Scott Roarke 03 - Executive Command Read Online Free PDF

president on TV. She was deep into the constitutional law archives, researching the dangerous ground the president was charting. Six months , she expected. Six months before a related case might reach the Supreme Court. Max. Maybe sooner.
    Kessler was five-six, alluring, and fit. Depending upon her mood, she wore her curly hair down or put it up in a bun. By day, she favored black suits, colorful silk blouses, and pearl necklaces. At night, it was back to jeans or a loose-fitting jogging suit, unless she and her boyfriend were out for drinks and appetizers. However, as the White House’s newest and brightest counsel, there weren’t too many nights out. She spent hour after hour in law books reviewing precedent and case history with two pressing assignments: the president’s avowed doctrine which stretched borders like giant rubber bands and a proposed radical change in the rules of succession. Her proposal.
    Katie heard the president’s press conference in the background. Her days were getting longer. That meant less time to see the man she loved.
    The White House, a basement office
    the same time
    Scott Roarke was not watching the TV, though it was also on. He was absorbed in an online Atlanta Journal-Constitution newspaper report. Through his reading, Roarke tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the William Tell Overture. He did this unconsciously; a Lone Ranger himself with the gun to prove it.
    Roarke actually wasn’t working alone. He reported to a man he usually just called “boss.” Others called him Mr. President. He got away with the informality strictly because of their past, which was off the record books. That’s because Roarke often went on missions as a lieutenant in the army’s secret Defense Intelligence Agency that never happened. One occurred well inside the lines of Saddam Hussein’s fierce Republican Guard just when Morgan Taylor dropped out of the sky.
    Taylor was zeroing in on a suspected biological weapons plant with one Rockeye bomb left in his stores. As he was coming around to his target, a trio of SAMs locked on from a portable launch facility. Taylor was fast, but not fast enough this day in low-level combat. He evaded two of the missiles, but not the third.
    The Navy commander ejected from his $24-million machine fearing he’d never see home again. But he landed close to Roarke’s dugout, which meant that his mission was scrubbed and now he had to get both himself out and this Navy flier who was pretty useless on the ground.
    That pilot however was always grateful. When he became president, he brought Roarke into the Secret Service to man a department designated PD16 for Presidential Directorate 1600; an homage to the president’s local address.
    And now Roarke had a job in the basement. Not any old basement. A very secure, high-tech and extremely wired staging area where Roarke launched to different parts of the world. Few people beyond the Director of National Intelligence, National Security Advisor, FBI Chief, and a few key members of Congress actually knew who Roarke was and how he served the president. There were those in Washington who had their suspicions.
    Scott Roarke topped off at six feet, just an inch or so taller than the president. He had a swimmer’s physique, or someone skilled in the martial arts, which he surely was. Unlike others in the Secret Service, he wasn’t a suit-and-tie guy. He didn’t wear a lapel pin or talk into his sleeve. He dressed casually, wore sneakers, and preferred a Blackberry.
    He kept his thick brown hair longer than required. Regulation would have looked incongruous. But there was very little regulation or structure to Scott Roarke’s life. He was unique in the ranks of the Secret Service; Morgan Taylor’s go-to man. He earned $114,300 per year but had access to so much more, whether it was in Yen, Euros, or Rubles.
    Roarke was loyal and principled. When necessary, he was also calculating and lethal. But he could be warm, witty, and