Realistic or Modern The President's Son

[Mitheral]

Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum
600 Independence Ave SW, Washington, DC 20560
Monday June 2, 2025 1000 AM EST
Google Maps

Duncan Moran had asked the Secret Service how far it was to the Smithsonian NASM. They came back with - a little over two miles. And they gave him crap about even going out with things as they were. But he explained that the visit was half business. His father was going to be too busy to bother. His mother was, no doubt getting briefed on her role as First Lady.

And so on Sunday he had checked the schedule for the museum … and had his personal driver pick him up the next morning. It might not even be open and he knew it. And he knew that Secret Service could always try to stop him on the grounds of national security. The museum was half a mile from where the Capitol Building once stood.

They pulled up in front of the museum. The street was half blocked off, but the museum had actually reopened. Duncan was more than a little surprised. The place was quiet, almost subdued. But it was a hopeful sign - that people were even there. What was not so good were the people stopping to take pictures of the ruined Capitol Building. His first thought had been to head back to Albuquerque and conduct business as usual. But seeing the destruction this close gave him new perspective.

He had arrived too early - as usual. That was typical Duncan. He was always ahead of schedule. Arriving with him was a small task force of Secret Service hand selected by himself - more than he cared for - a total of four out of 80 interviewed. But he had done something no other offspring of a President had done. He set up an account to pay for his own protection. Gary had two additional civilians to assist him (John Reese and Amaretta Carnegie both former USMC).

And none of them liked the fact he was here this close to Ground Zero.

Secret Service did not like the mixed security detail. They liked it even less that Duncan seemed to prefer his civilian choices over them. But none of them could argue that the young man made some solid choices.

“Gentlemen … and lady, I want to pay my respects to Ground Zero. And before anyone objects, I know it is too public. I have had The Talk with Mom and Dad. I can handle the Press if I need to.” Duncan gave a grim smile.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Library of Congress,
101 Independence Ave SE, Washington, DC 20540, USA
Google Maps

“What- huh? No- no, I wasn’t asleep,” Elle Andreas rubbed her eyes firmly, little dots and lines of yellow, green and blue appearing in the darkness of her closed eyelids. As her hand moved to her unkempt hair, brushing the stray strands away from her face. Resting her elbow upon the table, she allowed her head to lean upon that hand holding the phone. Her odd eyes analysed her surroundings, attempting to push through the assaulting white lights that damaged her retinas by the second. Huh, she didn’t remember falling asleep. It made sense, now that she thought about it. She’d drove the library upon request, late last night, close to 1 am. They’d wanted her to check up on something, read a few birth records in search of some family history on an important suspect, and so she had, or at least that’s what one would assume looking upon the desk at the heavy books that she’d used as cushions.

“You’d already tried to ring? Hm, strange,” Her dark eyebrows furrowed, as the grey haired librarian began to totter over, in her direction. “I guess I must’ve been so immersed in my work, you know how I am…” the old woman had begun to gesture to the books, before acting out some kind of motions as if it were New Years Eve and they’d all settled down for a family game of charades. “I’m sorry, one moment-” Luella moved the phone from her mouth, covering it with her spare hand. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes, dear. I just wanted to know if you were finished with them books? I didn’t want to wake you before you, you just looked so very tired”. Her eyes wide, Elle buttoned the phone call without another word and, placing the iPhone in her pocket, began to stand and stretch from the position that she had been sat in.

“I must apologise. It’s so unprofessional of me,” she began to cart the books together, her eyes narrowing at the little dribble upon the title page of a book from the late nineteenth century. Promptly, her fingers attempted to brush the spot away, only to smudge the ink of a word nearby. Hoping no one else would see, the young agent quickly shut the book and added it to her pile. “Let me help you. I’ll-“ her phone began to ring. “I’ll help you put them away”.

“Are you going to answer that?” the woman’s silver head bounced in the direction of her jacket pocket.

“What? Oh, this old thing? Psh, no, that’ll be fine. It’s just my friend- my boyfriend, Chris… Hemsworth. Yeah, good old Chris”. Chris Hemsworth, really? Being a special agent, you’d think she’d have enough brain cells to make a simple excuse to a mere librarian. To her dismay, the awkward silence that befell was only ended by her phone ringing yet again and, rubbing her forehead, Luella had to quickly excuse herself.

“Luella Andreas,” she answered reluctantly.

“Yes, Agent Andreas. I know,” Elle didn’t have to see Zazky’s face to know that he was getting fed up with her bullshit.

“Oh, funny, I must’ve got my signal back,” cue nervous laughter, “who woulda thought? Sorry ‘bout that. So, about that case. I can send you the details as soon as I get home. Unless, you need me to-“

“That won’t be needed, Andreas. I’m-”

“Huh?”

“If you just gave me a moment to speak-”

“Oh, sorry”

“If you gave me a moment to speak,” Zazky repeated himself, with a great heaviness in his voice, “I can explain that I need to transfer you to a more urgent case. You get much sleep last night? Actually, I don’t care. Get yourself a coffee and get to Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. I’m sure that even you can manage to walk the whole 0.7 miles down the end of the road”.

An unimpressed eyebrow was raised at that comment, but little left Luella’s lips to dispute it. She’d been in this industry long enough to know that you asked as little questions as possible, especially near technology. Technology was an amazing things. It could be your closest ally when you need it, help to determine if rumours about the Russians were true after all. Yet, it could also very easily help your enemies in the same way.

“Already on it, sir,” she began to cart her stuff into her brown, over the shoulder tote. “And then?” One foot before the next, Andreas shortly reached the doorway of the library, and tugged nervously upon her coat. Boy, she loved the winter, but she damn well hated the nippiness of the frosty weather.

“When you see it, you’ll know”.

 

[Mitheral]

6’7” tall, Duncan was an imposing figure easy to spot in a crowd. The sun wasn’t high but he still put on his Ray Bans. Those made him look even more imposing. Despite his public status he wore blue jeans (new) and a black shirt (not T-shirt though, but heavy), along with hiking boots (not the usual tennis shoes). He wore his usual fingerless gloves. He reached back into his limo and pulled out a hardhat. The Secret Service agents looked at Duncan accusingly thinking he had planned this. But the truth was he had always had the hard hat there. Then he reached in and pulled out a what looked like a leather jacket and a suit jacket.

“I guess the suit look would clash with the jeans?” He glanced at Gary, shrugged. “Leather it it. Bit warm, but better protection if I lose footing.” Gary nodded. Gary knew that both jackets were body armor. Duncan wasn’t a complete idiot. “Okay, let’s pay our respects.”

In addition to his stature, Duncan was already a public figure. Everyone was looking for dirt on the new President. So naturally they were looking hard at his son. Eight years ago he had killed the better part of a gang of 12. There was no question of self defense though. The gang had killed his mother, and were pursuing his little brothers who had witnessed the death. But the event existed as a cloud. It had made the news in Albuquerque.

A week later he made more news by founding Bears for Courage. His biological mother had collected teddy bears. Part of her collection had consisted of a couple shelves filled with teddy bears she had handmade herself. He had decided to honor her memory by giving one to a 7 year old girl named Casey as she was getting ready for chemo for leukemia. The new first lady had been Casey’s doctor. Two years ago he had introduced a new treatment for leukemia that used nanobots to deliver site specific single strand segments of DNA to block bonding site for the disease to control its spread and for it into remission.

His last two years of high school he had led a last place football team to state championships and set records. That was after he had been shot up.

Oh and he had not one, but TWO Nobel Prizes. He had developed a new supermagnetic material that made microfusion power plants feasible. And he had introduced a new theory they explained gravity better. For the non physicist that was enough to know. That, and that this theory might make faster than light travel possible sooner that expected.

So … yeah … the public wanted to know more. Most of the public still didn’t know his face. But anyone who followed politics did.

Duncan thought he had an idea what to expect. But his plan was to check with the local law enforcement first. After all, there was a cleanup in progress. His interest was in the crime scene itself.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

"You'll know when you see it," Luella mimicked, as she paced down the pristinely polished pavements.

Washington DC was a symbol of everything that great United States of America stood for: conspicuous consumption, shallow glory, and polished propaganda. Not that Luella wasn't patriotic. To some extent, she considered herself proud of some of her countries recent successes upon the global stage. It was, also, rather satisfying to be able to move from one street to another and always be within viewing distance of the famous Stars and Stripes banner.

All the same, it was difficult not to see DC as the Versailles to America's pre-revolutionary France. You could scrub the streets, clear the rubbish, and enforce as many curfews as you wanted; that didn't change the fact that behind the glory, of this shimmering city, was a country whose very foundations were so deeply cracked and shaken. Police brutality, drug muling, global warming, gender pay gap - technology advanced every day, and each one of these issues became more and more pressing as it did.

Frankly, Elle considered 'you'll know when you see it' a rather crappy set of instructions for a special agent. They were always the first to critique her back at Pennsylvania Ave; she was a little slow when it came to common sense, and could fall over her own two feet if you left her for long enough. Yet, she didn't think it the least bit fair for them to judge her so crudely, when their guidance was so very... well, absent.

"This isn't high school, Luella," she knew her father would scold her, shaking his head as he was prone to in her presence. "You don't get a homeroom teacher or student support to help assist your every move. This is real life. When are you going to grow up?" When are you going to grow up? That was the thing: Luella wasn't sure that she wanted to. Everyone was so miserable these days. Hell, 80% of her colleagues let out a daily "humbug!" at the upcoming festivities of Christmas. Was it so peculiar to wish to hold onto whatever innocence remained to her grasp?

She hadn't had much of a childhood, taking a second mother position to her brother. There'd been no parental attendance at her graduation (Caleb hated loud noises), prizegivings, or martial arts competitions. There'd been no source of attention. She once described it rather accurately to her interviewer, when he'd asked her what it would mean to move out to DC and work for the FBI.

"When I was younger," she'd confessed to him, nervously bouncing her right leg. "My mother used to call neurotypical people NTs. It was easier for my baby brother to understand. I used to think she was saying empties, and it made sense to me, you know?" For a moment, she'd caught his eye. "It made sense, because Caleb took up that much room, that much space and attention, that it felt like I had to be empty in order to make room for him". Her arms had strapped across her chest, and a guilty look consumed her face. "To me, this would be my chance at life, my own space to breath and to prove to myself, nobody else, that I'm not so empty after all". Her mind was grasped from the clouds of memories, as she stumbled into a forming crowd, and had to jostle her way to the front to see what was actually going on.

You'll know when you see it.

And, there it was: the notorious Duncan Moran: adoptive son of the POTUS and the most mystifying and intriguing figure to have embraced DC so far, so the tabloids claimed. Huh, she could see why the ladies swooned. Though, personally, for her, nobody could beat John F. Kennedy.

 

[Mitheral]

http://www.cgw.com/images/CGW_MayJun2017_location_099001.jpg

Duncan sighed inwardly. He was already drawing attention which meant that at least a few people had spotted him. They had, in turn pointed him out to others. He had had maybe 20 minutes to approach the remains and look over the site again. Some of the debris had been cleared since his first visit. He watched as the updated topographical scan compared to his predicted results. He had calculated the the explosive power of the blast, the precise material used, the placement of the bombs. It was next to impossible to have done without it being an inside job.

