face clearly in the moonlight and immediately felt as if she recognized him. He’s Indian…Native American. That recognition flashed through her brain. At that moment, however, her thought process refocused as the man she had called Mack came to life.

Oh…. The young man groaned. Cripes JenPage, what and who hit me. You OK?

I’m OK; we’re OK—thanks to our El Salvador here. The woman glanced up at Billy and smiled, once again struck by the thought that she knew him—albeit not personally. But we have to get the hell out of here right now. Carlos told me he knew who we were and why we were here. He hit you with his gun, and was about to rape me, laughing all along about how Juano was going to have even more fun with both of us after he finished. That was when our friend here intervened. Come on, we have to get to the car and get rolling. It’s time to pull up the tent stakes and get the hell out of here.

The female victim and Billy helped a woozy Mack to his feet.

You have a car? Billy asked.

She nodded.

Let’s get to it quickly then. Perhaps the party…. Billy glanced in the direction of the main building on the large estate. For the first time during this incident, all three of them suddenly became aware of the noises coming from over there. It was the raucous sounds of a large and somewhat boisterous party taking place both inside and outside the huge mansion, around its pool, patio, tennis courts, etc. Perhaps, Billy went on, the excitement over there will keep others from discovering what’s happened here. But just to be safe, maybe we should tie this ass hole up—gag him, etc. before your run for it.

The other two nodded agreement, and then between them hastily bound and gagged Carlos using his own clothing. Billy handed the would-be rapist’s handgun to Mack, and they then hustled off in the direction of the car park. Jenny and Mack had gotten to know the grounds quite well in the last week while they were here doing a covert investigative report on the estate’s owner, a Juan Humberto, and his connections with the global white slave traffic.

When they got to their car there was a moment of frustration when neither Jenny nor Mack could come up with a key. Finally, Mack found it in his pocket and they prepared to race off. You should come with us, the very attractive brunette said to Billy as she settled in behind the wheel. Like I said before; I sense that you’re not a friend of Humberto’s or his boys. Am I correct in that?

Billy smiled knowingly but replied enigmatically. "Quien sabe? Either way I can’t leave quite yet. You don’t by any chance know where Juano is right now, do you?"

I do, the fleeing female answered. You can pretty much count on him being in the hot tub this time of night, mauling an imported female or two. The tub’s out back on the patio next to the pool. But I warn you; he’s always well guarded. There must be twenty-five or so security people here.

Thanks and good luck. You’d be wise to not only get out of town but the country as well if your cover’s really been blown here. Juano has a lot of high placed connections, you know, so you won’t really be safe anywhere in Mexico.

You’re so right about that? Believe me we’re heading straight to the airport. Good luck on whatever you’re here to do and…and well…thanks…but that seems so pitifully inadequate for what you’ve done. I’m positive you’ve saved our lives.

Not if you dally—go, get out of here.

And so they did, but seconds later Billy heard gun shots. He concluded that the scared Americans had just blown right through the security gate without stopping.

Good luck guys, he thought. Damn, she’s right, you know, Billy Badd. You really should have gone with them. This is all so stupid, but just maybe I was supposed to be here to help her—them. What do you think, Billy, do we press on or go back over that fence? He stood there unsure about what to do for almost a full moment but then, reluctantly, his mind settled on the answer. Those kids could have a hell of a tough time getting out of this country tonight, he thought, and I would be derelict in my duty if I don’t assure they make it. That’s more important than the dumb-assed reason that brought me here. His mind made up, Billy turned and headed toward the high rock fence line behind a small forest of trees.

CHAPTER ONE

TWO MONTHS LATER

…that female reporter called again, Billy. Remember, the one I told you about before—the one that threatened to run a story that puts you in a bad light if you don’t talk to her?

The Vice President’s secretary, Liz, laughed facetiously as she finished the threat line. I asked her if she could remember the last time anyone ran a story about you that wasn’t negative, but I think it went over her head.

Billy Always Dancing barely looked up from his book at the intrusion. More than a year ago, he had left standing orders with his appointment gal against any new press interviews, and he was certainly not inclined to break that policy now. Almost mechanically, he asked the reporter’s name and if she had mentioned the topic of her inquiry.

