AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There was a knock on the door. A second later, the door opened, and Special Agent Warch entered the room with a troubled look on his face. The president spun around in his chair and looked up at the man who was in charge of his safety.
“What is it, Jack?”
“Mr. President, I’m afraid I have some bad news. I just received a call from the head of Secretary Midleton’s detail.” Warch hesitated for a moment, not sure how to continue. “The secretary was just found dead in his home. It appears it was a suicide, sir.”
THE FIRE CRACKLED and popped as red-hot embers jumped from the logs. Hank Clark watched with a relaxed intensity from his favorite chair. All of the lights were off in the study. It was just the dancing flames of the fire, his large glass of expensive wine, and Caesar and Brutus, who lay one on each side of the leather chair. Clark was content. Things had not turned out exactly as he’d planned, but there was still time. He looked at it as just one battle in a very long war. As he took a sip of wine, he had to allow himself a smile over the fate of Charles Midleton.
When Clark had gone to Stansfield and the president, he did not think the end result would be the resignation of the secretary of state. Clark’s mission was simply to throw them off in case they eventually made the connection between him and Peter Cameron. Clark’s cover was already in place. Cameron was a paid consultant for both the House and the Senate Intelligence committees. Now, after Clark had offered his full support of Kennedy in her upcoming nomination, the president would think of him as a trusted ally.
It was a very pleasurable experience watching the Democrats cannibalize each other, especially since it was the Republicans who were usually busy eating their own. It had really been too easy to spin out of the potential disaster. Al Rudin had always been simple to manipulate, but now he was also seeing some weaknesses in President Hayes—weaknesses that had not always been there. Clark had heard rumors after the terrorist attack on the White House that the president had grown more edgy, less tolerant of dissension and petty party squabbling. Now he was seeing it first-hand. Secretary of State Midleton was everything the president said he was and then some, but to force him to resign over this seemed a bit much.
Clark had met with Rudin in one of the Committee’s bug-proof briefing rooms earlier in the afternoon. Rudin had whined incessantly for an hour and at one point had attempted to find out if the president had found out about their meeting from Clark. Clark acted as if the accusation barely deserved a response and then launched into a lecture about how Rudin had been continually underestimating Thomas Stansfield for the better part of twenty years. Clark pushed Rudin’s p
aranoia further by asking him, “Why do you think I insist on all of our conversations taking place here, in my own secure briefing room?” The ploy worked. By the time their meeting was over, Rudin was convinced that the CIA had him under surveillance. Clark knew that Stansfield was far too shrewd a man ever to do something so foolish as to put the chairman of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence under surveillance, but it worked on Rudin. Again, the man continued to underestimate his enemies.
Clark had to allow himself a moment of self-congratulation. The way he had manipulated his way out of a potential disaster was brilliant. It was too bad he wouldn’t be able to share his role in the secretary of state’s resignation with his party’s leadership. Someday he might be able to boast, but for now he needed to keep things quiet. He must lie in wait until this storm blew over.
Clark didn’t fear many people, but he most definitely feared Thomas Stansfield. The man’s intellect and ability to see through deception was amazing. Clark knew that he could not have pulled this off if it wasn’t for Stansfield’s decaying health. The director of the CIA would have seen right through what he was doing.
Clark would have to make a strong effort to cozy up to Dr. Kennedy and gain her confidence. She would need his help in the coming months. The political battle over her confirmation would be very draining, and she would need an ally on the Hill.
As for Mitch Rapp, Clark wasn’t entirely sure. If there was a storm out there on the horizon, he was the lightning waiting to strike. If Cameron had only succeeded in Germany, none of this would be an issue. Rapp would be dead, and the town would be gearing up for one of the biggest investigations in the history of the Congress. The president would be suffering death by a thousand cuts, and Hank Clark would be in the perfect position to launch his bid for the Oval Office. Instead, Rapp was alive, Cameron was dead, and there was no investigation. Clark would have to find a replacement for Cameron. There were several who came to mind, but he doubted any of them could handle Rapp.
Clark took a sip of wine and looked into the fire, searching for a way to deal with Rapp. He’d been staring into the bright flames for minutes when Brutus let out a yawn. The golden retriever lifted his head and stared at his master with his big brown eyes. Clark smiled and held his glass up in a toast to Brutus Marcus Junius. Keep your enemies close, the senator told himself. Clark finished his glass of wine and decided he would have to make arrangements to meet this Mitch Rapp.
The dogs grumbled at first, and then, when the doorbell rang, they let loose with the barks. Clark had them calmed down by the time his very important visitor was shown into the study. Jonathan Brown, the deputy director of the CIA, walked stiffly across the room. Clark deduced by the sour expression on the former judge’s face that something was bothering him.
Brown, still in a suit and tie, sat on the couch across from Clark. Wringing his hands as if he were Macbeth himself, Brown studied Clark’s face for a sign of guilt. He saw nothing, but that meant little. During his years as a federal prosecutor and judge, Brown had seen the guiltiest of people sit like angels through their trials, all the time maintaining their innocence. Brown doubted that Clark would have much difficulty in masking his emotions.
Clark looked at his man and wondered what was wrong. It was Clark who had called this meeting. He did so in order to explain to Brown why he had agreed with the president to back Kennedy’s nomination. If Brown had already learned of the deal, it might explain his sour mood. “What’s bothering you, Jonathan?”
Brown was tempted to lay down a withering line of questions in search of the truth, but he knew Clark wouldn’t tolerate more than two or three. After that, the senator was likely to remind him that if he’d like to leave with his balls still attached to his body, he’d better mind his manners. That had happened once before, and Brown was still smarting from it. “Have you talked to Secretary Midleton this evening?” Brown looked for the slightest sign of guilt. There was nothing.
“No, I haven’t, but I heard about his meeting with the president this morning.” Clark set his empty wine glass down. “Midleton is to announce his resignation in the morning.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
Clark took his feet off the foot stool and sat forward, a look of genuine concern on his face. “What do you mean, it’s not going to happen?”
“You honestly don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
Brown couldn’t decide if Clark’s reaction thus far was real or fake. He decided he would probably never know for sure, so he said, “Secretary Midleton is dead.”
“What?” asked a shocked Clark.
Brown kept his eyes on the man who owned him. “He’s dead.”
“How?”
“It appears to be a suicide, but one never really knows in this town, does one?” Brown sat back and crossed his legs. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”
The tone in Brown’s voice was not lost on the senator. Clark studied Brown for a long moment and then said, “Charles Midleton was an inherently weak man. Everything he got in life was given to him. It doesn’t surprise me that he would take his life rather than fight. As to your implication that I might have had something to do with his death, my answer is no, I held no ill will against the man. His career was officially ended this morning when the president asked for his resignation. There was no need for me to do something so risky.”
“So you think it was a simple suicide?”
“That would be my guess, but as you’ve already said, one never knows in this town.”