He finally turned around and ended his forensics efforts as soon as he spotted the first news vans. Really? Was it that important to ask the non-politician son questions? They were desperate for stories. But the people in the crowd were desperate for answers.

His security were doing their best to keep the crowd back at least 10 feet. Duncan switched to another scan. It was a visual scan that had been in development for about 20 years that could read the faces and body language in a crowd and predict behavior. This included hostile body language. His first thought was ‘tough crowd.’ it was a mix of feelings among the people in the crowd. Some were hostile to the new President. Some were hostile to the situation and were just looking for someone to blame.

Finally a few questions started getting called out. What did he think of the bombing? What was the President going to do about it? Did he think his father should step down? Were they going to go after the (insert ISIS type fictional terrorist group here) responsible?

Duncan just held up a hand, then turned to ask a local cop for a megaphone and asked everyone to back off another 5 to 10 feet so he didn’t deafen the people at the front. Truth was, he had demophobia. He could handle crowds like this, but it was easier if they didn’t crowd him. Then he asked them to wait about 5 minutes for the other news vans to get set up. He hated repeating himself.

Finally he stated the rules. One question. State name and Press Agency represented, then ask.

That was sort of the order the questions came in. What did he think about the bombing. First question. He allowed for a dramatic pause, then repeated the question for the crowd.

“I could tell you this was bad. It was terrorism. But I think everyone here gets that. What do I think? I think someone has a lot to answer for. There is going to be a reckoning. But we need to measure our course with clarity. Blind vengeance is sloppy justice. I hear people calling for blood. But I think we need to make sure we identify the guilty parties with certainty before we rush into a war.”

“What is the President going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t exactly get called into Cabinet or Joint Staff meetings. I am thinking that would be classified. Maybe I can ask Dad at dinner? Sorry, I don’t mean to be flippant, but I am not the hotline to the President. Well, unless I forget another blind date set up by Mom - that’s First Lady to you - and Mom tells on me to Dad - that’s President to you.”

“Should Dad step down? No. You want to know why though. In school they always used to add why or why not to all those questions. Hated those. The whole point of the line of succession to continuity of government. That is his job now. If he steps down, he should wait until he has put the nation back together. He’s an engineer. He is good at putting things together.”

“Are we going after (insert terrorist group here)? I don’t know. My father is going to want strong evidence that they did it. Anyone can claim to have done something. Doesn’t mean they did it. At this point I just don’t know. My guess is that when it does happen the response will be proportional and you will hear about it after Justice has begun.”

(OOC: holding there in case you have questions. Or you can try to approach after Press conference is ended.)

 

[Kassandra Rose]

"Hi- sorry, excuse me," who knew it was so difficult to nudge through a crowd of unsatisifed, disgruntled citizens? The answer to that was probably most people, just not Elle, of course. "Luella Andreas, representative of the Washington Post-"

"She doesn't even have a press badge!"

Narrowing her eyes in the direction of her critic, Luella was quick to roll her shoulders and brush away their attempts to refrain her. Believe it or not, she'd never always been the "happy go lucky gal" that Zazky dubbed her. Her high school years had been a turbulent time, college even more so. The thing was that Damon Andreas had always taught his daughter to niece accept, always question what you are unsure of, and never stray from your principles. Needless to say, it had made her some might enemies in the populars, the jocks, the sorrorities.

"Although your language is admittedly astute," she continued, angling I can't help but notice the warmongering undertones of what you have to say. First of all, you talk instantly of "reckoning", "blood" and "war". Yet, I can't help but wonder how exactly does one plan on raging war against an ideology? Say this incident was done by the terrorist organisation that claimed it. One cannot simply declare war upon a subsequent country, just as ISIS did not wholly represent either Iraq or Syria: how can we truly say any country is behind this horrid, wretched attack? You talk about justice, but what exactly does that mean to today's society, to America? Is the entire concept not just a complete philosophical notion subjective to each person?"

There were a few sighs from the crowd, a few nods of agreement, but mostly a lot of mumbling which had seemed to erupted out of thin air, as unexpected as the wrath of Versuveus to the innocent citizens of Pompeii. Of course, the same idea as before had to, once more, highlight the obvious. That wasn't one question. Hell, it was probably more than three. All the same, all eyes were on Duncan, flickering between that of his face and his challenger.

 

[Mitheral]

“Annnnd that was a deal breaker. I said one question. There is a reason I said one question. That was - what - three or four? Both of my mothers used to chastise me about the old in one ear and out the other problem. I don’t even remember all that stuff you said. I did, however catch a fallacy. It is called Begging the Question. In such a fallacy one assumed the truth of their own conclusion. Don’t put words in my mouth. Your questions were vague and pointless, intended to do little more than incite a mob. I won’t be party to that. I will say this: there are two major sources of terrorism - foreign and domestic. I think this one was domestic. (slight pause) Think long and hard on that one. (second slight pause) What I don’t know is why those who claimed guilt did so. This interview is over.”

There it was. He had said it. Dad wasn’t going to be happy with him.

His own question fired back stopped the crowd’s murmuring. He had given them something to think about. Domestic. Who was that? Thought was the only way to stop a mob. He had had to point out his suspicion to prevent the mob from turning violent. The truth was that they were standing in front of an act of high treason - rebellion. It was the work of fanatics.

He nodded to his security and they started making their way out of the area. “Sorry guys. So much for seeing the museum.”

John and Gary had known Duncan the longest. Gary knew him best and responded. “Just another day at the office.”

“You need to learn how to handle the Press better. And the Post isn’t just some rag.” Amaretta spoke up.

“Sure it is. But I see your point. Pick her up.” Duncan looked at Amaretta

The former Major looked back with her usual poker face. “And what do I tell her?”

Duncan shrugged. “I don’t know. Tell her whatever she wants to hear. Ask her if she wants a second chance at an interview. You said it yourself. Post. Best way to get misquoted is to avoid the enemy.”

++++++++

Amaretta fell back. She hadn’t lost sight of the woman - or rather her backup hadn’t. “Jazz? You got her?”

*On your 7 … 8. TB is back in the Box.*

“TB. I think I like their codename for him. Fitting.”

*That’s one big teddy bear. Holding at 8.*

Amaretta turned to her 8 o’clock position and looked right at Luella. She made a beckoning gesture and started walking directly toward the woman not stopping until she was right in front of her.

“How would you like a date with the President’s son?” Amaretta kept a perfect poker face. There was a snort of laughter in her earpiece.

*He’s going to kill you.* Jasmine Anabwe choked.

“He’s offering a second interview.”

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1a/d2/b0/1ad2b0ce44c2f76ec6f601de12397e01.jpg
Duncan’s limo

 

[Kassandra Rose]

Luella wasn't the slightest bit amused, by either Duncan Moran, or his lackeys. All the same, she'd gotten more out of him than any of the the other journalists - and, lucky her, a second interview. Refraining from snorting, or even rolling her eyes, Luella Andreas ran her tongue across her lower lip, watching the woman critically as if to analyse her face for any ulterior motives. It was something they taught back at Pennsylvania Ave, and critical to all assigned units.

Nobody could say that she didn't do her job. Love it? Of course, they could very clearly highlight the obvious that it most certainly had its crap. For example, getting into a limo with a pompous ass who always appeared to think that he was right was most certainly not her forte. In fact, this was exactly what nightmares were made of, or hers at least. Still, work was work, and the job had to be completed one way or another, whatever the hell it was that her boss wanted her to accomplish.

Grinding her teeth, Luella forced a smile. "What a privilege," every syllable was unnatural to her lips. "Is he quite sure that my questions will not overwhelm him?" Stop, right now, do not ruin this opportunity with your stubbornness. She could basically here the boys back at the centre screaming at her from where she stood, not so far from the pretentious ass's limousine. "Although, I'll have you know. I've been in my business long enough to know to avoid politicians like the plague. Nothing good ever comes of 'em, so in spite of your joking, thanks no thanks and lead the way".

It was all improvisation from here. What did she have to say to him? Nothing. She hadn't planned any questions or given much thought to anything really, philosophical or political concepts were avoiding her mind as if they knew the tragedy that this was going to be, and wanted nothing to do with it. Clearing her throat, Luella followed the mysterious stranger through the boisterous mob, almost laughing at the comments that she could hear.

"That's not fair. I love Duncan, I have for ages".

"Who even is she?"

"She didn't even have a press pass".

"How incredibly lucky".

Seriously, she'd swap places with any of them right now, because boy did she have a temper on her. Her own beliefs were sensitive, and she didn't take kindly to specifics. Going to prison for punching the son of the POTUS didn't exactly seem like the way she wanted to carry out the next few years of her life. All she had to do was stick with this crap for a while, and get the hell out of this country to travel. Travelling, that was where her heart really was.

Luella allowed the secret service to pat her down, and search her for any weapons and explosives. She could almost snigger as one of them asked her for ID, but understood the necessity of protocol, and handed him her driver's license. That was a first, considering she didn't even have a car to drive. After such dire necessities, the door was alas opened, and she promptly shrugged away the attempts to assist her inside. When her eyes befell upon him, a little closer, once more, she couldn't help but finally let out a genuine smile.

Mission: success.

 

[Mitheral]

There were a dozen things Duncan might have said to Luella when she had a seat. But he decided to play nice - sort of.

“Ms Andreas. Good of you to join me. I am recording this conversation. This first part is off the record. If you had tried that in the White House I’d have had your Press Pass revoked. But this was a different venue. That said, your line of question was utterly disrespectful - not of me, but of the victims of the bombing. I have a very thick skin. But I was avoiding a number of responses out of that respect. As it is, you just painted a target on my back. And that puts all of these people with me in harm’s way.”

There was anger in his voice. But he was forcing himself to calm down.

“Despite that I realize that the Post is a major publication. I want the record set straight. So new rules. This interview will be conducted Good Morning America style or not at all. One question at a time. If I hadn’t been recording everything earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to respond to anything you asked. You may know from my past with the Press I don’t do this often.”

He mulled over a few thoughts in his head. He knew more about Luella than she realized. “Before we get started, I am starving - or will be. I was going to grab something in the museum’s cafe, but that is out of the question now. Gary, let’s go home. I can have a butler thrown something together. Ms Andreas, I’ll be in a better mood with food in me.”

Gary nodded. “Yes sir.”
\
Duncan scowled. “I’m not that old.”

“Get used to it … sir.” Gary kept a fairly straight face but was clearly messing with Duncan. He looked like he could have been Duncan’s older brother.

It was only two miles to the White House. It didn’t take long to get there. The White House was closed to tours. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. But in the wake of the bombing, it was prudent. It did mean that security didn’t have its hands full watching guests. They waited patiently while the guards went through another round of security.

Eventually they entered the White House. Duncan had Luella issued a temporary Press Pass. That was when she realized he knew exactly who she was. He told them she was General Andreas’ daughter. Then he elucidated exactly which general that was.

He had suggested they go to his bedroom. Then a polite cough from Gary woke him up and he realized that wasn’t exactly proper. He hadn’t stopped to think that he wasn’t a teenager. “I guess that would be awkward. Mom would probably celebrate. I wasn’t even thinking about that. Sorry.”

