Deion started to speak but Valerie shushed him. “Mr. Freeman?”
“I told you, girl, call me Oliver.”
“Oliver? You’re too kind. Thanks for having me in your home.”
The old man chuckled. “It’s nice to have a lady in the house.”
Smith watched from the back seat of his Lincoln as the Gulfstream G550 taxied to the hangar. The door of the plane opened and his daughter, Nancy, stepped out, followed by Eric Wise.
They approached the car and Eric nodded to the Lincoln’s driver, a former Ranger named Robert Growman, then took the front seat while Nancy sat in back, next to him.
“Good morning,” Smith said.
Nancy stared straight ahead. “Father.”
Eric tilted his head, squinted at Nancy, then turned to him. “Fulton.”
Smith smiled at the discomfort in Eric’s voice. Even after two years of grooming, Eric still regarded him as the man who commanded his father during Vietnam, the man who recruited him to the Office of Threat Management. He wondered how long it would take before Eric felt comfortable calling him by his first name. He nodded at Eric, then cleared his throat. “Robert.”
The town car accelerated smoothly and headed northeast, toward the White House. Smith had considered moving the Gulfstream flights from the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport to Andrews Air Force base, but he preferred the public airport’s anonymity.
Still, Robert took a circuitous path through the heavy DC traffic and entered the underground parking lot blocks west of the White House. Robert nodded to the guard who opened the steel gate, allowing them to enter the vault — a reinforced concrete bunker — where they exited and took the automated electric tram to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, across the street from the White House.
As they rode the tram through the gray featureless tunnel, he pointed to the hardened concrete walls. “This was built at the order of Harry Truman, one of my first acts as Director.”
Nancy gave him an odd look while Eric squinted thoughtfully.
I’m repeating myself. The slips were coming faster, and it terrified him. He would have to call Hobert soon and schedule more tests.
They reached the Eisenhower building and exited the tram, then entered the same style man trap that guarded the War Room at Area 51. The doors sealed shut and they spoke their names, then waited as the guard behind the wall of bulletproof glass validated their biometrics.
The guard, a man that Smith hand-picked decades before, nodded to them and the far door hissed open. They walked through another gray tunnel of concrete, under 17th street, then made their way the short distance to the bunker under the West Wing. After keying their badges, the massive door finally trundled opened.
The President of the United States was the lone occupant, and he sat with slumped shoulders at the conference table. He glanced up, and his dark skin did nothing to hide the bags under his eyes. “Smith.”
They entered and the door rumbled shut. “Mr. President,” Smith said. “You remember Nancy and Eric?”
The President’s flickered over them and he nodded. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. What do you want?”
They took seats at the table and Smith handed his metal briefcase to Eric, who opened it with his thumbprint. Eric withdrew a stack of papers and shoved them in front of the President. “We have a situation.”
The President leaned back in his chair. “It’s always a situation. I still don’t believe I’m speaking with you. Your organization goes against everything I hold dear.”
Eric started to speak but Smith raised his hand. “Mr. President,” Smith said, “you know what we do and why we do it. Personal beliefs are… irrelevant.”
The President glanced up, jaw working, then stopped. He sighed, and said, “What you’ve done over the years? It violates not only the constitution, but the people’s trust.”
“That didn’t stop you from authorizing that thing in London last March,” Eric said.
Nancy had sat quietly, but finally spoke up. “Mr. President, the OTM has averted another world war. Numerous times. The men that came before you? They didn’t like it, either. That didn’t stop them from doing their job.” Her pale blue eyes were like tiny chips of ice, but her voice was calm and reasoned.
“You’re right,” the President finally admitted. He picked up his coffee cup with trembling hands and took a sip, then made a face. “My predecessor made it clear to me before the inauguration that no matter my convictions, I would have to make hard choices. He said he would pray for me. I finally understand what he was talking about. What’s the situation?”
Smith nodded. He liked the young man from Illinois, much as he liked the young man from Texas before him, and the man before that, all the way back to Truman. Then he remembered the President from Texas, the man who ignored so much of his advice, the one President he had wanted to throttle with his own hands. No, these young men were likable, which made it all the harder to watch as the weight of the Presidency ground them down — until they barely escaped the office alive. “There’s a possible Empty Quiver.”
The President’s jaw dropped. “A nuclear weapon?”
“A weapon, or perhaps just the material,” Smith said. “North Korean.”
The President opened the folder, flipped through the pages, then carefully closed it. “This came from the operation in Syria?” he asked grimly.
“Yes,” Eric said. “The intercepted emails lead to a man in Nashville. We’ve got a team on their way.”
The President chewed at his lip. “This man in Nashville? What do we know about him?”
“He’s a sheikh,” Nancy said, smoothing her pantsuit.
The President rolled his eyes. “That’s all I need. Half the people hate me because they think I’m a liberal pacifist, and the other half hates me because I haven’t pulled all the troops out of Iraq and Afghanistan. Can’t you turn this over to the FBI or DHS?”
Nancy snorted. “We’d like to prevent a nuclear incident, not start one.”
Smith noticed the man’s entire countenance change, sinking in upon himself, and before he could speak, Eric said, “Sir? We’ll handle this.”
The President turned to each of them, his eyes cautious but hopeful, then nodded. “No matter my reservations about the necessity of your existence, I have the utmost faith in you.”
Smith stood and took the President’s hand, giving the young man his firmest handshake. “It’s an honor, Mr. President.”
Smith kept his eye on Eric and Nancy as Robert drove them back to Reagan International airport. They barely talked, but when they did, it was cordial. Smith listened, until finally asking Eric, “How was Mr. Frist?”
Eric craned his head around to face him. “The technology is amazing. He dropped into the desert, just one man, took out the hostiles, gathered the intel, and exfiltrated before anyone knew he was there.”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “Your pet Frankenstein is amazing.”
“He’s a valuable asset,” Eric said, “and Frankenstein was the doctor. You’re thinking of Frankenstein’s monster. John is no monster. You’ve worked with him. Have you seen any sign, any clue, that he’s anything more than a loyal soldier?”
Smith turned to his daughter. He loved her fiercely. Hobert thought she was a borderline psychopath, that her experiences as a youth had killed any chance for empathy, but in the past two years she had matured. He wanted to believe she was growing, but he was afraid much of it was to impress Eric.