2010-01-09: Sealing His Fate



Date: January 9, 2010


Logan and the President meet. There's a hiccup.

"Sealing His Fate"

Oval Office, The White House

Washington, D.C.

To the backdrop of patriotic flags, heavy, golden drapery and the dark, deceptively still night outside tall windows, none other than the President of the United States stares thoughtfully. It is not the iconic oval office desk he sits at, but a couch, to better converse. "You make some bold statements, Senator…"

His visage is dark and hard to read, but the Chief of Staff does seem to be taking every one of the Senator's words into consideration. "There is one… problem that has my concern…"

"The safety and security of this country are my primary concern, Mr. President," Logan insists seriously as he leans forward. His eyebrows furrow as he purses his lips together. "No matter the costs or the circumstances it is imperative that the terrorist threat be stopped." Lacing his fingers together he leans back. "If it's a question of my loyalty, I've already explained that Peter and I disagree about actions against the threat —"

"But question remains." The President is calm, collected. Wise, as befits a man of is position. He only lifts a hand to indicate the Senator respectfully pause and listen. "My sources tell me … you're one of them."

And there it is. The real tell. The one thing that Logan suspected they knew, and now it's for certain. Diplomatically his lips stretch into a vague, distant kind of smile. "And you're sources aren't entirely wrong." No lying today. Just honesty. What is he playing at? "But from what Peter told me about your operation, you don't have a problem with employing truly patriotic Americans." His lips twitch slightly before he narrows his eyes. "Mr. President, I can fly without aid of aircraft." Beat. "But I guarantee you I can do more damage in an F-16. An F-16 that the government trained me to fly."

He hmmms quietly as he leans back in his seat. "I've been told you have a cure." He arches his eyebrows. "A way to suppress these abilities. I would be willing to subject myself to a daily dosage if that's what it took to protect the American people, Mr. President."

"As I understand, it's temporary. We have a team of science-minded individuals working on making a permanent solution…" The President tips his head down, casting part of it in shadow; he leans ahead and rests his knuckles under his chin. He seems to be taking in the man in front of him. "We are… in need of someone capable in light of our recent troubles. First Wynn and then de Souza… countless American agents who have died in the line of duty," he rumbles.

After a few moments further, filled with silent, studious, calm assessment, the President sits back and smoothes down his tie He nods once, twice. "All right, Senator Petrelli. You'll have everything you need."

"Thank-you, sir. I promise I won't let you down, Mr. President," Logan says as he stands to his feet. Smoothing his suit jacket he reaches over to shake the President's hand. "I will do what I can to make this country safe. And I promise to devote my full attention to the Alpha Protocol and its efforts." He offers the President a respectful smile — right out of Nathan's repetoire.

One must wonder, how many times the President has heard similar words over the last few months. Some of the strongest voices of the Alpha Protocol, believers in those words, are dead.

He doesn't say this. Nathan surely knows it. Third time's the charm?

Deep thought, weighty and grim, is present in the eyes of the nation's leader as he stands with his hand clamping upon the Senator's. The hand is shaken firmly. The kind of handshake that seals a deal.

Or someone's fate.

"Welcome aboard."

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