After that he escorted her to from the ground floor to the first floor to the Solarium. He had an agent stationed outside to warn anyone wishing to enter a recording was in progress. A butler met them there as well. “Something healthy for me. And something for her if she wishes.” Then he turned to Luella. “So … let’s keep this pleasant this time. The world has questions about me. Why don’t we start there. I am not a politician. I deal in facts, not opinions.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

There were many things about Duncan Moran that made Luella's back teeth grind. For one, he hit a great deal of criteria upon her check list of things that she truly despised. He was most certainly a pretentious ass. That was a given. His general tone and dialect suggested that he thought himself to be superior, or at least to have an element of control over everyone and everything. She supposed as the son of the POTUS, he hadn't really heard the word 'no' a lot, or even know what it meant. Of course, in spite of his flaws, Andreas was mature enough, somehow, to understand the concept of professionalism. This, however, most certainly did not mean that she was just going to bend over and kiss his feet, or the precious ground that he tread upon.

"Mmhm," she replied, distantly, not quite confirming or declining his terms and conditions, but simply, like most people upon the World Wide Web, pretending that she had taken the time to weigh up the pros and cons that would consequently follow of breaking such a contract. Instead, she was using her time to analytically assess him: how he held himself, the particular words that he used, and how he spoke to those that worked for him. Admittedly, she had to give it to him that, though he was undeniably 'an asshat', he had been raised right. He had respect for his elders, below his pay grade or not, and even something that resembled an element of love or friendship.

Her nose crinkled softly as she listened to him fumble over his words, mumbling his thoughts aloud as an infant would, about whether or not it was professional to do this interview in his bedroom, and cracking jokes about how his mother would react. Funnily enough, her chest loosened at his words, and her ice cold, stoney glare which had not once warmed, began to melt just a little; in Psych school, a student learned in first year about developmental psychology. An infant will often mutter its thoughts aloud, because it had not yet developed the ability of an internal voice. This was the reason, also, that children find it easier to read aloud - because they had not quite yet mastered their internal voice. To see Duncan Moran mumbling uncertainly, about things that she could see were unclear to him, was one of the first endearing attributes she had seen. It was, in many ways, rather redeeming.

"I did my first press interview with former president Jimmy Carter," she confessed to him, as they trotted towards his chosen, final destination. "Boy, I was so nervous". It felt so distant now, the early days, almost as if they were a lifetime ago. "They felt no one really cared about what he had to say. Nobody was really interested. You ask a common person to name any ten presidents, and he probably won't make the cut. Ha, he probably wouldn't make the top 20. To me, though, it was the be all and end all. I stumbled over my words for the entire thing, spent almost three weeks night and day mastering the writing, and they didn't even print it. Hell, it hardly had a section online". He had been so sweet and patient too. It was such a shame, really. "What I mean is that I wouldn't judge you on professionalism. I don't write for the Post because I write Slander, or gossip. I write because some things are genuinely important for the public to know. It's the Post's legacy, following the Nixon tapes and whatnot. You can be your human self, you know?"

 

[Mitheral]

Duncan nodded with uncertainty. “Human self? Right. I have spent over three fourths of my life trying to do that - trying to be the average student in school. Never could quite manage it. At age 5 my natural mother - not the First Lady - got called in to a parent teacher conference. I had thrown a tantrum and refused to read a book. They thought I had a learning disability. My mother just shook her head and asked me to read the book. I sulked about it. She said please and I relented.” Duncan smiled. “I picked up the book, flipped through the pages as fast as I could turn them, closed it and tossed it on the table in front of them. It was one of those See the Ball, See Spot sort of books. I quoted the entire book as fast as I could - including the copyright and publisher information and fine print.” His smile broadened to a grin. “Okay, so I was a bit of a brat. I was bored and fighting mad. Anyways, Mom had a long talk with me later - long in my mind. It wasn’t really THAT long. She explained how people tended to be uncomfortable when someone was too smart. I hated that talk and she could see it. So she likened it to Superman and Clark Kent - and explained that I need to wear glasses.

“At 6 she got called in again, this time for cheating on a math quiz. I had completed the test in one minute and was just sitting there waiting until some of the other kids started to turn in their tests. It was only 20 problems.

“By age 7 I asked my parents for a computer. We weren’t rich. Remember, this was my stepfather and biological mother. I almost had the money by that time from mowing lawns, raking leaves, newspaper routes - anything I could do to get up money for college. But my stepbrother and stepsister would have wanted a computer. And when I was 8 my little brothers were born. Result: no computer.

“My maternal grandparents had other ideas. They bought all three of us each our own computer for Christmas and got us online. By age 9 I published my first book. And finished high school.”

Duncan paused. “So life story aside, how am I doing in the human department? I know what psychologists would say. Well, I learned about a guy named William Sidis. He was supposedly the smartest man in human history. His sister claimed he had an IQ of about 300. Most people have never heard of him though. Why? Because his parents got him anything he wanted. He never learned to socialize with kids his own age. And that was when I realized the same thing was going to happen to me if I didn’t take certain steps.

“For one, I stayed in mainstream school, but continued my online education on the side. Degrees by age 12, PhD’s by age 15. But all that time I never told the other kids at school what I could do - not until graduation. I took courses in stuff that made me socialize. Theatrical arts, contemporary dance. I took guitar for an easy A and discovered I loved it.

“When I was nearly 16 I died. Everything I have told you is public record. And it’s been in the news. But it is a place to start. My brother was in a gang and died - probably gang related. My stepfather abandoned my sister on the Vegas Strip. She went to foster care. My brother’s old gang tried to make me join them and didn’t like taking No for an answer. Of course, the way I answered could have been better. I asked them what part of the word NO they were having trouble with - the N or the O. There were 12 of them and they took chains and clubs to me.

“When I got home my stepfather didn’t believe I hadn’t joined the gang. He thought I had been through some hazing ritual. So he …” Duncan paused, his face hardening at the memory. “He beat me with in an inch of my life. Punctured my left lung. I still have scars. Anyways, that got him sent to prison.

“Shortly after that, a different gang broke into the house - rivals to my brother’s gang and probably the ones who killed him - but I have no proof of that - broke into the house. They killed my mother - splattered her brains all over the kitchen wall. My little brothers probably saw it or were drawn by the noise. They went running to me. About four members of the gang chased after them. I managed to save my little brothers by throwing them on my bed, wrapping the bedspread around them and throwing them through the back window. I was just turned to face the gang when I found myself being shot and stabbed.” He pulled off the left glove to show the scar where the hand had been cut in half. “I was about to start 3rd year Guitar. Machete through the gut and out the backside. Gunshots to left hip - hence the limp. Right thigh - healed nicely. And three to my left side. It was my right side that kept me alive - almost. I died that night for 1 minute 8 seconds.

“After that life got better. I met Mom - the First Lady mom - at the UNM Medical Center. She mentored students in residency, working with children who have terminal illnesses. I ran into Casey there. She was 7 and terrified about going in for chemo for leukemia. I had a sort of epiphany. I asked for permission to enter my house and collect some of the teddy bears my biological mother had made. She was a collector. Most of her teddy bears had a white tag attached with a string that had three pieces of information. Name of the bear, date of manufacture, and the manufacturer. One set of shelve had tags with no names. Those were ones she had hand made. I gave the first one to Casey. It was dressed in a military uniform. I told her it would help her be brave. I guess that was my way of coping with the loss of my mother.

“Mom - First Lady mom - decided then and there that she wanted to adopt me.” This was when Duncan’s face hardened, then relaxed a little. “And that brings us to a delicate issue. The Millers proved to be the parents I probably should have had all along. I called them Mom and Dad from day one. I mean that literally. I figured if they were doing the job, they should have that respect. The incident with the gang left me emotionally desensitized - all that death. They pulled off a miracle getting me to open back up. And my socializing strategy in school helped too.”

Duncan paused again. “The delicate issue. For the moment I am going to keep this next part off the record. I am not supposed to know, but my parents had a son who would be four years older than me. He was in the USMC and died in Afghanistan. They have never spoken about it with me. And I think it is one subject that hurt my Mom deeply. I noticed very quickly that she was overprotective of me. When I wanted to play football two weeks after I died, she nearly flipped. I tried to console her by explaining that MY first game wouldn’t likely be until the third week. We got past that.

“Thing is, skeletons in closets have a way of getting out. And this is one I think is coming out sooner than later. It is actually one of the reasons I asked you here. It is going to come up in a press conference - and very soon. Only reason it hasn’t is that Dad hasn’t had to exercise military options yet. That said, I need you to help me broach the subject delicately. Call it a favor. But it is a wound that needs opening and my parents need to think about how they will respond to that - before the question comes up. I am thinking a private interview would be best.

“Anyways … if you have questions, by all means, ask away. This stuff has mostly been old news. I was mostly aggravated by the fact that people wanted to interview ME at the site where a lot of people died. I found it disrespectful. That place wasn't about me. That was a crime scene. It was a murder scene. And it bothers me that justice is listening to public opinion, not the evidence - or lack of it.

“Why don’t we start with your earlier questions? The questions were … well questions. But as I said, the venue was wrong. ANY response would have been wrong. I shouldn’t have even responded. The word domestic was a poor choice and by now it is already on the air. I can’t unsay it though. Let’s hit the playback.”

Duncan gestured and what looked like a holographic display appeared in the air - no screen, monitor, device, projector - just the image. It was a video of the seen earlier at the Capitol. Luella’s voice was unmistakable.

"Hi- sorry, excuse me, Luella Andreas, representative of the Washington Post. Although your language is admittedly astute, I can't help but notice the warmongering undertones of what you have to say. First of all, you talk instantly of "reckoning", "blood" and "war". Yet, I can't help but wonder how exactly does one plan on raging war against an ideology?”

The image paused. Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Warmongering undertones? Not by me. I prefer peace. Sadly, there are growing minorities who don’t. But that is going to have to change. How does the quote go? Evil happens when good men do nothing. I never said who the guilty party was. It isn’t an ideology. It is a group of very evil people who decided to hit the Reset button on American politics.

“I know what explosives were used, how much, where it was placed in the Capitol building. I know the source of the explosives. What I do not know is how so many TONS of explosives could get past security. I do not know how an ISIS cell got their hands on explosives already in the hands of the authorities. The only logical conclusion I have come up with is - an inside job. I just can’t prove it yet. But have a good idea how. We can come back to this. Let’s keep rolling…” He continued the playback.

“Say this incident was done by the terrorist organisation that claimed it. One cannot simply declare war upon a subsequent country, just as ISIS did not wholly represent either Iraq or Syria: how can we truly say any country is behind this horrid, wretched attack?”

Again he hit pause. “Afghanistan and Iraq. Ring a bell? I suppose that response would have started a mob. But history has already proven you wrong. You didn't take History in school? Rhetorical question. I am sure you did. The daggers in your eyes tell me that. You are contemplating ways to engage in violence on my body.” He grinned. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t push buttons. But I get annoyed when reporters try incite a mob by playing on their ignorance. Let’s move it along. Again we can come back.”

He played the last segment.

“You talk about justice, but what exactly does that mean to today's society, to America? Is the entire concept not just a complete philosophical notion subjective to each person?”