She’s a new one on the D.C. beat. Been more of a foreign correspondent before I think—for GNN—name’s Jenny…Jenny Page. Said something about a connection between you and a guy named Humberto…or something like that?

Well, tell her to just go ahead and run her piece if she wants. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll get me fired, Billy half-teased. Suddenly though, as if an alarm had belatedly gone off in his brain, he looked up at Liz and said. What did you say her name was again? And did you say she mentioned an Humberto?

Yeah—Jen or Jenny Page; I recently saw her do an expose on international White Slavery, but never saw her do a political piece before. I’d already told her that you….

Damn! Billy grunted, interrupting Liz. You sure she said Humberto—White Slavery? Look, Liz, if that’s so, call her back and tell her I can see her after all but only if it’s tonight…and be insistent—tell her it’s either tonight or never. Make it about eight—at my place. Billy was now quite alert, wide-eyed and attentive. His mind was shouting: Has she finally made the connection? I’ve been afraid of that, but also dying to see her again.

CHAPTER TWO

RECENT PAST EXPOSED

Thus, Vice President Billy Always Dancing Dent greeted Jenny Page, Global News Network Foreign Correspondent (GNN), at the front door of his official residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory at two minutes past eight p.m. that very night. He watched her arrive from the entryway window, and when a rather stately blonde stepped out of a GNN van Billy did a double take. At first, she did not look like the girl he had expected to see, but then after she took a step or two and after he saw who was driving the van, he got all excited again. It’s her all right, new hair color for sure but her—just as the guy driving the van is, yep, that’s Mack.

The plot thickens. Billy thought. Then he laughed when he noticed that Mack was videotaping the reporter’s purposeful stroll up to Billy’s door.

Nice touch, Billy said to her as he opened the door. I really don’t think you’ll need video evidence of your arrival at my door though.

Just a precaution, Mr. Vice President, Jenny replied, her tone and facial expression almost playful. Mack took another few seconds of tape, catching the two of them together, and then drove away, waving.

I promise that video will disappear as long as I show up for work tomorrow, Mister Vice-President. Now don’t look at me like that; I’m not paranoid, just cautious. My boss didn’t even want me to come here alone so this is sort of my fall back maneuver. Say, this is a neat place, she added as Billy led her inside. I’ve never been to the Veep’s quarters before.

It is nice, although to be honest I preferred my private home in Lake Braddock. The perks here are certainly better though. I’ve got a great cook, housekeepers galore, and more staff than I can keep up with. I can even show full screen movies in my little theater. I must say you look…nice. Billy stumbled a little over the word nice. He had actually wanted to say that she looked terrific: like the woman he had been dreaming about for a couple of weeks now, well except for her hair color, but somehow that did not seem wise at this moment so he settled on just nice.

Well, thank you, Mr. Vice-President. I ended up having to come straight from work.

Can the Mister V.P. line; I’m really uncomfortable with that. Let’s use first names, if it’s OK with you.

"Well, you can call me whatever you wish, but I’m afraid I’ll feel pretty awkward not using your title, Sir or something like that"

"Fight it; I feel awkward when people do. Let’s go straight out to the back deck. It’s glassed in, heated and much less formal. If it’s all right with you, we’ll eat out there as well. The main dining room seems rather cavernous for just two. Liz, my secretary, says you sometimes use the name JenPage, should I call you that or Jenny?"

Billy was leading the TV reporter through the nation’s large and quite tastefully decorated vice-presidential home and out onto a deck on the southwestern side.

"I’m not uncomfortable with either name, Mister Vice President, but if you use JenPage will that mean I’ll have to call you Mr. Badd?" She teased, using his Secret Service code name as well as the nickname from his illustrious football past.

"Billy would be great. Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?" He smiled, and as had been oft noted in the press and on TV screens it was quite a charming smile.

Jenny took in the view from the deck as she sat down on an inviting piece of outdoor furniture. They were on a large elevated deck colorfully furnished with a set of lawn furniture upholstered in a Caribbean theme. The furniture group included a large round table with an umbrella and six chairs around it as well as four other lounge chairs arranged in a conversational pattern—all covered in the same bright material. Almost any direction one looked provided good views of a well manicured lawn, trimmed shrubbery, and a wooded area about fifty yards beyond the glass wall that enclosed the deck.

