Code Name Sentinel (Jameson Force Security 2)

President Alexander rises from his chair behind his desk as Kynan and I walk in. He moves around it, approaching me with an angst-filled expression. Holding his hand out to me, he asks, “How are you doing? Kynan said you were shot.”

I shake his hand, trying not to wince as his free hand comes to my left shoulder for a light clap. I ignore his question about my state of health. “I’m sorry I let you down, sir.”

The president doesn’t seem to like me saying that. He squeezes my shoulder once more, and I can’t help but flinch before pulling away. Immediately understanding it’s my wounded side, he utters a curse I know is actually quite uncharacteristic of the man.

“Christ… I’m sorry, Cruce,” he says as he motions us toward the couches. “I’m just so worried about Barrett.”

He then pins me with a harsh glare. “And don’t you dare apologize again. Kynan filled me in on what happened, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. The fact you put yourself in such danger to try to save her has me once again in your debt.”

I wave him off. Instead, I move to the heart of why I wanted to come to D.C. in the first place. I don’t bother with taking a seat as was politely suggested. Pacing, I ask, “What can you tell us about Winston Carnes?”

Kynan and I had decided not to fill the president in on what we knew over the phone as we wanted to be there in person to see his reaction. The only thing he knows is Barrett was located and taken by some unknown force after she sent the email to him.

“Winston? Why do you want to know about Winston?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“Just answer the question, sir,” I reply tersely.

The president’s eyebrows shoot upward. I expect had this been any other situation, I’d receive a severe dressing down for my temerity. But he gets the urgency. “Winston’s been with me since I took office. He’s one of my senior aides… currently Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations.”

“You didn’t bring him over from when you were VP,” I point out, meaning I don’t know the man at all.

Alexander shakes his head. “No. Actually, he was recommended to me by Chief of Staff Lydia Forrester.”

“And does he have access to your email?” Kynan asks.

The president swings his head Kynan’s way. “Not my official government email. But he does my personal email. He’s sort of like a social secretary in a way. He checks my personal email for me as I don’t have time some days. Forwards me the important stuff and has the authority to respond to some things without me.”

“And he read the email from Barrett?” I hazard a guess.

Alexander nods. “Yes. In fact, he brought it right to my attention. Printed me off a copy.”

Kynan and I exchange a look, prompting the president to ask, “Do you think he’s responsible for Barrett’s kidnapping?”

“We don’t know,” I say truthfully, but it sure looks that way. “After the email was read, he called out on his extension to a number registered to a flower shop.”

“And what could that possibly mean?” the president asks, frowning with confusion.

“Might mean nothing, except that a few moments later, some type of spyware was deployed from the servers here in the Oval Office to trace backward to the source of the email. It’s how Barrett and I were located.”

“Son of a bitch,” President Alexander mutters as he drags his hand through his hair. He glances between me and Kynan before settling on me. “Should I get Lydia Forrester in here? He worked for her in the private sector before I brought her on as chief of staff.”

“No,” Kynan replies with a shake of his head. “Given their ties before coming to work for you, they could be in collusion.”

“I just can’t believe this,” Alexander says in a voice that sounds as lost as he looks. He walks to the couch, sits down heavily, and sighs. “People in my own office?”

“We want to talk to Winston Carnes,” I say. “Can you call him in here?”

“Of course,” the president replies. He pops right back off the couch, eager to do something that will progress this all forward.

Kynan and I stand by silently as Alexander hurries to his desk phone and pushes a button that rings through to Carnes’ extension. It comes through on the speaker.

“Yes, sir,” Carnes answers crisply.

“Can you come into my office?” Alexander asks, his voice a mask of calm perfection despite the fact he must be bristling on the inside.

“Of course, sir. Be right there.”

Alexander disconnects. In no more than thirty seconds, there’s a knock on the door before it opens.

Winston Carnes is thirty-four years old, but he looks about twenty. Kynan and I had his basic resume, including info on where he was born, education, and family ties through a social media search, all thanks to Bebe’s quick skills. He shares the same political leanings as his president, as expected, so it’s a little hard to accept Barrett has been in danger from someone this close to the Oval Office.