“Can’t believe I missed the rear security clowns. Thatwas sloppy. I guess I deserved the beatdown,” I muttered sheepishly.
“Well, we had you dead to rights for sure, but you were formidable. I will give you that.” She chuckled. “I’ll have yourtiny collection of gunsback here this evening. I assured my boss that we would take good care of you. My ass still has bite marks from the chewing, by the way. You’ve got some mighty powerful friends. Peace?”
She moved closer and once again extended her arm. She had a good handshake.
“Peace.”
Anderson checked a lot of boxes for me: intelligent; funny; gun-toting; tough. Plus she was really pretty, and when she turned around I checked her ass for the bite marks she’d mentioned; it looked perfect, from what I could tell. My teammate Wolf would approve.
I was suddenly tongue-tied. At work, on the job, even during a gunfight, I could talk to women as equals and friends. Out in the regular world, however, I always seemed to be too much or too little—a clueless train wreck, always somehow getting seventeen steps ahead of myself and messing things up before they even started. It was worse than an Achilles heel—I probably needed some kind of romance therapy to cure my Achillesleg.
Just then, Si rounded the corner into the garage holding two cups of joe.
Oh, thank God. Perfect timing.
I introduced the two. “Josiah, this is Special Agent in Charge Rowan Anderson of the United States Secret Service,” I said in my best radio-announcer voice. “She’s the one who arrested me,beat my ass, and stole my guns. She isn’t a very nice person, but she is the reason you now have a summer job.”
Si laughed. “Thank you for beating his ass so that I can have a summer job, ma’am.”
“Hello, Josiah. As you can see, I do like to steal and pillage and get into fights. But as much as I’d like to hang out with you two desperadoes,” she said with a smile and a wink, “I’ve got important work to do.”
“Speaking of desperadoes,” I warned her, “the rest of my crew will be heading up later in the week to create havoc. Be on the lookout for suspicious types.”
She took it like a champ and headed off to do her Secret Service duties.
When Si and I caught each other staring as she left, we laughed self-consciously, clinked our coffee mugs, and headed out to fix my house. The big renovations would start later, but Si seemed as excited as I was to get cracking on them.
We spent most of the day replacing the front door and doing small cosmetic jobs. The kid had a keen work ethic and never once sandbagged it. He was pretty decent with a hammer and surprised me by even knowing the basics of wiring and electricity.
Seeing him in action, I asked how he had acquired such an impressive skill set. It seems the Wilson family was not afraid of hard work.
According to Si, while his parents employed a large staff, they preferred—when possible—to personally handle the maintenance on both their homes.
Young Wilson was also a competitive sailor, fluent in French,and apparently a top-rated squash player. Most of all, he had a desperate need to be part of something meaningful.
We had a good time together, and by the end of the day I had offered him another job: working for me at CSTC until he returned to college. A trip or two over to the sandbox would give him a lifetime of challenge and direction.
I just needed to convince Alan and Constance Wilson that it was a good idea for their baby boy to go to Iraq.
CHAPTER 7
Colorado Governor’s Residence
Denver, Colorado
“You’re twelve goddamn points down, do you hear me?” The veins in Mark Larson’s neck were throbbing as he glared at his wife, Governor Theresa Larson, from across the room. “And if your run for president is finished, then I will be finished with you.”
The Larson machine was not a force to be underestimated. Mark had made sure of that. Plenty of people out there would like nothing better than to take a swing at him. People who would be only too happy to tie him down and make him confess to all the conniving and scheming and shitty things he had done.
His wife included.
Governor Larson silently counted to ten, exhaled audibly, and reached for a cigarette. She continued to stare at him as he paced the room. With each step she pictured smashing his handsome face with the big crystal ashtray on the coffee table in frontof her. But she knew it was too heavy, and that she wasn’t fast enough.
“Twelve points is a steep deficit,” Theresa admitted. “A lot of stars will have to align, but I know it can be done. Senator Harrison is a joke of a candidate, but somehow he’s leading. What’s the force behind him? I know his wife’s family is connected, but that much? I don’t think so.”
Before her husband could interrupt, Theresa continued.
“We know him for what he is: a social-climbing parasite and a philanderer. But the public loves Harrison’s charm and his lifestyle; they consider him the closest thing to American royalty since JFK. And his campaign expertly feeds thatKennedy reduxstory to a willing electorate desperate for another fairy-tale narrative.”
