“Literally at the eleventh hour,” another commentator supplied. “But it really had come down to only Mendoza and Hardy, especially after Pickering’s campaign imploded and Walters did so badly in the debates.”
The woman anchor nodded her head and added, “The lack of any baggage didn’t hurt Hardy, either. Both Walters and Pickering spent a lot of time on the defensive, attempting to justify their far left — leaning positions to a skeptical electorate. With Hardy’s highly successful terms in both the House and Senate as a centrist, and Mendoza’s one in the House, balance has become a virtue.”
“But now with Mendoza’s more progressive portfolio on jobs and immigration added to Hardy’s strengths on national security, foreign policy, and the environment, he stands a good chance to win the presidency this November.”
Jerry stared at the TV, half listening to the two commentators, and half struggling to come to grips with what was transpiring. It was all too surreal. His former skipper, friend, and mentor had just won the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination… What the hell just happened? he asked himself, again.
Emily literally bounced with excitement beside him; she clearly was enthused by the prospect of their good friends taking up residence in the White House. “Jerry, isn’t this marvelous! Lowell will be a fantastic president! It’s a shame that Carly is too young to understand the honor of having the president and first lady as her godparents.” She stroked the sleeping toddler’s hair as she spoke, beaming with pride.
Emily’s highlighting of the close relationship the two families shared caused Jerry to close his eyes and lean his head back on the couch. He didn’t dare say what his inside voice was screaming, instead he merely pointed out the obvious. “It’s a bit premature to schedule Christmas dinner at the White House, Emily. Lowell still has to win the general election.”
An annoyed frown popped on her face. “Why are you so negative, Jerry? Lowell has far more experience than Crenshaw and is definitely more levelheaded. I don’t understand why you’re not thrilled for him and Joanna. Don’t you want him to be president?”
There was no winning this presidential debate. Sighing quietly, he tried to keep his voice level. “Of course, I want to see Lowell become president, Emily, and yes, he most definitely has my vote. But, there will be professional complications with that outcome.”
The frown melted away; she understood. “You’re still having issues with your reputation, aren’t you? People still believe you enjoy undeserved political favor, even after all you’ve done?”
Jerry nodded. “A month doesn’t go by that I don’t hear at least one offhanded comment from some general officer at the five-sided funny farm. My boss, and the other submariners, know better and are really supportive, but it still bothers me — maybe more than it should. I just can’t see how things wouldn’t get worse if Lowell is elected president, and I think it’s very likely he will be. Being close to a sitting president has been difficult for my superiors and me. Can you imagine the strain Lowell’s election will create? It’s not like we’ve been hiding the close bonds we have with him and Joanna.”
Standing, he reached for the sleeping child in Emily’s lap. “In a way, I’m glad we’ll be moving to Bangor before the election. I need to get away from all this bureaucracy and politics, and back to where I belong… back to the boats.”
A knock on the suite’s door interrupted the aide. She opened the door and a dark-suited Secret Service agent reported, “Mr. President, we’re ready to move.”
Lowell Hardy, dressed in what was becoming an all-too-familiar tuxedo, called, “Joanna, it’s time.”
She swept into the room in a green-and-silver designer gown that almost reached the floor. They’d done things with her hair, still red but mixed with gray, piling up and holding it in place with small ornaments that matched her dress.
“Oh my. Wow!” Hardy clapped appreciatively. “Why did I even bother to put on a tuxedo? Nobody’s going to be looking at me.”
“Mr. President, Dr. Patterson, we really must proceed,” the agent insisted. They were scheduled to personally attend a total of ten official inaugural balls that night, and there were over a hundred unofficial balls and other celebrations happening in Washington. Even the president had to allow for what would be crazy traffic.
Reflexively, Hardy checked for his car keys and cell phone, then stopped himself. He wouldn’t need either of those for the next four years. At least he still had a handkerchief.
“We’ll finish that message in the car, Jenny,” he instructed. There were reports of troop movements near the Estonian border, and while there was no imminent threat, it was likely the Russians were getting ready to test the new administration. In between dances, he’d work.
It wasn’t Jerry’s preferred option, but in the end, he did talk to the president, although it was Hardy who called him. Jerry was still at the squadron offices when the call came from Dwight Sellers, Hardy’s Chief of Staff. “The President would like to speak with you in about five minutes.”
“I’ll be standing by,” Jerry answered. Sellers hadn’t bothered to ask if he would be available. The chief of staff’s tone implied that he was on a tight schedule, and so was the president.
Reflexively, Jerry sat up straighter and started neatening up his desk. He paused, laughing at his actions, then shrugged and continued. His desk was pretty messy. Besides, it gave him something to do.
The secure phone finally rang, and Jerry forced himself to wait for the second ring before picking it up. “Commodore Mitchell.”
“Jerry, how’s Emily? How’s my goddaughter?”
“Charlotte just turned four, and Emily already wants her to take ballet lessons.” He didn’t sound happy.
“But she’ll look so cute in that outfit. Every little girl wants to be a ballerina,” Hardy argued.
“Have you been talking to Emily, again, Mr. President? I’m not hearing a lot of support on my end,” Jerry said. Hardy laughed.
“A wise general chooses his battles carefully,” Hardy quoted. “You’re going to lose this one. Just like I always lost whenever you pushed an idea. And before you ask, yes, the SecDef and the rest of your chain of command knows we’re speaking. I told the CNO I needed to hear your reasons straight from you, not third or fourth hand.”
That was why Hardy had taken the time to call. Jerry got straight to the point. “Jimmy Carter is the best boat in the Navy for this kind of work. She’s a full generation ahead of what Seawolf had on board when we went looking for Severodvinsk so many years ago.”
Hardy said, “They briefed me on Jimmy Carter’s status, of course. She’s been out running around the Arctic for over two months already. Do you have a plan to get her resupplied?”
“Absolutely, Skipper,” Jerry replied using Hardy’s old title. “But you’re not sure if you should send her?” he prompted.
Hardy sighed. “Your logic is sound, Jerry, and I want to know what happened to Lenny as much as you do, but Jimmy Carter is a valuable, even unique, national intelligence asset. I know you read her last patrol report, so you’re well aware of the kind of work she’s doing for us. She earned another Presidential Unit Citation from that mission.
“What do we miss by having her do this job, instead?” Hardy continued. “And we can’t afford to lose another boat, especially her.”