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Barrett says, “I’ve thought it through. And have had in-depth discussions with the secretary of the treasury and my council of economic advisers, and I’m assured that we will be able to ride out the Chinese response with minimal impacts.”
He waits a moment, then says, “I’m taking on this heavy responsibility, Colonel Yankins. The Chinese government takes the long view, planning ahead fifty years or a century. We act now, before they are in a position to cripple us, we can knock them down for a hundred years, letting those who succeed me have opportunities and chances to make sure they never threaten us again.”
The colonel’s voice is quiet. “I see, sir. But it seems the Chinese are already on the move.”
Barrett says, “They are always on the move against our nation. In attacking the United States, they are attacking me, personally. And I won’t let that stand. The American people elected me to keep them safe. I will do anything and everything to make that happen.”
CHAPTER 124
CARLTON POPE IS walking back to his office, feeling tingly, excited, looking forward to the events later this day. For years he’s been treated like crap, from reform school to the Army, until that day in Kosovo when he was in serious hack, and the former Army officer back there had saved him. From that moment Pope had worked tirelessly for Barrett Keegan, following his orders, following that man’s dreams, and spilling lots of blood in the process.
One of his burner phones starts vibrating in his suit jacket pocket and as he goes into his office—usually the one closest to the Oval Office is reserved for the chief of staff, but not in this administration—he closes the door behind him and answers the phone.
“Pope.”
It sounds like the caller is outside. “This is Morgan. Metro Police.”
“Yeah?”
“Your target is mobile. Said she was heading to work.”
Good,Pope thinks. If she’s at Langley she can be ignored, allies of Barrett can screw up her communications, and she can be kept occupied with memos to be signed, reports to be read, meetings that need to be attended.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
Morgan says, “Do you want me to go on, or keep on cutting me off?”
“What?”
“She told my idiot lieutenant that she was going to Langley. She’s not going to Langley, or any other place in Virginia. I’m following her right now.”
Pope says, “Where is she headed?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “But I’ve got a guess.”
“Tell me.”
The Metro cop on his payroll says, “Pennsylvania Avenue. Looks like she’s going to visit your boss.”
Shit.
“Do what you can to stop her or delay her,” Pope says.
He disconnects the call, pacing around his office twice, squeezing the burner phone hard.
That damn woman.
If only the bitch had waited her turn for her confirmation, this wouldn’t be happening.
Instead, she had to bully Senate Majority Leader Cleveland Hogan and get her sneaky ass into Langley, where she started poking around in programs and people better left alone.
Now what?
Time to settle it.
He takes out another burner phone, scrolls through his contacts, until he finds another one of his unofficial supporters out here in the District of Columbia, stationed at various office buildings and hotels, kept on a monthly retainer for moments just like this.
And true believers like him and the president.
