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Dobkin stared at her with an incredulous look. “Wait a minute. Are you saying the bad guys are our guys?”
“Well,” said Michelle, “it’s always been my philosophy that if they’re bad guys they can’t be our guys.”
Dobkin sat back and rubbed his thighs. “Look, I’m just a state trooper. I don’t know anything about stuff like this. I don’t know how the federal side works.”
“Or doesn’t work,” said Sean.
“So what do you want from me?” Dobkin said abruptly.
“We need to make sure if we need another gun you’ll be there.”
“Like you were for me the night Murdock was killed,” said Michelle.
“I don’t mind helping folks out. But the bottom line is I’m a cop. I can’t run around being a vigilante. They’d throw me out of the MSP.”
Sean said, “We’re not asking you to do anything like that. I’m just asking you to step up to the plate in case enemies of this country come to town looking to hurt America.”
“But you said our guys basically are the enemy. And you still haven’t given me any proof of that.”
“Like I said, we’re working on that. But we have limited resources and the other side has no such problem. So we’re here to ask for your help if we need it. And I promise not to ask for it unless we really need it because from what we’ve seen so far, it’s dangerous as hell.”
Dobkin studied the floor. When he looked up he said, “I’m not going to let anybody screw with my country without a fight.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” said Sean.
“Thanks, Eric,” added Michelle. “It means a lot.”
“So do you think you can really pull this off?”
“With a little luck and a little help from some friends,” said Sean.
CHAPTER
63
ELLEN FOSTER WALKED down the hall as though she owned the place, nodding and smiling to people she knew. They all smiled back, for she was a Cabinet secretary and thus was owed substantial deference. While it was true that a person had never gone from being secretary of Homeland Security to the office of the president, there was something in Foster’s demeanor that hinted the woman believed she could be the first.
The Secret Service agent respectfully nodded to her and opened the door. She was not in the Oval Office that was used primarily for ceremonial purposes. She was instead in the president’s working chambers in the West Wing. This was where the real action took place.
The man himself rose to greet her. The only other person in the room was the president’s national security advisor, a bulky man with a perpetual scowl and a twenty-year-old comb-over. They all sat and engaged in some perfunctory pleasantries that none of them gave a damn about. Then they settled down to business. This was a hastily arranged meeting crammed between two others, so Foster knew her time was limited. She got to the point as soon as the president sat back, the cue for her to present her agenda.
“Mr. President. I hoped to be bringing you better news, but I’m sorry to have to inform you that the E-Program matter has become untenable.”
The president slid off his glasses and put them on the desk. He aimed a glance at his national security advisor, whose expression could hardly become any more melancholy. The notepad he was holding quivered slightly in his hands. He put it down on the table next to him and capped his pen. No notes of this.
“Give me the essential details, Ellen,” said the president.
When she finished, the president leaned back in his chair. “This is truly unbelievable.”
“I concur, sir,” said Foster smoothly. “It’s one reason that I kept requesting more control over the E-Program. Because of its limited success, Peter Bunting really has been given a free hand to operate. Oversight measures that would routinely be in place weren’t. It’s far more due to the relevant congressional bodies, Mr. President, than the executive side. But the situation has become fraught with risk for everyone.”
The president’s face flushed. “It’s a nightmare enough that our top analyst is sitting in Cutter’s Rock accused of six murders. I talked to Bunting directly about this. He assured me the situation was under control. That whatever happened with Edgar Roy would not affect the program’s ongoing viability.”
“I can’t speak for Mr. Bunting, of course, sir, but from what I’ve seen the situation could not be more out of control.”
“And now you’re telling me that you suspect Bunting of orchestrating a series of killings, including that of an FBI agent. My God.” He aimed another glance at his advisor, who sat with his hands in his lap but chose not to speak.
“I know it comes as a shock, sir,” said Foster. “As it did to me when I learned about it barely an hour ago. That’s why I requested this meeting. And to make matters even worse, we actually suspect him of involvement in a fifth death.”
