“And what we do now is wait until we see how this face-to-face meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Castillo comes off, right?”
“Yes, Mr. President. As I read the message, that may take place late this afternoon or early tomorrow morning. We should know the results within an hour or two after that.”
“And you’ll bring me the results as quickly as you brought this message, right?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Well, that’s it, then. Thank you, Madam Secretary. Mulligan, show the secretary to her car.”
Ten seconds after the door closed on Mulligan and Cohen, the President asked, “Robin, how the hell did that stupid woman ever get to be secretary of State?”
“I don’t know, Mr. President,” Robin Hoboken confessed.
“All she had to do was get on the goddamn telephone to General Naylor and read the goddamn message to him. What she’s going to do is send one of her security people down to Tampa with the message. She may even fly him down there in an Air Force jet, just so he can say, ‘Take a quick look at this, General Naylor.’ How much is that going to cost the poor taxpayer?”
Robin Hoboken confessed, “I don’t know exactly, Mr. President. But you can bet a pretty penny.”
“I am surrounded by idiots and cretins, Robin.”
“‘Cretins,’ sir?”
“A cretin is a high-level moron. You didn’t know that?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. But I will from here on.”
“On the other hand, there’s always a silver lining, as Belinda-Sue is always saying.”
“Silver lining, sir?”
“I’ve been thinking out of the box again, Robin.”
“You have, sir?”
“The more I think of this idea of mine of having Castillo look into the piracy and drug problems, the more I like it. Even if Castillo doesn’t come up with something useful — and he even might; strange things happen — if the word gets out that what I’ve done is tell a brilliant intelligence officer to look into the problem and make recommendations, I don’t think that would adversely affect my reelection campaign, do you?”
“You’re going to go on TV, sir? Or hold a press conference and make an announcement?”
“If I held a press conference, not only would it make me look immodest but some bastard would ask me questions I don’t want to answer. Christ, you should know that, you’re the presidential spokesman and nobody believes anything you say either.
“What I’m doing is going to have to reach the American people via the press who are going to discover what I’m doing.”
“How are you going to arrange that?”
“Roscoe J. Danton,” the President said.
“He hates you, sir.”
“Yeah, I know. And everybody knows he hates me. That’s why people will believe him.”
The President looked impatiently around the room.
“Where the hell is Mulligan? He’s never around when I need him. How the hell long does it take to load one pint-sized female into her car?”
“Mr. President,” Robin Hoboken replied thoughtfully, “I would estimate about four minutes — no longer than five, unless Special Agent Mulligan encountered an unexpected problem.”
“Tell me, my fine-feathered friend, when you spent all those years at the Missouri School of Journalism, or later when you were covering women’s lacrosse for Time magazine, did the subject of rhetorical questions ever come up?”
Mr. Hoboken opened his mouth so that he could reply in the affirmative and define “rhetorical question” for the President’s edification. But before a sound slipped out Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan came into the Oval Office.
“Saddle up, Mulligan, it’s Round-Up time,” the President said.
PART V
[ONE]
In the parking garage, Roscoe J. Danton stepped off the elevator and, his heart full of pleasant anticipation for what was shortly to follow, walked briskly toward his automobile.
First, just as soon as he unlocked the door and got in, his nostrils would be assailed by the smell of the fine leather in his new 2007 Jaguar XJR, a present to himself the day after he deposited his million-dollar-after-taxes bonus from the LCBF Corporation. Next, he would have the pleasure of driving this automotive masterpiece on a beautiful spring day across town to the Old Ebbitt Grill, where he would partake of his regular breakfast of Chesapeake Bay eggs Benedict (succulent lumps of blue crab meat in place of the usual leathery Canadian bacon served by lesser establishments) washed down with one — or perhaps two — Bloody Marys.
None of this was to happen.
Just as he was putting the key in the door of his automobile, a familiar voice spoke to him.
“Good morning, Mr. Danton. And how are you, sir, on this fine spring morning?”
Roscoe turned and saw Supervisory Special Agent Robert J. Mulligan of the Secret Service, head of President Clendennen’s security detail.
“What can I do for you, Mulligan?” Roscoe asked.
“Actually, sir, this is a question of what Mr. Robin Hoboken can do for you.”
“Like what, for instance?”
“Mr. Hoboken did not elect to share that with me, Mr. Danton,” the massive Irishman said. “He sent me to offer you a ride to the White House, where he is waiting for you, sir.”
“Please tell Mr. Hoboken that while I appreciate his courtesy, unfortunately my schedule is such…”
Several things then occurred with astonishing rapidity.
Mr. Mulligan raised his hand above his head.
A GMC Yukon Denali with darkened windows suddenly appeared. Two muscular men erupted from it, grabbed Roscoe’s arms, lifted him off the ground, carried him to the Yukon, and deposited him in the backseat.
Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan got in the front seat and the Yukon started off.
“What the hell is going on here?” Roscoe demanded.
“Actually, Mr. Danton, it’s the President who wants to see you. I didn’t want to say that where there was a chance I might be overheard.”
[TWO]
“Good morning, Roscoe,” President Clendennen said cordially. “I really appreciate your coming here on such short notice.” Then he ordered, “Put Mr. Danton down, fellas, get him a cup of coffee, and then get the hell out.”
The Secret Service agents carried Roscoe to an armchair and dropped him into it. Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan held open the door as they left, then closed it after them, and crossed his arms as he leaned on it.
“I hope you didn’t have to interrupt anything important to come here, Roscoe,” the President said. “The thing is, Robin and I had what we think is a splendid idea, and we wanted to share it with you as soon as possible.”
Hoboken said: “I’m sure you remember asking me, Roscoe, if the President — you referred to him as ‘the leader of the free world’—had given me ‘anything else about his out-of-the-box thinking about his unrelenting wars against the drug trade and piracy, to be slipped to you when no one else was looking.’”