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CHAPTER 109
PRESIDENT KEEGAN BARRETT is in his office in the family quarters of the White House, getting an update from Carlton Pope, his special assistant. No coffee, no pastries, no distractions. Barrett recalls those times back in the military, the Pentagon, and at Langley, when plans that had been prepared and reviewed for months—years, even—were about to be put into place.
There was always a buzz of excitement, of anticipation, of watching the clock wind down until it got to zero hour. Like Shakespeare said, they would cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.
But you had to be careful. As that old buzzard Prussian Marshal Helmuth von Moltke said centuries ago, “No plan survives first contact with the enemy.”
Which is why you have multiple plans and backups.
“Well?” he asks Pope. “Where’s Liam Grey?”
Pope looks uncomfortable. “We don’t know. Our last sighting was when Balantic tried to eliminate him yesterday at that convenience store off the George Washington.”
“Tried,” Barrett says. “You mean he failed, and Liam got away. And wasn’t there a drone following him?”
“Sir, that drone had a limited operating life. The last it wasreporting before its batteries died was that Liam’s vehicle was heading northwest.”
“And his bitch partner, Noa Himel? Another screw-up on your part? ThePostreporter is still alive, and Noa’s still alive. Who the hell are you hiring? The gang that couldn’t body bag straight?”
Pope tenses up. “They are good contract personnel—most from overseas—as good as we could get without facing Immigration questions. Liam will be found. Noa is injured and is at Director Abrams’s house. Give me the word and we’ll go in and get her.”
Barrett says, “Keep your eye on the prize. We can’t afford having a firefight in the middle of Georgetown when we’ve got so much going on. But do what you can to keep her quiet. Has General Peterson confirmed his visit today?”
“Yes, sir, at ten a.m.”
“Good. I’ll want transport prepared for evac to Mount Weather at noon. That should give me plenty of time to be in a secure and safe place once the Chinese realize what’s going on and begin their retaliation. Let’s look to do an address to the nation at one p.m., explain what’s going on.”
“The networks might drag their feet, unless they know exactly what’s going on.”
Barrett says, “When they see the Staten Island Ferry lose control due to some teenager in Shanghai and ram into the USSIntrepid,they’ll let me talk whenever I want to.”
Pope nods. “You’re correct, sir.”
Barrett bristles. “Of course I’m correct. How else did I get here? Anything else I should know about?”
“Not at the moment, sir.”
“Good.” He decides to lighten the tone. “How does it feel to be on the cusp of history?”
“Truthfully? I’ll be glad when this day and this week is over, Mr. President. There’s a lot of balls in the air. I admire your juggling skills keeping them all in motion.”
Barrett says, “Nice job of kissing ass, Carlton. I appreciate the metaphor. But I’m not juggling balls. I’m juggling hand grenades with the pins pulled, with only a short amount of time before I can start tossing them without getting a face full of shrapnel.”
Pope slowly nods. Barrett says, “Remind me again of Balantic, your man killed at the convenience store. Was he TDY from the Agency?”
“No, sir,” Pope says. “A domestic contractor I met in Kosovo. Untraceable. And easily replaceable.”
“Good,” Barrett says. “What I don’t need now is somebody else bitching at me about getting a memorial star carved in Langley’s lobby.”
CHAPTER 110
IN THE BASEMENT of China’s Ministry of State Security’s annex, the smoke is getting thicker and the Chinese official a couple of meters in front of Liam is pulling a pistol out from a rear waistband holster.
No time,Liam thinks, and rotates a few feet. Benjamin Lucas is now blocking, only for a second, and the Chinese official pauses.
Liam grabs his 10mm Glock from a coat pocket and shoots the man twice in the chest.
The alarm continues to screech.