A Margarita would taste good if that’s possible, the guest replied as she gracefully crossed her shapely and trim legs and took in the view of the mature trees.

Coming up; Billy stepped over to a wall speaker and punched a button: A Margarita for the lady and the usual for me, Rob. Thanks.

As he walked away from her, Jenny found herself unusually nervous. God, I wish I had turned up something more concrete in my research. What will I do if he just blows me off and says, as my research indicates, that he has no idea why Juano said those things about him and has never been at his mansion?

The Comanche returned, plopped down beside Jenny and turned his chair just a tad so that he could face her rather than the landscape. Billy was dressed quite casually in a rather expensive two-piece workout suit and sneakers that looked brand new. The suit fit loosely over his 215 pound frame. Billy was not exactly trim, yet neither did he look fat. Jenny decided powerful was probably the most appropriate descriptive word for his physical appearance.

I suspect we’re both eager to cut right to the chase here, Billy tried to fill the sudden awkward silence, but I’d rather delay the heavy stuff until after dinner if you don’t mind. Servers will interrupt us occasionally during the meal, and I just don’t want to risk their overhearing our conversation. In fact, when we do get to that point, with your permission I’d like us to move over there to the hot tub—with the jets running.

Are you suggesting this place might be bugged, Mr. Vice…I mean, Billy?

Billy smiled somewhat conspiratorially. My Secret Service team tells me they sweep this place for bugs regularly, although damned if I know why since, as you well know, I’m totally out of the loop in this administration. Still, in this case I prefer that no one else tunes in on our conversation.

As a waiter served their drinks, Jenny noted that Billy’s glass was clear, and therefore could have been anything from gin to water. She had done her homework and learned of his past problem with alcohol. What did he mean by the words the heavy stuff? She wondered He hadn’t asked why she was here, and all she’d told his gal Liz was that she wanted to ask about any connections he might have to Juan Humberto.

When the waiter left, Billy commented, It seems you’re quite a rising star in the GNN firmament, JenPage. I looked you up on the Internet last night and you’re hot when I’m not. You’ve been seen with a lot of notable people in your brief career.

"Thanks but I’m hardly in your firmament, Sir. It’s true I’ve met and interviewed some rather big names, but unlike you I’ve not been seen with them socially. I’ve never dated an entertainment or sports icon the equivalent of either Madonna or that tennis beauty Sabatini, Mr. Vice…. Oh, there I go again, I mean Billy. Speaking of what to call you, that Dent name of yours…my research says that although it’s legally your family name now, they, the Dents, never formally adopted you."

"True. When my folks died my Uncle Black Bear was my nearest relative, and he became both my de facto and de jure legal guardian." Billy was among the minority in his senate days, a member who was not a lawyer, but he had been around attorneys so often he sometimes found himself using some of their lingo anyhow.

Back in those days, he went on, those of us who lived on the rez didn’t worry a lot about official documents but just did what came naturally. My nearest relative after the death of my parents, my uncle Black Bear, let me move in with the Dents down in Texas a few years after my folks’ deaths because he thought it could lead to a college scholarship opportunity for me. College opportunities were few and far between for those of us who stayed on the rez—even the ones who excelled in sports. I ended up liking the Dents so much that years later I went to court and had their name officially appended to mine as a sort of tribute to what they did for me.

"While doing some research on you I read an old SI article which hinted that Hank Dent just might have exploited you for the good of his own career—any truth to that?"

None whatsoever; sure Oklahoma hired Hank as part of their effort to recruit me and that got him up to a higher level of coaching and therefore income, but believe me I was the major beneficiary of the whole arrangement. I would never have gotten a college degree nor become a senator had it not been for the Dents. They were great substitute parents, and Hank, more than anyone else, made me the successful football player I finally became.

You don’t think he pushed you too hard?