Duncan shook his head. “Might makes right. Like it or not, no government or set of laws has ever been maintained with the force of arms. Justice is determined by those laws. That’s what the American Revolution was all about. WE were criminals until we won that war. We remained criminals until our victory was recognized by the world. Of course, after that is a history fill with events we should be ashamed of - and a few to be proud of. If you need specifics, I can do that.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

"The daggers in your eyes tell me that. You are contemplating ways to engage in violence on my body".

No shit, Sherlock Holmes.

Luella merely smiled, crossing her arms and resting them upon her lap. She was sat in the "duchess' slant", the way her mother had always taught her that ladies sat. Never cross one leg over the other, only cross your ankles, and even the if necessary. Knees must always touch one anther, and lean towards a chosen direction, preferably towards the person you were talking to, because it was only polite and conveyed interest. It kept your body language open. Hands remained upon the lap, and fingers intertwined, to prevent twiddling or fidgeting, once more this avoid abruptness or anything that could be perceived as rude.

Boy, he was just so damn passive aggressive though. It was hard, to keep her eyes open, and in contact with him, through her thick lashes, when really she just wanted to blacken one of his own. From the sounds of what he'd told her, his life had been pretty much an emotional rollercoaster, and the same could be said for the President and First Lady. Everyone has their crosses to carry, her father had once scolded her, at Sunday Dinner following church. This particular evening, an infant Luella had been complaining about taunting in school. Her father had told her not to retaliate, but to befriend the bully, and give them the comfort which they needed to soothe their woes and end their torment.

This was one of the things that had always stuck with Luella Andreas. Were people simply products of their upbringing, environment and society? Or, were some people just born assholes, evil incarnate, and with the desire to destruct? She didn't believe so. After all, in spite of her agnosticism, God did supposedly make men in his image. It is only through circumstances, and corruption, that men did fall like Lucifer. An evangelical upbringing, many would claim that it indoctrinates, make a being discriminate, right wing, traditional, and unacceptant of change. This wasn't true, at least not for Elle.

The fact was that she believed, to some extent, that the Bible could be true, and if not at least it helped to give principles and shape meaning for people whose lives felt otherwise purposeless. In fact, such belief was uphold by her for all religions, in spite of how they conflicted with her own. As long as a person was loving and well moraled, Luella could route for them: homosexual, transsexual, Jew, Muslim, you name it. It wasn't what you are that defines you, but rather who you are as a person.

To some extent, this even extended to a lot of people that society deemed beyond saving. Think about serial killers. Pretty darn corrupt, huh? You'd have to be filthy, devilish, fiendish to even consider doing one of their disgusting acts. It's hard to comprehend, right? In fact, one could proclaim it bloody well impossible. It wasn't a topic she'd ever had the time to venture into with her father, before his accident, though she wished daily that she had. His advice to her was a guidance that couldn't be contested with.

Still, it was hard to argue with the facts and statistics. FACT: 78% of all serial killers have been recorded to have suffered in an incident that could be classified as "traumatic", mostly either physical or sexual abuse within childhood. Personal traumas can affect behavioral choices. Take the example of the murderer Richard “The Night Stalker” Ramirez from El Paso, Texas. Found guilty of murdering 13 people in San Francisco and Los Angeles, Ramirez had a disturbed childhood, enduring brutal beatings by his father. Serial killer duo Ottis Toole and Henry Lee Lucas, who were believed to have murdered hundreds of people, were both victims of physical and psychological abuse. Specifically, they were made to dress up as young girls and then beaten.

The point was, once more, that everybody had their crosses to bear. It was a belief so very firm within Luella Andreas, that it motivated not only her choices but her very choice of profession. It was this particular belief that firmly glued together her patience, and kept the smile upon her face as he rambled on about his achievements, and her inferiority. It kept her hands intertwined, as he replayed the video of her and criticised her every word or movement. His arrogance and pride was in no way parallel to the serial killers that she had investigated, worked with, and wrote about. Yet, it was infuriatingly annoying.

"Yes, ahem," Andreas cleared his throat. "Okay, so if we can just rewind, and no-" she moved her hand swiftly, to prevent him from replaying the hologram. "I don't mean the clip. I mean, let us reflect on what you've said, this time. First of all, Mr. Moran, yes, I did study history. History and Politics were one of my major studies at senior school. I'm well educated about war, which you would know, knowing my father. You bring up good examples about Iraq and Afghanistan. Thank you for proving my point for me. You've made my life so much easier. Funnily enough, did you know that s as of March 2015, approximately 210,000 innocent civilians had died violent deaths as a result of the wars? In Vietnam, its estimated that over 2 million innocent civilians were killed, which is approximately four for every single Viet Cong killed. When Germany was liberated, its estimated that the allies raped as many as 20,000 German women. So, let us not talk about attacking an ideology as if it is as simple as vaccination to get rid of an epidemic".

Picking up the jug of water that had been placed on the table before them, Luella began to pour herself a glass of fresh water before gesturing to his own in silent offering. "I understand the severity of the events, and most certainly the importance of national security. Anything I can do to help the first family, I will, with due respect". She poured him a glass anyway. "I don't wish to clash with you, Mr. Moran, by no means. I think some of your ideas to help others are truly beautiful, I've read many of your theories and your scientific journals and I daresay that there is an intelligent mind in there, that is not to be disputed. In no way was I trying to incite a riot, either, that cannot be reiterated enough. My intentions are pure, but I stand with my beliefs, which is more than I can say for most politicians these days".

Andreas would never wish such a national disaster upon the country that she treasured so very dearly. However, she could see exactly why someone would have done what they had, in attempt to demolish government and start again. You know many people blame Nixon for disillusionment with American Exceptionalism, Government and the big ole American Dream. Watergate, it was the start of a cancer within politics. Don't trust politicians. They lie. That wasn't true though. It actually went much further than this. Hiroshima. The Kennedy Tapes. LBJ and his lies of Vietnam. Nixon, boy, that was just the flavouring, the icing on the cake. I mean, no one really see's a cake as it's individual parts, do they? The way Elle saw it, Nixon was an unfortunate scapegoat, the cherry and icing, bare for everyone to see.

So, yes, she could understand why whoever had done this was motivated, and not because she was sympathetic to their cause. Maybe, it was the forensic profiler inside of her. Speaking of such, it was her inner FBI agent, now, that was so very intrigued in what he had to say. "Political views aside, Mr. Moran. The stuff you know, this needs to be passed on to the federal bureau of investigation. There's a reason that these things exist". Unless, surely... he didn't think that this corruption, the inside job, ran deep inside the agency too?

 

[Mitheral]

Duncan dismissed the ideology topic. Luella had missed the point. She was focused on morality and trying to abuse statistics to prove a point. He was focused on facts. She had claimed one couldn’t invade a country to attack an ideology. He had merely pointed out that it had been done - twice. She talked about hundreds of thousands of innocent casualties as if that made everything immoral. He was just ONE casualty is wrong. But it wasn’t worth arguing over.

It was as if Luella had flipped a switch to change the subject. He was noncommittal and dismissed the subject with an “I suppose.” The simple fact was that her own cover was getting in the way of him telling her what he knew. Then he added a little.

“The problem is that I don’t know who to tell. And if I were you, I wouldn’t tell anyone. This is the sort of information that will get you killed - as well as your sources - namely me. The technical term is HUMINT - Human Intelligence. You see, there are some possibilities I can see.

“The first is that ISIS did indeed pull this off. Unlikely, but they could have coerced people to allow them access to plant the explosives. But the odds are very remote.

“The second is that one of the two major political parties pulled this off. I can see scenarios for either. But the Democratic party has been losing ground for 12 years and were losing further ground in this next term. But honestly that is short sighted. Possible, but they would have to target the electors as well. Republicans? Maybe … but they had the lead.

“Third is a shadow government waiting to step in or having people in place they intend to back. It would be the political chess game from Hell.

“Fourth is some nutball nihilist organization that just wants to see the world burn.

“Fifth is a Cold War strategy. Russians maybe. The delays the nation suffers while it gets back on its feet would give them a step up.

“I would hope that the FBI has already considered all these possibilities.”

Duncan shook his head. “Well, sorry about pushing buttons. Guilty as charged there. Reporters can bring out the worst in me. But one thing you will find. I’d be a lousy politician. I never lie. I know that is a hard claim to prove. But it is true. That doesn’t mean I don’t keep secrets or keep my own counsel - as I have been doing today. I’m not telling you everything I know.

“My Dad is about as straight a shooter as you will find. He is an engineer at heart. That means he loves to build things. I can tell you from personal experience he love to fix things too. One of the things about being a President that he is going to hate is that he can never drive a car on a public road again. He loves rebuilding old classics. Mom would let him keep one at a time. If he wanted to work on a new one he had to sell the old one. When we first met he asked me if I wanted to help fix Mom’s car. He gave him the first noncommittal answer he had heard from me. I slid under the car. He was just changing oil. Then he asked me - in a slightly energetic voice to hand him a wrench and I flinched.

“Well, there was an awkward moment. Then he asked me if I liked working on cars. It was the closest I ever came in telling him Mom needed her car fixed. It wasn’t an answer. I avoided the question. So he pried and asked me if my stepfather had ever had me help. I listed a dozen things most kids never learn. Doing various types of brakes, replacing bearings, wiring, mufflers, starters, water pumps, radiators, replacing universal joints, you name it.

“You see, my stepfather taught me to hate doing things most guys love doing. I learned to hate baseball and football. Yes, I played both in high school after the Millers took me in. Well, I managed to strip the bolt for the oil pan. Instead of getting mad, he smiled and laughed. He said not to worry about it and he would look into a new oil pan. I asked him to let me try to fix it first. So he did. He had showed me how to use his 3D printer. I ended up rebuilding the oil pan and threading a new hole. I found a new bolt and it was good as new. After that I helped with each car. I rebuilt whole engines - for fun. Mom even let me have my own project. So I built Baby. Baby was an ATV that I designed as a Mars dune buggy.

“So what about your parents? How was it growing up in the Army?”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

It came to a halt where Luella couldn't help but feel that this was more of a bedroom conversation. It wasn't that there was anything at all suggestive about their chosen conversation topics. There most certainly wasn't. Yet, what was once two people going head to head, a political debate, or an official interview, had very quickly turned into a conversation between two old friends. There they were, talking about the past, his likes and dislikes, hobbies. There was no formal obstructed questions with equally rigid answers. It was just two kids, who had both had to grow up very quickly because of the way that life had worked out, thrown together by profession or fate, whatever way you chose to see it, and being able to just exist.

Now, they were talking about her. Or, at least, he was asking about her. Luella smiled bitter sweetly; her childhood was a sensitive grey area, of which brought back both memories of happiness and sadness alike. "I was an only child for a long time," she confessed, leaning back a little into her chair. Her eyebrows furrowed and soft porcelain forehead crinkled, heavy with recollection. "Around twelve or thirteen years, actually. We moved around a lot, so I never really made any long term friendships. I was always the new kid, you know, that kind of typical thing. Believe it or not, I was quiet too. So, I had trouble making friends, took company in books, novels mostly, and my studies".

