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Chapter Twenty-Five

Caleb

Tucked away in the new office he’d furnished for himself in the basement of their home, Caleb’s mind ran through the mantras and pep talks of old, preparing for a conversation that could shift everything. The odd dinner party that left them with a nearly insurmountable list of issues was fresh in his mind as he settled into the seat with every intention of hopefully, mercifully, crossing one of those items off. He didn't want to believe that the German Chancellor was somehow complicit in any of the problems they faced, but experience dictated one thing—greed and power would always, always make men do unsavory things.

The antique banker's lamp illuminated the desk in a soft, soothing light, lending warmth to the cold glow of the computer screen. He felt eerily distant, far removed from the established quiet of their pristine neighborhood and the wholesome facade of the magazine-worthy home. Outside, he knew the sun wasn't yet fully risen. Inside, artificial light made it seem like any time of day, painfully normal despite the magnitude of all that bore down on them. The steady, blinking light on the screen was like a teleprompter taunting him. Showtime, Cay.

With a single click of the trackpad, Caleb connected the call, sitting back with affected ease as he smoothed a hand over the buttons of his shirt. Bahrenburg didn't need to know he wasn't wearing pants. From the waist up, he easily pulled off casual professional. It was all part of the show. Professional, but approachable. An every man’s sort of man. If only this was a casual conversation and not him conducting a wholesale fishing expedition. He hated fishing, literally and figuratively. It took a lot of work to keep the distaste from showing on his carefully constructed expression of relaxed camaraderie.

“Mr. Cohen,” Bahrenburg crowed, his loud, effusive voice bursting into the room, flooding every nook and cranny with reverberating tones as his face came into frame. Same old Bahrenburg. Big, boisterous, and straight to business.

“Cohen-Williams, Mister Chancellor.” Caleb gave his biggest, brightest smile as he lifted his left hand to show off the simple band on his ring finger. His right hand tapped a silent staccato against the arm of his chair as he spoke. Control the pacing. Keep it light. See what he gives you. The mental reminders continued on a loop in the back of his head.

“Yes, yes. Congratulations, of course. It has been some time,” Bahrenburg replied with the faintest trace of amusement lacing his voice. “I assumed your departure from the White House meant you had left the world of diplomacy behind.”

Caleb chuckled, the well-practiced canned laughter of diplomats the world over. “Now, now. You know me. Can't stay away from all the fun for too long.”

A measured heat of silence followed, absent of any shared levity. No responding chuckle or warm-hearted smiles from the Chancellor today, it would seem.

“And yet, you call not as an emissary, but as the devoted husband of a man seeking the highest office of your country.”

He felt the shift on a physical level, but his smile didn't falter. It was no surprise the Chancellor had already done his due diligence. Cay had prepared ahead of time assuming as much.

“Elias’ campaign has been a delightfully exciting challenge. It's utterly fascinating to see how the game has evolved since our last dealings.” Caleb eased back in the chair with a lingering smile.

“Evolved. Yes.” Something in the man’s voice grew tight, like the faintest press of a blade against skin. Cay resisted the urge to lean forward. He was nothing if not a consummate professional and he wasn't about to give up the gig this early in the game. He continued speaking with as much ease as his facial expression conveyed.

“It's really a remarkable thing, watching the board shift.” His tone was intentionally light, his comments delivered offhand. “New players, old alliances, a constant dance of redefined movements.”

“Indeed.” He paused for a sip of something—tea, perhaps. Knowing Bahrenburg, it was more likely the mug was filled with schnapps or a grain brandy. His cheeks definitely indicated it was something stronger than a steeped tea despite the vessel he used to drink. When he spoke again, his voice was as chilly as the overcast autumn morning he could see through the window overlooking Berlin in the background. “The world is always in motion, Mr. Cohen-Williams. Those who fail to move with it…” He shrugged and made a toasting motion with the mug. “They get left behind.”

Resisting the urge to strangle the arm’s of his chair with his grip, Caleb loosely laced his fingers under his chin. “I imagine some have moved ahead quite spectacularly.”

“And some have found themselves caught between the tides.” Bahrenburg’s words were soft, but the message slithered over the skin like the hypnotizing slick of oil on wet asphalt— oddly pleasing in its iridescence and yet utterly filthy when you remembered what it was.

“It must be difficult, navigating those tides.” Caleb cocked his head as if considering the words.

“More than you will ever know.” There it was. Bahrenburg wasn't admitting to anything. Not outright. He was too smart for that. But the message was clear. He was involved. Maybe not at the helm, definitely not a major player, but he knew what was happening in the shadows. There was another pause, a test, a challenge, before Bahrenburg changed tack.

“Elias is an interesting choice. If he secures the nomination, the world will be watching very, very closely. I will be watching closely. Some will see opportunities. Others, risks.”

“And you, Mister Chancellor? What will you see?”

A half-chuckle tinged his words as a barely-there smile curved the man’s lips. “You know me as well as I know you. You cannot stay away from the fun, while I appreciate the art of negotiation. The ability to adapt, and to choose the right allies.”

“Allies are important.” A chill trickled down Caleb’s spine. “So is loyalty.”

“Ja. But loyalty is such a…flexible thing, is it not?”

Caleb forced a brighter smile. “Only for those who need it to be.”

The chancellor let out a quiet hum. “Your husband is a very bold man. It will be fascinating to see where his ambitions take him. Whether he finds himself riding the tide or sinking beneath it, well… that remains to be seen.”

Caleb’s pulse spiked with the warning. Granted, it was a subtle, polite warning wrapped in diplomatic vagueness, but it was a warning nevertheless.

“You have always had a way with words, Chancellor.” Caleb was already planning to demand a gold star for how silky smooth and serene he kept his voice, even as a slow coil of dread tightened in his gut. “I suppose time will tell how a lot of things unfold.”

“It always does, Mr. Cohen-Williams. It always does.” Silence stretched for a few beats too long as Bahrenburg’s gaze bored into him through the screen. “Be well, Caleb.”

The line went dead. The screen went dark. And Caleb stared at his filmy reflection in the matte surface of the screen for entirely too long as the conversation replayed in his mind. There was no explicit confirmation, but he knew he wouldn't hear any outright damning words or admissions of complicity. He didn't need to. Because he knew. At the very least, Bahrenburg was playing this game right alongside the people pulling the strings and if Elias won the nomination, their relationship wouldn't be one of camaraderie and ease. It would be a relationship of power and control. One wrong move…

Caleb shuddered and ran a damp palm over his face. He’d thought he had made it to the big leagues when he got the job in the White House Chief of Staff office, but damn, was he wrong. That was like T-ball compared to what they were embarking on now. And they were running out of time. That knowledge left him feeling hollow and empty and painfully unprepared, but most of all, it left him feeling utterly inadequate for the task.