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“Sir?”
“I appreciate you stepping in to take control of this situation.”
“Doing my job, sir.”
“I know that Mack Dietrich is your friend. If there was time to have someone else ask him to stand down I would have made that call.”
“He’s a professional soldier, sir. He understands, as do I.”
But there had been one last little hesitation before Zetter said that.
The president took a long drag, considering the implications of that pause. He exhaled slowly.
“Simeon, there’s another matter that you need to be aware of.” He told Zetter about the flash drives believed to be in Billy Trout’s possession.
“That’s a wrinkle,” Zetter said slowly, clearly unhappy with the news.
“It is.”
“Do you want me to iron out that wrinkle?”
“Gently. You have a relationship with the police officer in the school? Desdemona Fox?”
“We spoke. It wasn’t, as you can imagine, a comfortable conversation for either of us.”
“Will she talk to you again?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. Do so, and ask her—and I mean that, Simeon, ask her for the drives.”
“I could send some of my people into the school to have that conversation, Mr. President.”
“In front of eight hundred witnesses? Do you think that’s the best move?”
“No, sir.”
“No,” agreed the president. “If, as you say, the situation is under control, then there is no immediate need to escalate an already tense situation.”
A pause. “Very well, sir.”
“Let’s repair bridges, not burn them.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“Though…” the president said, drawing it out with feigned casualness, “have some people on standby. Just in case. Always good to be prepared for eventualities.”
“I agree, sir.”
“Thank you, General. Keep me apprised.”
And disconnected the call.
He sat in silence, looking through the smoke at the images on the screen, eyes narrowed, brain working, hands still trembling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WHAT THE FINKE THINKS