She'd begun at some point to nibble gently upon her lower lip, which she now paused to let out a long exhalation. "My brother was born some time into middle school. Honestly, I was thankful for the belated company and also, though I sound like a brat, that it was a boy. It felt better, you know? Like my parents would still have room for me because I was different. We were different. Yet, I never realised just how different Caleb was". It was impossible to see coming, especially without her education in Psychological disorders. ASD is very difficult to diagnose, particularly in younger children. There was always the "maybe they're just shy" excuse.

Luella found herself describing to Duncan about things that she had rarely confessed, like the story she had told her interviewer at Pennsylvania Ave about having to be empty to make room for her brother, and feeling it to. "I found comfort though, in writing, mostly, but also my studies. By 14, I'd joined MENSA, and wrote myself a few little novels. However, my big interests were Medicine and Psychology. I felt like it gave me a purpose. I wanted to help people out there, so that they never had to feel like I had, or worse. So, I went away for University, graduated early, Valedictorian. I studied Medicine at Yale, Psychology at Harvard, and did my PhD in Stanford. This is stuff you probably know already. I never really returned home much, didn't really feel needed. There wasn't much money in therapy, especially since I lowered my prices to help those in particular need, but I got by. Then-"

Then, it happened... her father's accident. Luella rolled her eyes skyward, trying to push away the stupid tears that had begun to well, stinging her eyes. "You know who my father is, so you know what happened". Damon Andreas was not dead. No, he was very much alive, if you could call it that. Following an attack upon his base within the Middle East, the man was one of the very few in his squadron that had survived the blast. His family were relieved. It was a miracle, truly, almost had Elle believing again, just like she had as a child, blindly. They'd forgotten to mention that he was vegetative. "We take so much for granted, huh? I always kept telling myself that I'd visit next time, only next time never came. I dropped my silly charitable notions and I joined where the money was". She never specified what job, assuming that Duncan would automatically associate this with her career in The Post, rather than the true one back at the agency. "I made enough money to live as I did, and send half my pay check back home for his medical bills. Mom couldn't afford to work, pay the bills, watch dad and care for Caleb at the same time. So, here I am, the cockroach that you can't quite get rid off". She gave a small, sad smile, whilst rolling back her slender shoulders in a mere shrug.


Suddenly, she was starting to wish that the glass before her was something a lot stronger than water. "No need for pity. It's not a sob story, and I don't want sympathy. C'est la vie, je suppose. We may as well talk about something more interesting. Nobody really cares about this kind of thing".

 

[Mitheral]

“Same here. I hate pity. In fact I had a sit down about that with the Millers after what I call my ‘rough patch’. I was just about to start third year guitar and had a hand cut in half. I wanted to try playing football - not because I cared about the sport - but because my new school’s team hadn’t won a game in over two years and the program was being cancelled once the season was over. I was going to take up Contemporary Dance and wanted to try out for the school play - with a messed up left hip - because I had stage fright and preferred to face my fears. I told them that bad stuff had happened. There was nothing more I could have done. But I could do things about what happened after that. I’m not the sort to give up.

“You should have seen my tryout for the football team - six footballs and a few minutes of the coach’s time. I demanded to be the new Team Captain and got the position. I gave it back the the original team captain after three weeks. Then there was football practice. It was my first football practice ever. Coach was furious at the rest of the team. They did that thing where the Kicker’s defensive backs step aside and let someone through to sack the Kicker. I waved the Coach off.” Duncan was clearly reliving a good moment - glory day syndrome. “The guy who tried to sack me had just bounced off. So I challenged the team. I let each one try to tackle me one at a time. For each failure, they would run a lap. Not one of them took me down. Then I asked for a volunteer to go double or nothing. I tackle him and they run double. Noone took me up on it.

“You know, I met your Dad once. It wasn’t that long ago. I hadn’t heard about the incident. But you should know that as soon as I wasn’t talking about … my work. DoD stuff. Sorry, classified. But nothing bad, just ways to protect his men. That’s what I do for Sandia Labs, develop defensive weapon systems. If it is exotic and sci fi sounding, I am probably involved. Anyways as soon as my briefing was done, all he talked about was his daughter who wanted to save the world. I knew about Stanford. He told me I’d like you. Boy was he sure wrong. He said we’d hit it off. I’m not so sure you have the same idea about hitting he had in mind.” He was grinning.

A butler interrupted to take their plates. Duncan had inhaled his food. He had a glass of milk to go with his meal. The guy drank milk. Now they brought something that made his eyes light up with the delight of a child. It was a Turkish tea set. He grinned at it.

“I don’t have many vices. This would be one. My stepfather was stationed at Incirlik (near Ankara, Turkey) just before the last coup attempt. I was about 11 and went on a tour of the seven churches of Revelations - the ones the apostle Paul spoke at. He gave us some spending money. At the exchange rate it was like having a few hundred dollars. I spent about ⅔ of that in Izmir on Turkish chai while taking ferry boats across the bay for fun. I couldn’t tell you how many shot glasses of chai I drank, each with so many sugar cubes in that that they were like syrup. It was better than Red Bull. This isn’t Turkish --”

“Actually sir, it is. White House. We keep some for visitors,” the butler explained.

Duncan smiled broader. “Thank you … very much. But … don’t let me drink it all.”

“Of course not sir. First Lady’s orders.”

Duncan stared. “Huh … she thought of that.” He looked at Luella. “Anything else for you?”

Once the butler departed Duncan got back on subject. “You Dad also mentioned his son. Never said his name. Caleb? But … how high functioning is he? I mean, will he ever be able to function on his own? I have a few of the symptoms myself, though they are hard to spot. I hate crowds. I am a little OCD - just a little. I have trouble socially - reading people. I hate hugging. The only person I have ever hugged with both arms in Mom - First Lady mom. Oh … and Casey after I gave her the teddy bear. But that is about it.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

Luella was surprised that her father had chosen her as a conversation topic, and not even named Caleb. She'd often thought of him as the favourite child, or he certainly needed the most attention. Maybe, it was just because her and Duncan were of a similar age, and it was irrelevant to talk much of the little one. All the same, she could imagine her father, trying to set this kind of thing up. Duncan Moran was the kind of boy that would exist in a father's catalog of ideal husbands for their daughters. Only, this interest wasn't shared with his daughter. Although Moran wasn't truly right, when he claimed that she didn't like him at all, he also wasn't too far off. There was something about him that made her teeth grind. Perhaps, it was how annoyingly perfect he was. Yet, there was, though she'd never admit it, something equally as alluring, which meant she couldn't simply brush him out of her head.

"Caleb is really high functioning," she began to answer him. "His speech isn't at all impaired and his intelligence, honestly, leaves me for dead," Luella confessed. Unlike Duncan, she wasn't full of awe inspiring achievements. Hell, she could barely compete with Caleb, never mind a man who quite possible could be the most intelligent being since Da Vinci. "He was still six when he was doing middle school work. He found elementary school incredibly under stimulating. Of course, the couldn't move him up, because he was already rather atypical - you know, because of his autism".

Caleb Andreas was very clearly an autistic. He couldn't sit back on buses, because of the feeling of the seat against his back. So, you could often find him sat unusually straight, with a large and bulky pair of noise cancelling headphones on. He didn't like places crowded with people, or where the lights were too bright or there was too much noise. He didn't make eye contact, often, and had to observe people to learn basic human behaviour like how to meet ones eye or shake their hand, or even smile to attract a lady.

The psychiatrists, originally, hadn't wanted to interfere. For the first few years, he was popular enough. He had just the right amount of friends, and always aced his exams. There was no point wasting time, when there was more pressing issues. There were kids failing, being bullied, isolated from society. Of course, eventually the meltdowns followed, the running away from school, teasing, isolation... it was a tough life.

Autistic people often have obsessions, and Caleb loved animals. Often, him and Luella would cuddle beneath the duvet, in her bedroom, with an overflowing mug of cocoa, cream, and marshmallows, and together they'd watch the latest David Attenborough series. With Caleb, there often was no such thing as "new", and each season was watched at least fifty times, but Elle didn't mind. She loved just being with him, protecting him in his arms and making him feel validated. She loved listening to him too, just how very intelligent he was, and how amazing he was in spite of all that stood against him.

Caleb's favourite animal was a cat. When he was seven, he used to get in trouble for meowing, yes meowing. One time, when Luella picked him up from school, she had to use every ounce of willpower not to laugh as the teacher told her how he'd misbehaved. You see kids with sensory disorders often seek comfort in weird noises, or flap their hands and arms. So, after a meltdown, when he'd ran away on a class trip to the museum, he'd decided to meow at the teacher when being shouted at.

Luella, on the other hand, much preferred Penguins. Although, that wasn't the meaning behind her tattoo. "My brother goes through a lot," Andreas coughed, clearing her throat. Her soft forehead scrunched, as her nimble fingers reached to pull up her sleeve. Here, she trailed the edges of her tattoo with her index finger, unable, momentarily, to draw her eyes from the black lines. "I have this to remind me of that. Penguins aren't classified as extremophiles, do you know that? Yet, they put up with so very much down there, in Antarctica. They survive against all odds, like Caleb. People underestimate them". That wasn't the only reason behind her tattoo, but it was mostly orientated to remind herself of her baby brother.

The other reasons were more personal, a reflection of her own suffering, and battling against the winters of anxiety and depression. "You know, the first explorers to Antarctica thought that Penguins were fish? You probably did. I doubt there's much you don't know," Luella finally allowed her eyes to stray from her tattoo, and onto Duncan's face. Here, she let them flicker to his own. "This is Picasso, or at least a copy. I don't usually like tattoos. Although, I believe each to their own. Only, one day in Psych class, our lecturer put a few paintings on the board, asked the students to rate them out of five on creativity. Most people rated this a one, if that. I think someone even asked if zero was an option. I liked it though, specifically because others didn't. It showed that art, that beauty, is subjective, truly in the eye of the beholder. And, like Penguins, things aren't always as they seem".

She paused, as he fiddled with his tea, watching intently, before running a hand through her hair. "I've never had Turkish tea, admittedly. I do think they make the nicest of coffee. I actually think the nicest coffee I ever had was in rural turkey, right in the middle of nowhere, sold by a makeshift cafe in a farm, at the edge of a gushing, wild stream". Turkey, what a beautiful place. "Do you vacate often? Do you have a favourite place? We lived in Australia for a year when I was younger. I think I glorify it, because hell knows we all want what's beyond our grasp, but boy was it beautiful. Each day i'd ride my bike to school and with mom, come home to freshly baked cookies, or better yet got to bake them. Then, we'd gather a picnic basket, and sit at the edge of the beach to watch the sunset with our fish and chips, or whatever goodiness Mom had packed. Boy, those were the days".

 

[Mitheral]

“Sounds like the only difference between me and your brother are the meltdowns. And he does have a rather amusing way of dealing with teachers.” He grinned. “I wish I had thought of that. I wonder if he has ever seen the Cat Choir video. Unless you love listening to cat meows nonstop though … I can pull it up if you like.



“Picasso … not my favorite artist. But then I have almost zero creativity. Most people would disagree, but it is true. You know those ink blotches that shrinks try to make you look at and see things? I see blotches of ink in many of them, nothing else. Even after the rough stretch…”

Whatever Duncan was going to say next was interrupted by the First Lady, Dr Isabelle Miller. The woman had probably heard Duncan was back and came to check on him. “Well, stop the Press. My son … talking to a girl … and having lunch.”

