Obama – The Ghost of a Thousand Sins – 6:45 P.M. Monday October 25th 2010
Dave occasionally took time after work to drive down to the Potomac near Arlington to get in an early evening run. The winding path that followed the river which eventually emptied into the Chesapeake was popular with tourists and romantics. The oak and maple trees that lined the path, now after a hot and humid summer held their treasure of fall colors. It was the perfect backdrop to the magnificence of the massive monuments of granite and marble that popped up every half mile or so.
He felt good this evening and the cool, crisp air on his face was stimulating as he occasionally glanced at the river rushing southeastward. It was moments like this that Dave missed the most when he was on assignment overseas for the Agency. Eating sand in eastern Africa, going weeks without a shower in western Afghanistan, and sweating your balls off in the jungle of remote Filipino island, were the small sacrifices he made to know that all of this was safe because of the work he did to protect it.
Dave had spent the past week reviewing information that was pouring in from around the world on his top priority, the suitcase nukes, that were now in the country. It was his first run since early last week, and he couldn’t shake his work from his head, as he picked up the pace that was fueled by his frustration with the White House and certain congressional committees that kept tying his hands from doing the work that needed to be done. He suspected the President was doing everything possible to stop his investigation and it drove him nuts.
For men like Dave who risk their lives every day for America, it was unconscionable to imagine a sitting president sabotaging an investigation that could save thousands of American lives. It was nothing short of treason, a word not used enough on the Hill these days.
It was getting darker now as he rounded his halfway point and headed back in the direction of his car. He had just another mile and half to go, when he suddenly heard someone coming up behind him. Whoever it was, they were moving pretty fast and seemed about fifty feet behind him. It was now just Dave and this unknown runner on the path as it got much darker. By the sound of his running he was big and was in good shape judging by the rapid footwork. Dave always dreaded moments like this, that moment when you’re not ready for the ghost of a thousand sins. As Dave picked up the pace his shadow did so in turn, convincing Dave that he had a problem. For the next two hundred paces about fifteen faces came into Dave’s mind, faces that would give anything to see him dead.
Unfortunately, while Dave was reminiscing about old enemies the pounding feet of the unknown runner was getting closer. Dave knew that Washington had changed in the past two years and no one could be trusted. The country was under attack by just about everyone, and operatives were disappearing weekly. Dave knew drastic times meant drastic measures as he quickly spun to his left off the path onto the grass next to an old oak tree. From under his sweatshirt he pulled out his Taurus 650 revolver and pointed it at the black image now coming into the light of a streetlamp just a few feet away. As Dave pulled back the trigger and set up his head shot he heard the image say, “What the fuck are you on, jet fuel?” as a burly African American voice blurted out. “Down boy, it’s only me Jimmy,” as the 633rd day of the Obama Presidency headed out for pizza and a beer.