“Hancock is through, Ian,” he responded, choosing his words carefully. “His time as president of this country is over.”
Cahill’s face was the picture of surprise. He took a step toward Coftey, his voice lowering despite the fact that they were alone. “I thought you told me everything was settled with the Chief Justice — that you’d spoken with him?”
“I did,” came the even reply. “And then I spoke with him again. Made it clear that he will cast the tie-breaking vote against Hancock. Told him why.”
The chief of staff swore, cutting loose with a string of obscenities. “Why? Are you out of your ever-loving mind, Roy?”
Shifting the shotgun to his left hand, Coftey reached into the pocket of his sporting jacket — handing over a USB thumb drive.
“Earlier this year, Roger Hancock made a deal with the devil. Iranian oil was to flow into the United States markets at discounted prices — enough to make everyone involved look the other way. Enough to not only ease the ‘pain at the pump’, but to provide the economy with a shot in the arm and propel Hancock back into office.”
He looked Cahill in the face, a cold, menacing glance. “Any of this sound familiar, Ian?”
The mask of the street-tough Chicago politician was slipping ever so slightly, something that looked distantly like fear entering Cahill’s eyes. “No, nothing….go on, Roy.”
“In exchange, Hancock promised that when Iran struck at Israel, the United States would stay out of it. Not interfere. And when a CIA spec-ops team got in the way, he sold them out. Operation TALON.”
“Dear God,” the chief of staff breathed, shaking his head. “That can’t be…I mean—”
“Is it all coming back to you?” Coftey demanded, taking a step closer. There was fire in the old soldier’s eyes as he glared at Cahill.
“No…that is, all through the campaign, Hancock acted like he had an ace up his sleeve. All the way up till October, and then it all seemed to fall apart. You remember how it was then, Roy.” He’d never heard the chief of staff like this before — almost plaintive. “But I didn’t know what it was.”
The senator shook his head. “Come on, Ian — don’t give me this ‘I didn’t know’ bullcrap. You’re only the President’s chief of staff…Hancock doesn’t take a dump without you knowing about it. You think I’m new to this town or something?”
Cahill started to say something, then seemed to think better of it, looking up the slope toward Marine One. “You and I both know I’d do a lot of things to win an election, Roy. Lie, cheat, steal — it’s the name of the game and no one plays it better than I do. But I lost a cousin when the towers came down on 9/11. I’d burn in those fires myself before I’d join forces with them…”
Truth? It was hard to say. The strange mixture of cunning and “open” arrogance that was Cahill.
The senator shook his head. “You’re his closest adviser, Ian…or we all thought you were. Are you going to ask me to believe that even as his plans fell apart around him, even as he was in danger of being exposed — he didn’t turn to you?”
“What do you mean?” Cahill demanded, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat.
“Hancock got careless — someone uncovered his role in betraying TALON. And that someone was David Lay.”
The chief of staff sucked in a breath of ice-cold air, shooting him a look. “You’re not suggesting…”
The senator just nodded. “I am. And now Hancock has a choice. He can concede the election and retire to private life. Or I can burn his life down around his ears.”
“The evidence you have here,” Cahill began, looking at the USB drive in his hand. “Will it hold up in court?”
Coftey shook his head. “You and I know it doesn’t have to. Once a politician has been tried and found guilty in the kangaroo court of public opinion…he’s radioactive. You want to wait around for the fallout, Ian?”
There was no response for a long moment as Cahill looked down at the drive, a canny look returning to his eyes as he rolled it between his fingers. “Do me a favor, Roy. Hold off on this — until Hancock takes the oath again. After that…it will be a simple matter for him to step aside and allow the Vice President to finish out his term. And the party holds the White House.”
The Faustian bargain…so tempting. As if sensing his hesitation, Cahill took a step closer. “I’ll see that you don’t regret it, Roy. Do it for the party.”
He’d made hundreds of such deals over his decades in Washington, trading away little pieces of his soul — what was one more?
Coftey lifted his head, staring the president’s chief of staff in the eye. “The devil take the party.”
So familiar. He could remember the last time he had walked these halls. Could remember a time when he had never expected to return.
The elevator doors opened in front of Harry, a bureaucrat emerging from within. They might have been the same age, but he looked much, much younger.
He looked up from the folder in his hands, into Harry’s eyes — looking away almost as quickly. As if frightened by something he had seen in their depths.
Harry moved into the now-empty elevator as if in a trance, leaning back against the side of the elevator as he pressed the button for the seventh floor. The Agency’s inner sanctum.
David Lay hadn’t returned to the CIA…at least not yet. Word had it that the President-elect had asked him to stay on — that he would be back as soon as his wounds had healed.
Wounds. He had seen the director two weeks earlier…at Carol’s funeral. Felt Lay’s eyes on his face as he approached her open casket — the look of reproach more painful than an open accusation.
The feeling that his own heart was being ripped open. The knowledge that he had failed — and lost so much that was dear in the failure. So much of his dreams. She had looked so…perfect lying there. Almost as if she might awaken at any moment.
That wasn’t happening. He’d stood there after everyone had left, the cold Virginia wind whipping at his coat — watching as her casket was lowered into the ground. Watching in silence as they began to fill the grave, each shovelful of earth driving a spike deeper into his heart.
Avenging her death was all that was left to him. He had no idea what he would do after that, no idea where he would go — except back into the field. Back out into the night.
The DCIA’s secretary was behind her desk as he approached. She didn’t smile. It seemed as if no one had smiled since the Christmas Eve attacks.
“The director has been expecting you. Go on in.”
The director? Of course, Harry thought, feeling himself react at the words.
He opened the door and stepped inside, unsurprised to see Kranemeyer’s form behind the desk. His boss had been tapped as the acting DCIA until Lay’s return.
The TV was on in the office, tuned to CNN and broadcasting the presidential inauguration. “I, Richard Norton, do solemnly swear…”
He found his eyes straying to the screen as the oath of office was repeated. “…to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
Kranemeyer snorted, reaching for his remote and the “mute.” “They all say that…politicians and their words. We’ll see if this one means it.”
“I’ve heard intel to indicate that we’ve located Tarik Abdul Muhammad,” Harry interjected, watching as a strange look passed across Kranemeyer’s face. “Is this credible?”
A long pause. “It is…we’ve confirmed both his arrival in London a week ago and his current presence in Leicester. The Security Services have not been able to account for how he arrived in-country — nor have we been able to confirm how he got out of the States.”