“Mom?” Duncan tried not to look mortified. “Mom .. mom .. mom,” his hands were held defensively. “She IS the Press.”

“I can see that. She’s wearing a Press pass. What were YOU looking at? Please tell me it wasn’t her Press pass.” Mrs Miller was clearly teasing Duncan. Duncan flushed red. “Oh … I see. She was showing you her tattoos. Excellent!” She winked at Luella while her son wasn’t looking and instead drawn to the tattoo. When he looked back she held up her hands apologetically. “Well, don’t let me interrupt.” She glanced up at Luella. “It’s just that he spends so much time working that I despair of ever being a grandmother. So seeing him talk to a girl. It always makes my day. Anyways, I am off to check with … Turbo.” She grinned and started to leave, stopped and added, “But if you pass the vetting process, I might just give you a few pointers about my son.”

Once the First Lady left Duncan hunched in his seat. “And … that was Mom. She’s been trying to set me up on blind dates. Fair warning.” He gave a half grin. “I think she might have started a Duncan list, where all the ladies she’s sent at me can do critiques. Dad’s used to hate my type. That was until I finished high school. Football player, rock star - with no real prospects for a future. Mom got started on the blind date kick about three years ago. Every few months … I get set up.

“Anyways, I was going to say something before Mom interrupted.” He seemed to think for a bit. “Mmph .. well, I was going to ask more about your brother. He just reminds me so much of me. I assume he needs a pattern to function. I’m not that bad. But this move to DC is killing me. I am so used to a schedule … I don’t have to have the same one every day. But I hate changes … and this has been too much. I had all sorts of plans for the past month and have had to put most on hold. I guess that is part of the reason for my short temper. This is panic mode.

“Maybe I could meet your brother some time? I am thinking of flying back to Albuquerque soon though and getting back to work. I’d ask him if he’d want to fly in a jet or something, but he doesn’t like noise. I can relate to that too.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

"No, he most certainly hasn't," Luella's soft, petal lips tugged up, ever so slightly at the corners. "And, I don't think my mom would ever forgive me if I showed it to him". Andreas had vivid visions of Caleb trying to reinact the whole song, every single part of it, on his own, consistently. She still knew every single word to all of the greatest showman tracks. Elle opened her mouth once more to add on to what she had to say, but was quickly interrupted by a welcome visitor.

To hear the First Lady talk so casually about her and Duncan's conversation brought a soft rouge tinge to her high cheekbones, consuming her usual olive complexion. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," was her only response, pushing on through the embarrassment of her bemusement. Andreas already understood that they'd pushed beyond the boundaries of formal questioning. In fact, she was growing to see Duncan more as an acquaintance than a topic within the news.

As Duncan and his mother interacted, Luella sat and began to ponder about her purpose here. What if, she had accidentally thought that Moran was her new assignment and really had missed something big? Even so, if he was the right thing for her to see, what did the boys at Pennsylvania Ave expect her to do? Did they simply just want the information that she'd already retrieved? If what Duncan said was true, then Luella wasn't sure who to trust. Who was to say that the FBI wasn't as equally corrupt as those that had attacked the Capitol?

His next suggestion was the answer to all of her prayers. He wanted to meet again, or at least miss Caleb. The time between then and now would give her the space to think about what she was going to do next. For now, she would pretend to have learnt little but life details from Duncan, mild things like joining the football team and being captain. Later, if it seemed right, she would have a sudden epiphany, and remember all the intricacy that he had told her. Presently, her mouth would remain shut.

"I think he'd very much enjoy that," Luella gave him a small smile, before pressing down on her lower lip. "You're right about the routine. I remember after finals, my parents surprised me with a trip to Paris. They told me and Caleb that we were in the airport parking lot to catch Pokemon. You should've seen him when they whipped out the suitcases from the car. He cried, said he wanted to go home where everything was normal. He was only a baby then, though, and had to adjust a lot with travelling and whatnot. I'm sure it would be an honour for him to accompany you".

She paused, once more, to take a sip of her glass, allowing her eyes to run over his movements. "I can only imagine how the move has affected you. I mean, I saw how much it influenced Caleb when were younger - and things weren't all sunshine and rainbows for me, either. You know, you can always talk to me, if you ever need someone. Confidentially, I mean, disregarding the press".

 

[Mitheral]

Duncan nodded. “Sounds like the start of a plan. Hmm .. I wonder what would be better - him coming here or us going to him. Wait … your father. I would assume you mother wants to stay by him. So that precludes her bringing him. You could, but we may as well just go to him. What is he now? 10, 11, 12? I have my own personal passenger jet. I am going to have to refit it for my security. I haven’t had time for that. But it is a short trip.

“I’d suggest meeting him today, but I am betting you need to see your editor. And it is probably a good idea to prepare your family. I am going to have security following me around. Maybe tomorrow? Uhm … let me give you my card. Cell is on the front.” He pulled out his wallet and flipped through to pull out a rather fancy business card that resembled a thin credit card. It was hologram printed with a business logo of Leading Edge Think Tank. He flushed a little crimson as he handed it over. Apparently this was something he rarely ever did. He smiled though.

“It has a next gen RFID chip in it. Tap it to any cell and press right there on the card and it will call. The card is biometrically imprinted to you. So noone else can use it. Uhm … actually …” He pulled out another and waved it over his phone. Then asked for Luella’s phone. “Setting up an app. You can set up short white list, set privileges. But this one you can give your brother. I can set it up - or you can - so he can tell the card who he wants to call. There is a security app built into the biometric security they will register stress. I’m working on a medical alert system that employs this tech for Mom.”

“Anyways, give me a call - any time.” He gave a half grin and shook his head. “Yeah … Mom will love that. Sorry about that. You should know. Mom was serious about the vetting process. She’ll be looking up your family history, education, career moves, hobbies. She do a psych analysis. Kinda funny considering how she and Dad ended up together. Her family gave her a choice. Stop seeing my Dad or be disinherited. Dad worked his way through college - MIT - with no help. He stuck by Mom through her residency - a long distance relationship. As you can see, they got married. 30 years now.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

Luella watched, pensively nibbling upon her lower lip, as her odd eyes followed his every movement. It was a wonder really, she thought to herself, how his body managed to keep up with his brain. He always always thinking, thus moving possibly as much, or at least as much as he could to keep up with the fast paced, high ability thinking.

He appeared to be giving her his number, but not in anyway that she'd ever received it before - not to toot her own horn, but the motion wasn't completely alien to Agent Andreas. In fact, not that she'd ever brag, or even admit it, but there'd been a variety of such occasions. From small thugs on the street to saudi princes and the CEO of pros-aesthetics (an organisation who sold brands of dolls who looked just like little girls with disabilities, who were usually outcast by societal norms and their barbie dolls), a fair amount of people had passed their business card to Luella - her ex included.

Yet, similar to how unique his method was, her reaction was also unbeknownst to her. Her high cheekbones began to flush a dark shade of pink, and she began to feel rather warm and flustered. So, allowing her chin to drop, and her eyes to cast to the pristinely cleaned floor, Luella's hair quickly cascaded her rouged face, whilst she began to process what was actually going on inside her own mind, so that she could gather herself together.

"Ah, my editor-" yeah, Stevenson was most certainly going to wanna know why she'd decided to throw out the Posts name like that. It was a con of having a double life, or an alter ego even. One of the company's that she worked for was almost always baffled by the actions that she took for another. Plus, she figured that it would be pretty damn obvious to Duncan that something strange was going on; if the article wasn't posted about him. "Yeah, I'll have to get around to that today, that's quite urgent," Andreas mumbled to herself, her eyebrows knitting together. "I'll ring ahead to mom. She'll probably have to prepare Caleb. I remember when we were younger, and he was invited to birthday meals, we used to have to take him to the restaurant a few days before so that he could get a feel for how the place felt, be accustomed to his surroundings. He'll probably research about you, watch some videos... don't be surprised if he knows your star sign, or your favourite movie word for word".

Movie, that's exactly what his parents relationship sounding like. It was picture perfect, truly. She'd stuck with him through tough times, a woman truly deserving the title of First Lady. Perhaps, that was something that she could include in the frantic article that she was going to have to type up by tonight. By now, Luella had stood, and was following Duncan to the door. "I'm not a big fan of phone calls. You know, FBI and whatnot," she laughed playfully, before realising that he didn't know, and added, "everyone knows they listen to everything you have to say. I mean I don't really think Caleb telling on the phone how he had eggs for breakfast is really of national importance, but I find it so creepy how you can talk about something and it will be advertised the next moment on Facebook".

Was she rambling? Yes, she was rambling. Brushing her hair back from her face, Elle let out a long exhalation, as if she could finally breathe again knowing she was about to leave his scrutinising eyes. "It was actually nice to meet you, Duncan Moran," she rolled her slender shoulders backwards, her chin high, with a smug smirk upon her face. "Who would've thought? Don't let it go to your head though. You're still a pretentious ass". It'd be easy to assume that her words had ill intent if one was not smart enough to see the humour tugging at her lips. "Maybe, I might take you up on that number though, and send you a text. Who knows..."

 

[Mitheral]

With lunch pretty much over with and the interview losing momentum, it seemed like a good time to let Luella get to working on her article. Duncan was surprisingly generous about repeating his invitation to call - specifically with regards to the article - if she needed to get a clarification. It was doubly unusual seeing that Duncan had been rather elusive except for specific press conferences concerning his research, or events surrounding Bears for Courage … or back in his high school days when he played football.

He didn’t make her walk out alone. But when it came time to see her leave, he looked as awkward as a teenager. After she had walked far enough away he spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Gary. “Just shoot me now. Tell me I didn’t overdo it.”

Gary shrugged. “That depends. Was it an interview or a date?”

Duncan flushed. “To be honest, I’m not sure. But I did ask her out again. I invited her to bring her little brother along … to Albuquerque. I need to get back to work. But I thought I’d introduce her brother to Patches. The kid’s autistic, but love animals. He’s very high functioning. It dawned on me that if he loves animals so much, a career in rescue farm work might be a good fit.”

Gary looked at Duncan. “Then for your third date, I suggest something more formal if it is just the two of you. If her brother is with you, something family friendly. Although, I am not sure just how American it is to send your security over to grab a woman and throw her in the car for a date.”

Duncan flushed again. “And she thinks I’m the asshole.”

Gary spoke to the air (over his earpiece). “Somebody should alert Turbo and TLC that TB has a date in the works.”

“TB?” Duncan asked. “Oh.” He shook his head. TB could only be one thing. Teddy Bear. He fought a grin, but failed. Then he laughed. “And Dad is Turbo; Mom is TLC. I love it.”

Gary smiled. “You Mom couldn’t stop laughing at your father.”

+++++++++++++++++++

Tuesday June 3, 2025 0900 AM EST

Tuesday’s news media was blasting FIRST SON CLAIMS CAPITOL BOMBING ACT OF DOMESTIC TERRORISTS. It wasn’t an entirely accurate title, but close enough. He hadn’t claimed anything but his beliefs. The title suggested that he was sure. We, to be fair he WAS reasonably sure. But he caught flak from his Dad, the Press Secretary, and more. Add to that everyone BUT his Dad was mad about the fact that he had invited a reporter from the Post to the White House … for a date. The only thing he could offer as an excuse was - she was cute. That had NOT gone over well. Well Dad started laughing.

