The panel on the President’s desk buzzed. Pryce knew his secretary would only interrupt him if it was important. Stockton pressed to answer it.

“Yes?”

“Mr President, your daughter and grandson are here.”

She saw his face light up. There had been a few terrifying hours when he’d thought Julie and one-year-old Liam had died inside Westwood Baptist, before Julie had gotten through to him, told him that her plans had changed, that she’d been on the other side of Houston.

Pryce remembered the look on his face this morning. That mix of devastation and rage.

Family. That mattered to John Stockton. God help anyone who Stockton saw as a threat to those he loved.

There had been hope of a family of her own once.

Once.

“Thirty seconds, Liz,” the President said into the phone. “Then send them in.” He clicked off.

“So that’s a ‘yes’, then,” he said to Pryce.

Pryce looked at him for a moment. “I want to talk to President Jameson.”

Stockton frowned. “Miles is old, Carolyn. He’s tired. He had a second stroke..”

“Miles Jameson was President during the dates those memos mention,” Pryce said. “His name is on them. I only take the job if I can talk to him.”

Stockton frowned and shook his head. “Fine. Just go easy on the old man.”

Pryce nodded. “Then that’s yes, Mr President. Carte blanche. With those terms, I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Stockton said. “Go get to the bottom of this. Come back and tell me it’s all a pack of lies. Or tell me what the hell’s been going on.”

“And if it’s all true?” She asked him. “If we created the PLF? If Barnes killed Holtzman? And Becker? If he staged that assassination attempt on you?”

If he won you this election, she didn’t add.

Stockton smiled at his National Security Advisor. “Then I’ll fix it. But mark my words, Carolyn: I’m going to win this election. I’m going to be the next President of the United States. And however we got here, I’m not going to bend to anyone over this – not terrorists, not ‘post-humans’, not someone trying to screw up the election with two days left to go.”

Then the door opened, and Stockton was rising to his feet, and his daughter Julie and her son Liam, his first and only grandchild, were rushing into his arms for a giant hug. Pryce watched as his giant, football-hero arms engulfed his family, saw the fervent mix of emotions race across his face, and the thought went through her mind again.

Woe unto anyone who threatened those John Stockton loved.

7
Final Testament

Saturday 2040.11.03