The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 43

The meeting ran late into the night, and eventually Nancy gave in to exhaustion and left. Next, Robert left to return home. His new career did not sit well with his wife, but the money he was being paid overshadowed whatever complaints she made. This left Frank and Betsy to each other’s company, and although the hour was late, it was Betsy who made the suggestion they get a bite to eat. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m hungry as hell.” Betsy tapped her pen on the arm of her chair as a slight smile came to her face, displaying what he believed to be an ulterior motive. Having accurately read her behavior, he responded without hesitation. “Come on now,” he said. “We have to play nice, right?”

Crossing her legs, Betsy took a firm tone as she made her thoughts obvious.

“Frank,” she replied. “Look, we’re both adults. If we want to fuck each other, we should be able to. Now

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we certainly don’t want to damage your chances of winning that senate seat, and the media is going to find out where all of us live, but there are hotels, right?”

Both of them knew what they wanted, but there was also the risk of being followed. Even Betsy had done her share of spying, but she also knew what to look for and how to evade someone who insisted on trying to keep up. After a bit of silent deliberation, Frank agreed, but with a condition. “This cannot happen again,” he said. “Just this one time, got it?”

Betsy agreed.

Turning the lights off, they left the campaign office, while Betsy suggested they meet at her apartment. From there, they would take her car to a hotel on the outskirts of DC. It wasn’t the most glamorous place to spend the night, but it was safely out of the way of prying eyes. Betsy seemed to have one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror. As a journalist, she had been followed many times and on occasion done the following in order to obtain needed information for a story. Journalism can be a dirty business. Once at the hotel, their first order of business was food. Betsy thought it best to be the one to go to the hotel office to obtain the room key. Frank’s image was all over the media, and being seen at a less than standard hotel with a beautiful woman would definitely damage his campaign. Parking some distance from the hotel façade, Betsy turned to him with one request.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

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Closing the car door, she walked across the parking lot and through the front door. Frank was waiting as she soon returned, wondering if this was really such a good idea, but looking around, saw no other cars entering the parking lot and breathed a sigh of relief as Betsy got back into the car.

“Fuck, I’m hungry,” she said. “What did you want to get to eat?”

The first thing that came to mind was Chinese, and Betsy agreed.

“Shit,” she said. “I could eat an entire buffet.” Starting the car, she drove around to the back of the hotel and, parking in the shadows, found the room they would be staying in. Fortunately, it was a Friday night, and their absence would go unnoticed. The lights positioned outside each room were dim and afforded sufficient cover for the man who, according to plan, was supposed to one day become the president.

Before closing the door, Betsy took one more look around the parking lot and found only her car closed and locked the door. She was certain they had not been seen, and walking over to the bed, sat on the edge and slipped off her shoes.

“So,” she said. “Where’s the nearest Chinese place? I’m starving.”

He was entirely unfamiliar with the area and suggested they check online, and taking out her phone, Betsy did a quick search and found a Chinese restaurant within a mile of the hotel. “What do you want?” she asked.

One of the things he remembered about her was that she was a ‘take change’ woman. She always seemed

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to know what she wanted and how to get it. Aside from her striking beauty, he had always found this trait arousing and supposed that it was a common characteristic of any woman of power.

Frank listed off from memory what he preferred, and Betsy placed the order by internet wanting as little verbal contact as possible. As they waited for their delivery, Betsy advised him to stay out of view from both the door and windows. In spite of Frank’s request that their rendezvous be a one-time affair, she hoped that if they planned out a routine, they might be able to meet again. As an additional measure of security, Betsy made certain the curtains were drawn and the window shades were pulled down as far as possible. Prying eyes was something they could not afford. He was suddenly struck with an idea, one that would make their secret meetings look legitimate.

“Hey,” he began. “What if we met at your place from now on? It would look like a business meeting, right? And we wouldn’t have to come to rat traps like this.”

By this time, Betsy was on her back trying to recover from a day that seemed too long, but hearing Frank’s suggestion sat up with an expression of sudden awareness.

“That’s a great idea,” she said. “We should have thought of that before coming here.” Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Betsy got up and, waving him off to the side near the restroom, opened the door only a few inches. Facing her was a man of Asian descent holding three white bags.

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“Delivery,” he said.

With fifty dollars in her hand, Betsy handed him the money while trying to send him on his way as quickly as possible.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just getting ready to turn in.” The man took the money and, nodding his head with a smile, left for his next delivery. Quickly closing the door, Betsy locked it and, turning back, quietly called to Frank, who was still near the bathroom. “I think it’s okay now,” she said.

He walked out with a slightly worried expression and, taking the bags of food from her, asked if anyone else had been outside.

“I didn’t see anyone,” she replied. Going to the window, she pulled the shade back slightly, and looking in all directions, saw nothing but her car in the parking lot.

“Looks like the coast is clear,” she continued. “Now, let’s eat.”

Sitting on the bed, they leaned against its headboard and began their late-night dinner. “Hey,” Frank said. “Want to watch a movie?” Finding the remote, he pointed it at the TV set facing them from the other side of the room and, with the push of a button, watched as its screen lit up. Betsy got to her knees and, grabbing the remote, began searching for a familiar movie channel, but the position she had taken gave him other ideas regarding recreation. Carefully moving his hand between her knees, he reached up and attempted to slip a finger into her warm body. This prompted an immediate response as Betsy slapped his hand away. “Dinner first,” she said.

“Aw,” he replied. “You’re no fun.”

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Finding a movie she had seen many times, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. Backing away by mere inches, she gave a facetious reply. “Yes I am,” she said. “But I need to eat first, then we can have some fun.”

The movie was not one of Frank’s favorites and was, in fact, one directed towards women. One might call it a ‘chick flick’. But exercising patience, he watched it anyway, trying to appear interested. However, after two hours and a full stomach, both drifted off to sleep. No doubt, there would be no ‘fun’ that night. But the idea of holding campaign meetings at one residence or the other was certainly a good idea, as long as the rest of the campaign staff was occasionally invited. Those meetings, however, would be business as usual.