Then the someone started talking about charges of Obstruction of Justice. That was when Duncan got furious and tore into everyone with with a charge of civil rights violations. His words had that he ‘believed’ the foreign terrorists were not responsible. But absolutely nothing was hindering an official investigation simply because he voiced his beliefs.

What Duncan DID point out that a war at this point was a cost the US simply could not handle while rebuilding. He suggested a cold, calculated response at a time set to the schedule of the United States.

Finally he informed his father that he was flying back to Albuquerque to take care of work. He appreciated the need for security, but he wasn’t going to sit and hide. But if the White House needed his scientific advice, he would be just a phone call away.

++++++++++++++++++

Wednesday June 4, 2025 0900 AM EST

Two days later Duncan had the flight ready. Well, he had it ready the day he suggested the trip. But He had to give Luella time to sort things out with work and family. He had spent most of the day working via video conference - largely to avoid dragging security around with him everywhere and dealing with Press following him everywhere.

His ‘little jet’ turned out to be a Gulfstream 650 executive jet, with a master bedroom suite and a guest berth in the rear half … and an over luxurious first class seating that converted into a dining room. One additional member of Duncan security detail made an appearance. It was a black woman who seemed to work with Amaretta, named Jasmine. She looked like a dead ringer for Dee from the old Battlestar Galactica remake series, though a little older. As it turned out this made it a pretty full flight.

Duncan had thought of everything where Caleb was concerned. They had to take a helicopter to the airport, so he had helmets for his two guests to put on before heading to the helicopter. This took care of the noise, while allowing Duncan or or the crew speak to them. (Duncan let Caleb KEEP the helmet - which was probably worth about half a million USD. But Duncan figured that Caleb would need it for the ride back.) Duncan showed Caleb just how to climb up into the helicopter and kept the men back. Duncan planned everything - even Caleb’s seating arrangements based on advice from Luella.

He presented Caleb with a new sort of toy. It looked like a metallic origami cat. He demonstrated how it would wrap its legs around a finger to act like a ring. Then by stroking the back it would release and behave like a cat getting its back petted, tail stuck in the air. He winked at Luella.

“It’s an application of nanotechnology and the different properties of metals. I learned origami when I was a child. When I was 11, I was a math TA for a class of 1st graders. I tried to teach them how to make an origami crane. In a class of 25, guess how many I made?” He paused. “26. One for each student; one for the teacher.” He laughed. “No good deed.”

He clearly wasn’t mad about the news from the bombing scene. If anything he seemed to be enjoying playing big brother to Caleb. And he knew some of the questions to ask - like things to avoid, how to best communicate, foods Caleb liked and didn’t like. He took a wild guess and assumed Caleb didn’t like a lot of physical contact. And he also guessed that Caleb didn’t like being asked a lot of questions, but needed to be prodded with statements.

“I have a bit of a surprise that I think Caleb is going to like when we get to Albuquerque. I have a horse named Patches. I have someone taking care of him. But we’ll have to be careful. He isn’t as bad as he used to be. He used to bit just about everyone except me. That was 9 years ago though. He’s gotten around to trusting people more. I spoil him rotten though. The person who cares for him when I am not there works out of a rescue farm.” Duncan paused there as he didn’t want to make promises Luella would think bad idea. Seeing abused animals might be a problem.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

Tuesday June 3, 0900 AM EST​

"You're telling me that you didn't think about the consequences that this would have for The Post?"

June Stevenson peered over her crooked nose, through the oval lenses of her thick glasses. It wasn't good news. At least, that's what the boys at the FBI had taught her, regarding the skill of reading a person's body language and intentions. Stevenson's arms were strapped beneath her chest. Her white blouse, which was always three sizes too big, draped over them like a new range of curtains. Her narrow brows were raised, with the hollow eyes heavily fixated upon the young woman's visage.

"No, no," Luella shook her head, her short brown locks bouncing vivaciously. "You're misunderstanding me. Since Watergate, the American electorate has always seen The Post as a form of checks and balances upon what could otherwise be corrupt government. They place their faith in us, to get to the heart of politics and remove corruption with a steady hand, to present it as what it is".

June nodded, merely blinking in response, before leaning back into her chair. She seemed to pause here for a a few moments, as if considering what Luella had to say to explain herself. Then, pursed her small lips, her wrinkled brow scrunching. "Yes, and in order to do this, we must uphold the powerful connections that we have within Parliament, and even higher".

"You're claiming that power goes beyond congress and those who uphold the constitution?"

June snorted. "Don't be a fool, girl. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry knows that it is money that makes the world go around. Who do you think funds parliamentary campaigns? Politics goes far beyond what the electorate is aware of. After so many years within this industry, I would've thought that you would have finally came to this conclusion naturally. You millenials, you live in la la land, with fairytales of world peace, ending starvations, equality for all... you need to get to grips with reality, Luella. Your head is in the clouds, and you can't see the danger right in front of your eyes".

Coughing, Elle cleared her throat. Her bottom shuffled awkwardly beneath her weight upon the old wooden chair. "I- uhm... I finished the article. I sent it to you, but I know you prefer the traditional paper form. I used my typewriter, actually. It's only a draft. There's room for improvement but-" she held out the papers, slightly creased from her case. Her hand was left lingering.

June's eyes narrowed once more. "And these are on?"

"I avoided the topic of the domestic terrorism, as you requested," she placed them on the desk before her instead. "I focused on the first family. The First Family remind me of The Kennedy's. It's government, that I believe the people can get behind, with a friendly face. They have a lot of love, for each other and the citizens of America. I thought that in a time of uncertainty and crisis-"

"-that the people would enjoy being consoled. Yes, I like that. It's like George Lucas and Star Wars in the nineteen-seventies. The article would provide comfort and escapism in times of political controversy. The order within the first family would lead people to believe that there is some sort of order within the country". For the first time, June Stevenson offered a kind of lopsided smile, intertwining her finger and placing her hands upon the desk. "Of course, no doubt, there will be some things that need rewording, rephrasing, etcetera, but I'm glad you took my advice".

That being said, Luella slowly stood, gathering her coat and scarf over her left arm, and her brief case with her spare hand. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience I may have caused, Miss Stevenson. You know i'd never intentionally do anything to jeopardise The Post or it's status".

"Yes," June nodded, watching Andreas carefully. "I understand". There was a Kaye of silence caked upon the air, as the elderly woman observed the young girl compose herself to leave. Once all was gathered, she rose from behind her desk, heading towards the door, a frail hand wrapping around the handle and ever so slightly twisting it forth. The door halted, only ever so slightly open, as her spare hand reached to grasp Luella by her sleeve. "Miss Andreas?"

"Hm?" Wide eyed, like a deer caught in headlights, Elle promptly turned to face her boss. Her front teeth slightly bit down upon her plump, lower lip.

"Do be careful," the woman's eyes were large, and her voice hushed, as if she were almost afraid of being heard. "Trust nobody, and be cautious. Be so very cautious about what you're doing, because the world of politics is so much broader and darker than you could ever possibly imagine".

***

Tuesday June 3, 0330 PM EST​

"Agent Zazky, we have Special Agent Andreas in the holding room for you," Luella watched the Barbie doll twiddle the wire of the telephone around her thin index finger, almost breaking her sharp, elcteric pink nail in the process. Considering the funding of the FBI, you'd think that they'd be able to update themselves, and keep present with the times, not use phone that resembled something from a poor quality eighties movie. "Should I buzz her in, or would you like some time alone?"

Luella didn't have many pet peeves, but one of them, without a doubt, was smacking. People who chewed with their mouth open were people who needed to be eradicated from existence. That was no exaggeration. As she watched, her forehead crinkled, heavy with distaste. Her neatly trimmed fingernails drummed upon the table beside her, messily piled with a variety of outdated mags and tabloids.

"Mhm. Ahuh. Okay," the nasal voice echoed throughout the room, before the telephone was slammed against the holder. "Mister Zazky will see you now," her painted lips pursed together, as she clutched a clipboard full of schedules to her chest. "Right this way," the voice was promptly matched with an equally annoying clicking of her high heeled shoes against the floorboards. Worse of all, Luella couldn't help but note how it echoed across the room. There was, at least, some respite in arriving at the door, where she found herself letting out a small sigh of release.

The office that they entered was large and airy, with an unbelievable amount of natural light, which poured through the glass wall of windows. Neatly, in the middle of the wall, was Zazky's desk, sleek and polished, unlike June's, with paper files neatly piled in the corner. There was little else upon the workspace, for she knew that he kept it safely locked away within his drawers. Instead, were a compilation of Parker pens, stored in a line and arranged smartly by colour. In the very corner, was his favourite fountain pen, which she knew he only popped out of its socket on rare occasions, like his favourite: firing somebody.

"Agent Andreas," he gestured to the chair before his desk. "Please, take a seat". With regards to the secretary, "that'll be all, thanks, Mariah - unless, the lady would like a drink?" Luella shook her head. No, thank you. "Yes, then, that is all. Remind me, do I have a free space at 5?"

The blonde nodded, having glanced at the schedule that she held very dearly. "Yes, Mr Zazky, but a meeting with Agent John Harrowman at 6 sharp. Would you like me to schedule in something?"

"Mm," he reached beneath his desk, lifting up his water bottle and bringing it to his lips, which he promptly licked following. "And clear yours, if you may. I have some business to attend to. So, I'll have to have that six cancelled, with haste. We need to talk about a few things upcoming, yadda yadda. I don't feel as though things are as efficient as they should be".

Call her bigheaded, but Luella liked to think that, unlike Mariah, she wasn't hired for a pretty face and a bursting chest. In fact, she was more than aware of the mediocrity of her plain features - other than her eyes, which were generally a feature that outcasted her. No, behind her pretty, at a push, face, was a brain, believe it or not, and a good intuition. It was such intuition that lead her to the conclusion that Mr Zazky wasn't just thinking about appointments and formalities for this five o'clock break.

All the same, Luella remained facing ahead, with her arms sat placently upon her small legs, whilst she tried her utmost best to avoid the giggles and the snorts that accompanied an "Of course, Mr Zazky. Anything for you, Mr Zazky". She did so until she was afraid that she could not take it much longer, when she politely raised her hand to her mouth to cough politely and raise awareness of her existence once more.

The secretary was promptly ushered out and, having apologised, Zazky shuffled his files before looking at her and forcing a smile. "Right, Miss Andreas. What do we have here?" He paused, drumming his fingers offtunedly upon the work surface. "I'm glad you found the target and made contact. You're a clever girl. I knew I was right in hiring you. Say, the boys downstairs were whispering. You know what they're like. They said, you even got a one on one interview with the First Son himself. Hm? If you don't mind - which I'm pre-tty sure you won't; it's your job - i'd like to know what he said to you".

In the moment, Luella hated him. Boy, she really despised him. All the same, she returned her bosses phoney smile, and dug into her briefcase to retrieve the same papers that she'd given to June. "It's all there, really. It was rather boring. He's mostly just a pretty face. I don't get the fuss," lying through your teeth, huh, Luella? This isn't like you. "I mean, sure, he has some brain cells. He won't stop letting you know about all his damn achievements. I mean, I can tell you them, but they're long, boring... and I mean rather irrelevant to national security".

