B J Jones the Story of My LifeChapter 152
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My family wanted to go out for supper to the inn, although I would have rather have had the time at home with them. But they had talked about this all week for this time together.
As usual we were well protected. The Beast number two was on hand - it was now a fixture in the parking garage. The Secret Service had commandeered four bays and had block walls and garage doors installed. A dozen Secret Service Suburbans were in the line.
The griping and complaining from the Secret Service had ended after our first visit to the inn, when they found out they were to eat steak, crab and lobster with us. It was just an East shore thing; I treated them as family.
Marcy had rented the largest room at the inn. My family and I were seated at one table near the wall while agents were at tables away from us and at the door. We were able to carry out reasonably private conversations.
At home I sent the agents to their respective places - out of our living quarters. Contractors had finished expanding the kitchen out the west wall of the house over objections of the county planning and zoning.
It took a visit from a senior DHS official and two federal marshals to convince them they had the authority to make changes to our house for security, without the delay of permits and inspections.
Not only did the agents have fresh hot coffee, there were chefs on duty twenty-four seven to fix meals for them and us when we wanted. That required a big walk-in freezer and walk-in refrigerator; no wonder planning had a fit.
Bob’s Construction did the emergency work. I made sure that Marcy paid for all the work and equipment. The last thing I needed was the liberal media bloodhounds on the trail of - in their eyes - questionable expenses. The pundits would make days of prime time rubbish every chance they could.
The hot tub, cold drinks and family was a fantastic stress reliever. We had no plans to be separated this weekend. All of them were going to with me to Saturday night’s fund raiser at Topeka Kansas.
On Monday Lorrie, Sara, Jenny, the boys and Marcy were coming over with me. I was not coming back for home until Monday morning. Then on Wednesday they were swapping with Ching Lee, Takeo and Vicky who were staying until Friday when all of them would join me again.
The night was fun, affectionate and loving. All my mates joined in - it was in the wee hours of the morning before we went to sleep.
Two little boys crawling on the bed were my alarm clock. They were hungry and then wanted to go to Fort Smith to find some more brass shell casings. Truthfully, I wanted to go there to make sure things were being kept up.
Hot coffee was waiting and breakfast was soon on our plates. I read the updates handed to me by agents between coffee and food.
Iran was still conducting their massive military exercises; all US installations and troops in the Middle East were up one alert level. The Generals and State Department thought that was all that was necessary. The CIA satellites were trying to watch everything in close-up living color to see what we could learn.
Frank Love and Art Cummins wanted a MTAC ASAP. I walked through the tunnel to the command center with a couple agents. I wondered how past Presidents handled these types of communications without a communications center and a wide screen? I would hate to think I would be left to do it with only a phone.
The Boko-Haram was on the move towards the villages in the direction we thought they would go. The CIA wanted authorization to hit the group with drone strikes.
The Predator and Reaper drones had been replaced with the Gladiator and Maximus - shortened to Max. They were more of everything.
The plan they decided on was to coordinate with the JBG team, hit the terrorists with the drones and then allow the JBG team to conduct cleanup operations with JBG aviation support. I called Andy and Vicky on a conference call before I approved the clandestine mission.
Many would die today on my orders, it was not the first time nor would it be the last. I pushed the thought from my mind and went to rejoin my family and start with our plans for the day.
With Ziva, Abra and a couple agents we spent two hours at Fort Smith. The boys were running around the live fire designated areas picking up casings; by now they should have had a bucket full.
While they did that I walked and checked out things. When they were finished we walked together to the jail and interrogation rooms behind it. By looking at the equipment I could see it had been used often since I was there last.
Vicky, Ching Lee and possibly Andy were continuing interrogations, if they were necessary. I wondered if they were using the chipper or the Doc Burns crematorium. I hoped it was the crematorium; there was a lot less chance of any usable DNA left. The cells where the Iranians had been kept were cleaned and unused.
Back at the house I did something I had not done in weeks; I helped the girls clean the house.
Air Force One was already waiting at Morton when the Beast drove through the gate. All my family was going; Mom, Dad, my mates and my two little men. Takeo and Sara were too little to attend the fundraiser but were staying on Air Force One with a sitter while we were there.
The fund raiser was another barn burner. Excited people filled the place. They were looking for a leader for the next eight years to continue the prosperity. I could see the hopes in their faces and hear it in the voices of the big donors.
We were back at Morton at 2400; it had been a long day, but overall a fun day.
A few more days and April would be in the history books. The G20 conference would finish it out.
Sunday was laid back. I read the intelligence reports before breakfast. Breakfast was nice - in my own dining room with my immediate family.
The White House camera people and the clerks who logged every word I said were out of luck unless they were called in to document something in particular. My entire house and JBG offices were off limits to them. That was until someone in Congress decided I wasn’t complying with the Records Preservation Act enough to suit them.
We worked at getting things ready for the trip to Amsterdam late Sunday afternoon. I had to make sure I had enough high end pant suit outfits to attend all the fancy affairs.
There were meetings and photo ops at every turn. Then there were the lavish meals that were photo ops again.
The State Department people had spent days arguing about the agenda for the various committees. My place on them had already been fixed; I was to replace President Thomas. Part of my reading materials had been his position on matters before the G20 members. I needed to make sure any decision I made was in line somewhat with previous agreements and not a radical departure, other than the funding cuts to the world agencies.
All that was nothing compared to the fiasco with the seating order for the photo ops, and heaven forbid - the seating order for the fancy meals. I didn’t know seating at the meal table could start international conflicts.
My staff and the State Department people were on Air Force One when it landed at Morton to pick Lorrie, Jenny, Marcy, the boys, Sara and me with my security detail. It only took a few minutes to load up the baggage and fill the fuel tanks for the long flight.
The 747 can take off with full tanks but cannot land with nearly full tanks. Should an emergency occur there are provisions to dump a lot of fuel quickly. Altitude is important when this happens so the fuel can evaporate before it hits the ground and cause damage.
It was a long flight to the Netherlands; thirty eight hundred miles in seven hours. We had left at four and landed at midnight Eastern, but with the time change it was 2000. It took another hour to get checked into the five star Waldorf Astoria for the evening.
The Secret Service had a complete floor for my group. My mates and I had adjoining rooms with a walk-through door between them. The two boys could each have a bed and there was a crib for Sara. The other room had two king beds that my mates and I could share.
Emely
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