He nearly collapsed when he reached their row and saw her kneeling beside her backpack at the foot of her seat. She’d finished one Lemony Snicket book and, being too small to reach her bag, she’d unbuckled her seat belt and climbed down on the floor to get another from her backpack. It had been impossible for Quinn to see her until he was right on top of their row.
He ignored the glares of surrounding passengers when he not only snubbed his own nose at the seat belt sign, but told his daughter to get up and accompany him to the back of the plane.
“Bring your book,” he snapped, a little more harshly than he should have.
Mattie followed without a word.
Though Quinn had been deployed or absent on assignment through fully half of Mattie’s short life, she was smart enough to know when the time for joking was over. She walked obediently behind him, sensing somehow, even at this tender age, that there were things more important than seat belt signs.
Quinn got her situated on the couch along the wall nearest Natalie the guard. Carly was still on the phone with the cockpit. She passed the handset to Quinn.
“What was that all about?” the captain snapped. “I’m in the middle of telling you about a murder and you walk away?”
“Captain…” Quinn took a slow breath. “I’m not willing to leave my daughter unattended when there’s a killer free on the plane.”
“Right,” the captain said. “I understand. Look, I have to be honest with you. The FBI will be pretty upset that I’m breaking protocol and having someone else investigate this murder before we get back. But, as you said, I’m not happy about a killer running around on my airplane. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a professional pair of eyes on the body. Maybe there’s some clue that will lead us to the killer right away. I’d come out and give it a look myself, but after something like this, I can’t even crack the door until we land.”
“OSI doesn’t pull lead on homicide investigations,” Quinn said. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Very well,” Captain Rob said. “I’m not too keen on landing in Russia with a dead body on board. Take a look and get back with me quickly. I’ve got some decisions to make and I got about fifteen minutes to make them.”
“Roger that,” Quinn said. He was at once worried over Mattie’s safety and excited at the prospect of the hunt.
“It… I mean he’s around the corner,” Carly said. She nodded at the stairwell that curved upward in a slow arc to the second level. A pool of yellow light washed down the polished teak, spilling onto the maroon Berber carpet of the lounge. “Your daughter can sit right here at the bottom without seeing too much. You should be able to keep an eye on her and still see what you need to see. I’ll help you watch her.”
“Thank you.” Quinn nodded. “That will work.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t think about the danger before,” Carly said. “It was pretty stupid of me to leave her sitting there by herself, considering.”
“No worries,” Quinn said, pausing as Carly moved the rope barrier to one side. “Tell me, what was it really that made you think I was a cop?”
“You remind me of my dad,” she said, holding out her hand to motion him in.
“Your dad was in law enforcement?”
“No,” she laughed. “He was a news correspondent for the wire services. We lived all over the world. Anyway, he had a laminated saying on his computer that was something like: ‘Every man is sometimes tempted to cut throats,’ or something like that.”
Quinn smiled in spite of the dead body ten feet away. “It’s a Mencken quote,” he said. “He was a journalist like your father. ‘Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.’ ”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Carly said. “When I first saw you, that’s what came to mind.”
Chapter 48
President Hartman Drake leaned back in his chair with a phone pressed to one ear. His bowtie was crooked. His face was still flushed from his recent workout, which, McKeon knew, included a certain amount of exertion with Barbara Wong. The attractive Navy ensign was the only female in the room and now stood at the end of the desk with a second handset, acting as interpreter. President Chen spoke excellent English and she was only there in the event the conversation reached a more nuanced level. Both countries, after all, had the means, and lately the will, to see each other reduced to glowing piles of ash.
The President nibbled White House M&Ms as he spoke, snatching little handfuls from the bowl on his desk and dropping them into his mouth during the conversation. McKeon could not help but think that for someone who was so concerned about his physique, the man ate a great many M&Ms. President Chen Min of the People’s Republic of China was on the other end of the line and must have heard the crunching.
McKeon stood behind the President, arms folded, looking out the window. David Crosby, Drake’s chief of staff, stood by the main door, his body obscuring the view of the peephole the President’s secretary — and anyone else who happened to be standing beside her desk — used to check on the status of meetings in the Oval Office. Two admirals and five generals — with more stars among them than two colonial flags — crowded onto the small spot of carpet between the sofas and the President’s desk. Secretaries Watchel and Filson were on opposite sides of the situation and the room. Apart from the President, no one sat.
“…I’m sure you do, Mr. President,” Drake said around a mouthful of red, white, and blue M&Ms. “But it would be helpful to take a little more of a worldview on this. I… No, I completely understand…. It saddens me that you feel that way… No, I have made my decision.”
Drake hung up the phone and grabbed another handful of candy.
“He’s pretty pissed,” Drake said. “Gave me a rant about our relationship with what he called the ‘illegal government of Taiwan’ and our treaties with Japan over the Senkaku Islands. A lot of saber rattling, but that’s it so far.”
A buzz ran between the military leaders. Filson gave a bellicose nod and Watchel bit his tongue to keep from saying “I told you so.” McKeon had hoped, but not expected this would push China over the edge. The more independent leaders who’d taken over after Mao might have fired a missile directly after hanging up the phone. They had been able to command, where the current leader had to consult. McKeon understood the realities and planned for them.
“Andrew,” the President said to Secretary of Defense Filson. “Have your guys monitor the situations in the South China Sea as well as Japan…. Hell, just keep an eye on China.” He turned to the Secretary of State. “Tom, get in touch with our embassy in Islamabad and let’s get these Uyghur sons a bitches back in a Pakistani prison where they belong.”
Crosby stepped up and whispered something in the president’s ear. He was a pasty man who looked as though the pressures of the job were eating him alive — but he’d been the keeper of Drake’s dirty laundry since his time in the House. There was really no one else who could do it.
Drake took a deep breath. “Seems I am needed in the Roosevelt Room.”
Wong’s eyes flashed momentarily toward the president, looking, no doubt, for some sign of appreciation for their earlier time in the gym. When he gave her none, she tucked the white dress cap under her arm and squared her shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Thank you…” Drake consulted the name tag on her uniform. “Ensign Wong.”