"You're telling me that he had nothing at all to say on the bombings?" Zazky arched an unimpressed brow. No, worse, it was a look of suspicion. "Funny, I thought he would've mentioned his meeting, which certainly regarded national security, with your father?"

They knew about that too. Funny, it seemed like Luella was the only one who hadn't. "Actually, he did mention the bombings, and I'm sure you've already seen the clip. Other than that, no, there was nothing further said. He claimed it to be classified. Although," she began to confess partially, not wanting to evoke too much mistrust. "He did mention meeting my dad". Cue the forced laugh. "You can probably guess... yup, classified. What can I say? Most people, who possess a single brain cell, don't really wanna tell problems of national security to a pap".

"Peculiar. You usually have such immense success in getting information out of people..." Zazky paused, clicking his tongue around his mouth, as he stretched in his seat. "Are you seeing him again?" He sat forth, eagerly.

"Perhaps, I'm not sure," another lie. In fact, she wasn't sure how much truth she had confessed, if any at all. "He mentioned it in passing, but-"

"-Good. You'll meet, Andreas, and you will get that information. Your job depends on this".

***​

Wednesday June 4, 0900 AM EST

Ugh, too many early mornings.
​

Luella Andreas would be lying, if she claimed that she was thinking much at this time of the day. She truly wasn't. In fact, she was very much in a world of her own, yawning, as the conversations with everyone over the last few days replayed in her mind. Weird, last weekend, everything felt so... secure. Now, it felt like someone had taken her whole world and flipped it upside down. Who could she trust anymore?

Zazky had always been sleazy. Balding and slimy, he was the kind of office worker who would purr compliments that actually felt like an assualting grope as you passed by towards the coffee machine. Yet, he was a man who did his job, and he seemed desperate for answers. Then, there was Duncan. A man who was so righteous, alluring, attractive and intelligent. It was hard to believe that someone who resembled an angel so much could be evil. Yet, everyone knew about Lucifer, the angel that fell from grace. Could it be true? Could Duncan and the first family be a threat to national security?

Watching him play with her baby brother, she couldn't help but think not. There was something so pure about him, so very... safe, like a blanket. Being near him gave a warmth, that only a child's rag or adults duvet could, which Luella felt had been torn violently from around her, after her father's accident. This very same intuition of hers had led to the capture of so many potential terrorists and on the run serial killers. She found it hard to doubt herself.

Didn't they say that love was blind? Ha. Funny. In no way did she love the President's Son. No, it was far from that. Hell, it barely itched companionship. He was irritating but acceptable, and that was at the best of times. Right? Her eyes watched him and Caleb once more. Her teeth reverted back to the awful habit of chewing on her lower lip and inner cheek.

"You never fail to impress me, Mr Do Good-er. Caleb doesn't like many people, and yet he seems to have taken fond of you," she smiled, genuinely for the first time in days, as her eyes fluttered to her baby brother. His attention was enraptured with the new origami treat that Moran had bestowed upon him. "He doesn't let many people close, not anymore". After the partial loss of their father, at least as they knew him, Caleb had isolated himself into his disorder so much more. With that, on top of the bullying, everything was too much.

In many ways, however, Elle supposed that she was reflecting upon herself. She had minimal friends, hung out in the same deadbeat bar to play darts each weekend, and wasted her life writing away in her bedroom. Opening up to someone, like she had to Duncan, it took a lot. Yet, he simply had a demeanour that invited confidence, without demanding it.

"Trust nobody, and be cautious. Be so very cautious about what you're doing, because the world of politics is so much broader and darker than you could ever possibly imagine".

Tapping her foot to attempt to contain her frustration and confusion, Luella struggled to win the internal inferno that enraged between her heart and mind. "You know, Duncan, when you get a moment. I'd like to talk. There's some things we both need to get clear".

 

[Mitheral]

Duncan nodded, “of course. Now? Or can it wait until we are airborne?” They were taxiing out to take off. Duncan was folding a sheet of orange origami paper. He figured she wouldn’t have let things get this far if it were some dire emergency. “I have a study connected to my bedroom. The Major is pretty good with kids.” The paper started to take shape. Before too long had had made yet another cat, though this one was just paper. He grinned and made a mewing noise laughing softly.

His voice was quiet, barely above the sounds of the jet’s engines. “I had two twin half brothers. Eight years younger than me. I haven’t seen them in almost 10 years. After the rough patch, my step family took them away and wouldn’t let me near them ever again. I save their lives, but …” He shrugged. “Anyways, I know he’s not my brother, but I am enjoying working with him.”

Duncan looked up. “One of you have an extra earpiece for Luella? In case you need to get her back up here quick.” The woman named Jasmine nodded and pulled one out, give a glance at Amaretta before she handed it over. “Thanks.”
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He wasn’t joking. He had a bedroom. The bed was pretty nice, like an upscale hotel might have. The desk was one of those adjustable Taskmate executive desks with a light table. It was like something out of a sci fi movie. “I don’t use it often, not unless it is a long flight, or there is a delay and I don’t feel like hitting a hotel. Only one chair. So your pick, bed or chair. Chair? I’ll us the corner of the bed. Annnd ….” he waved his hand over the desk and it lit up. “Open the pod bay doors please Hal.” He fought not to laugh as he reddened. “Okay … I’m a geek.”

He became a little more serious and spoke to the air. “Ms Anabwe, could you give me a security view of the cabin - of our young guest - so Luella can keep an eye on him. We sort of rushed this trip, so00 screen 2 please ... Thanks.” The view on he right screen lit up to show Caleb. Some one had turned a TV on and it was playing scenes of cute animals playing around.”

Duncan turned his attention to Luella. “Okay … so shoot ... or don’t. Is this about questions? Or ground rules about Caleb. Issues of professionalism?” He removed his glasses for a change. “Caleb like the glasses. I think they give more of a feeling of not being stared at. That’s another reason I assigned Amaretta. Her nickname is Shades for a reason.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

​

Seeing his sincerity didn't make the situation any easier. Her soft lips agape, Luella's eyes found themselves slowly fluttering to the floor, as hopeless and as drifting as crisp, autumn leaves. She listened, in the utter silence of her own betrayal, as she sat in the chair that he had pulled out for her. Her nimble fingers nervously twitched together, as her mind willed the words to surpass the net of her throats and fly away gently like the little pattering of a butterfly.

Only, she couldn't think, never mind find the right way to phrase what she wanted to say. What did she even want to tell him, that she was an undercover federal agent? Nobody was supposed to know these things, especially not the target that one had been assigned to. So, buying herself some time, Luella moved her attention to her little brother, and reminisced on the times in her life when there no such hard decisions, and every day was as fun as Caleb's.

"Duncan, I know-" no, that wasn't the right way to begin. "I feel like I can trust you, and yet the things that I have to say extend far beyond trust, or even intelligence. The thing is, however, in my life I have always, always had to rely on my instinct. Yet, somehow I feel it guides me away now from who I am". Nibbling on her lower lip, she questioned herself once more. This was her final chance to stop, to change her mind and think of something different to say.

"The day we met, it wasn't an accident. I was told your location, and not by The Post," she waited for his reaction, before proceeding with caution. "I was told to go where you were, but not what I was supposed to do or even that it was you I was supposed to find. Everything that I said... everything that has happened between us," she wasn't sure why she said this, because nothing at all had occurred out of professionalism. Had it? "It was me, natural, no intrusion. Yet, there's some things I haven't told you".

She looked once more to Caleb to draw confidence. If he could surpass his challenges, then so could she. "I have two jobs. One job I use to send money back home. The second keeps me afloat. You know about my work at The Post, which is all the truth, and you've probably checked up on it. No doubt your mom has. Yet, I also work down at Pennsylvania Avenue, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation".

Her hand tended around the arm of her chair. "I work as a Forensic Psychological Profiler. I mostly work on catching Serial Killers and Terrorists, when there is not enough physical evidence to do so. This time, however, they wanted me to create them a profile on you. They wanted to know what you told me, and more importantly how much you know about the Capitol Bombings".

There was no turning back now. She may as well finish. "I... I couldn't bring myself to tell them much at all. In fact, I scarcely believe I told them anything. Only, I'm afeared. You talk to me about domestic terrorism, inside jobs, and corruption - and, at first, I thought the entire notion ridiculous. Yet, The Post refuses to touch the topic, as if they've been told to censor it. My boss at the agency is completely on edge about finding out what you know. I can't help but feel as though somebody is pulling strings, and I don't know who else to turn to".

 

[Mitheral]

“I guessed it was something like that. Stanford. I read your dissertation. You also studied Farsi. And given what you told me the other day about your family I couldn’t see you wasting that education as a reporter. No, you’d want a government position. Better perks, especially medical. Being a reporter. That’s a cover.”

His face hardened with concentration. “So … who stood to gain? Natural FBI question. The designated survivor. Just one thing. Dad never wanted to be a politician. He just wanted to keep America safe.” Duncan opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped and frowned. “People are saying he wasn’t elected president - except he WAS. They elected the former President and Senators who ran the confirmation hearings. If they thought he wasn’t fit to be President, they should never have placed him in the line of succession, no matter how remote. Regardless, he’s the sort of man who likes to fix things, build things - not tear them apart.

“I know about the Millers’ first son, the one who dies in the Middle East. I wasn’t supposed to know. But I did and I have already had that discussion with them considering that the subject will be one of those skeletons. Some might thing my Dad sought revenge. And as biased as I am I have to entertain that notion. But the simple truth is that I do not believe he could do such a thing.”

Duncan paused. “W can come back to that. Let’s rule out foreign terrorism. Have you seen the video tape? I would imagine it is in CIA and NSA hands. I can tell you this much. One: The ISIS man lied. I read his microexpressions. He was providing a pre-fabricated lie. Two: It would have taken over 14 TONS of of the explosives used. That is pallet after pallet, crate after crate. Three: Check out the MO of the ISIS cell that claimed responsibility. You are a profiler. There were no comms. Now maybe they changed their habits. I suggest you check the money trails - then double check and make sure the information wasn’t planted.

“Oh, by the way, I have a degree in criminology too, but more toward forensics than psych. It was a hobby. You know, I can guess why you might have been assigned to me. All that violence? I meet a profile. To be very honest, if I hadn’t been as set on my path as I was, I might very well have ended up a terrorist or serial killer. But if anything I have a messiah complex. I like helping people. The way I see it, what’s the point of having wealth, knowledge or power if you don’t use it to make the world a better place?

“Thing is, it has only been about 3 weeks and I haven’t had time to really get busy with my research into this. To be honest, until I saw the video last week, I had nothing to go on. But let us take the position that I am right. That means that the guilty party is still out there. Let’s go back to the question of who benefits. But rather than saying Dad, consider this. What makes an effective president? The answer is: a like minded House and Senate. If a President has to fight the Legislative branch, he will fail. That would mean that in 4 years a new President will take office. What I am saying is to think longer term. Or think of chaos where Dad is forced to declare martial law. Someone hit the Reset button. I suggest we find out who.”