"Not a bit, I begged for all those extra workouts and strategy drills the sports pages reported on ad infinitum. Hank may have gotten a quarterback when he took me in but I gained much, much more. Moving in with them was probably my best decision ever, especially as compared to accepting the vice-presidency, for example." Billy smiled at his bit of self-deprecation.

Now there’s a scoop I wouldn’t mind probing. It was Jenny’s turn to be jocular. Just why did you do that? Like everyone else I was sure surprised by the move, although I hasten to add I thought it was a very brave and proper thing to do.

"Thanks, for me it was idealistic. And, by the way, although most of my colleagues use that word derisively, that’s never been my concept. I ran with Lyons, the man from the other party, because the federal government had become so polarized it simply wasn’t getting the job done. Naively I thought my deal with President Lyons would hold, and that it would help bring the nation together. Which proves, I guess, that I’m nowhere near the politically astute guy I thought I was?"

It might have worked had it not been for the terrorist attack.

True, perhaps those terrorists didn’t hate America as much as they did me.

They both laughed. But you weren’t blown up. Jenny added as an afterthought.

Not physically, but politically I sure as hell was. One minute I had an iron clad deal that I’d be in the loop and even have veto power, and then less than ninety days later, thanks to those fanatics, Richard had himself a solid majority in both houses and his deal with the man from the opposition became irrelevant. I’ve barely seen him since.

And it seems your own party’s mad at you to boot.

That doesn’t require political insider info or even acumen. More than half of my elected colleagues, I fear, consider me a traitor. I barely fought off party expulsion. The country was suddenly no longer ripe for the idea of a president from one party and a Veep from the other.

The country might surprise you, but the president certainly didn’t. He just did what politicians do, didn’t he?

I guess you could say that, Billy replied, the glum look on his face revealing obvious disappointment.

They talked on about Billy’s ill-fated decision to give up his safe Republican senate seat and sign on as the running mate with an incumbent Democratic president seeking reelection. It was just small talk, but Jenny’s knowledge of the D.C. political scene impressed Billy. He had been thinking of her as one focused exclusively on the international milieu, and thus she surprised him with her knowledge of the domestic side as well.

Just after the same waiter served the salad course, Jenny stated, "I don’t know what you’re drinking tonight, Billy—hey, I got it right, but I have a confession to make. In the last few weeks, I’ve built up quite a large dossier marked Billy Badd. In it the only bad rap against you, prior to your decision to run for the vice-presidency anyhow, was that after your wife’s murder you developed quite a booze problem. And the rumor now is that it’s back."

"I’m afraid I’m guilty on both counts all right. I certainly let booze damn near destroy me after Ria’s murder. It abruptly ended my football career. And as for that new rumor I can confirm that it was right on as well. It was happening again…until very recently anyhow, when, thanks to something that happened just a couple of months ago, I now have reason to believe that I have the juice problem back under control—hopefully forever."

A couple of months ago—did he say that? Jenny’s nerves began to tingle again. She was tempted to grab the opening, but remembered they had agreed not to talk about why she was there until after dinner, so she pulled back. Still, her mind was awhirl with thoughts. Is it only a coincidence that Billy claims he cured his drinking problem about the same time Juano was telling me he was a thief…if not worse, and about the same time I suspect he visited Juano in the middle of the night?

Billy went on, My wife’s murder devastated me in so many ways. In fact, I suspect that if the then Governor of Oklahoma, Johnny Jenks, had not appointed me to fill the seat of a deceased incumbent member of the House, I likely would have died an early death due to kidney or liver failure. That political appointment, however, brought meaning back to my life and in the process enabled me to suppress the inner war that raged inside of me from the day of her death.

Jenny eyes glommed onto his glass and asked the question she had been hesitant to put into words. It was a hesitance, by the way, that surprised her since she prided herself in being a journalist who always asked the tough questions.

Billy read the glance and responded. "It’s Seven Up. I haven’t had a so called adult drink now for some two months. Normally though, when I have too much free time on my hands I brood, and brooding inevitably takes me back to Ria’s death. That, in turn, leads to the renewal of the aforementioned internal struggle for my soul and the recurrence of my alky habit. I know that some have speculated I turned to drink because of my guilt in Ria’s murder, but that’s pure hog wash. I didn’t kill her and was