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“He didn’t have friends. He didn’t have romantic partners. His supervisors said he was a handful. Obstinate, opinionated, convinced he was right. The problem is, he was. Every time. He had no friends in the Agency, but no one could afford to get rid of him.”
“You ever have a run-in with him?”
“I knew how to manage his personality.”
“And how is that?”
“I gave him all the rope he wanted. I figured he would either hang himself or bring me a masterpiece. He brought me a masterpiece.”
“Do you have any idea where Clint is right now?”
Liu shakes his head. “I checked the Chinatown annex as soon as I heard about the president’s crash. It’s untouched. Clint and I were both there yesterday morning preparing for the president’s briefing. We downloaded the intel to a secure hard drive and purged the data from all systems. We shut down the annex.”
My teeth grind. My head is throbbing. Not knowing what Brennan was being briefed on is shredding my last nerve. “What happened to that hard drive?”
“I personally drove it to my office. It’s locked in my safe.”
The CIA director’s office is one of the most secure locations in the world. More secure, even, than the Oval Office. It’s private, buried at Langley, behind impenetrable walls of security. The Secret Service has to protect the world’s most powerful man all the way out in public. We don’t get to hide.
Sheridan finishes with the PlayStation and tosses the controller onto the beanbag. He storms out of the cramped living room, trash scattering in his wake. He slides a dark glare toward Liu before disappearing into Clint’s bedroom.
“Yours is the only copy of the brief? Or of the raw source intelligence backing it up?”
“It is.”
“Why can’t we go to the Chinatown annex? What’s there?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing left. You’re welcome to the place. You won’t find anything. It’s four walls and an extension cord now. Clint cleaned everything out after I took the hard drive and data.”
“And you don’t think he made a copy of the brief? Took off with his laptop and sold out to the highest bidder? The CIA has had the most traitors of any agency in the government.” I’m being an asshole. I don’t care.
“No,” Liu growls. “I don’t.”
“Sir, you gotta see this.” Sheridan’s call cuts off my next question.
He’s tearing apart Clint’s bedroom, and he’s flipped Clint’s mattress. On the bottom, the center is hollowed out, fabric and foam ripped away to create an inverted crater. Chunks dangle from the ragged edges. And on the floor, where the carved-out space was, sits a stack of books.
The New World Order. Exposing the Truth. The Real Government in Shadows. Who Really Pulls the Strings? Freedom Isn’t Free. YOU Need to FIGHT for the WORLD YOU WANT.
This is the kind of library we find when we raid the homes of whack-jobs who think governments are controlled by a global conspiracy and everything that happens is directed by a cabal of evildoers. Usually there are aliens in the mix, too. The current president is always the bad guy, so the Service has to keep on top of their propaganda. Occasionally, the rhetoric turns into action, and that’s when we get involved.
Clint’s books are well-thumbed, with dog-eared pages and highlighter marks. I flip through the pages of one, scanning—
A picture of Brennan flutters to the floor.
He’s striding across the South Lawn, Marine One in the background, and waving at the camera, his smile as big and bright as the sun.The sky is uninterrupted cobalt, not a cloud for miles, and the grass is an emerald carpet. The Washington Monument rises beyond the burbling fountain, offset by wine-dark roses in full bloom.
I remember this day. It was September, one of the last days of summer, and Brennan had waited for me at the White House for hours. When I’d finally arrived, I broke his heart so badly I thought it would never heal.
“He’s written something.” Sheridan takes the photo from me and flips it over.
Against all enemies, foreign and domestic—President Walker!is scrawled on the back. Domestic is circled violently and underlined three times.
Liu followed me into Clint’s bedroom, and now he’s beside me, ashen as he reads Clint’s words.
“So, Director, do you still think Clint is worthy of your trust?”
The fear in his eyes tells me he isn’t. Not anymore.
