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He enjoys holding Lin’s hand and seeing the lake view with its distant woods and peaks and hearing the loons out there. A longway away from the consulate annex basement. He’s doing his best to forget his time in South Africa.
Lin says, “My former employer has a long reach and a longer memory. I’m sure they’re looking for me. When that time comes—”
Benjamin quickly says, “I’ll protect you.”
“You interrupted me,” she says. “I was going to say that I will protect you.”
He waits for a moment. “How about we agree to protect each other?”
“Deal,” Lin says.
CHAPTER 152
IN HIS SMALL guest suite at the Blair House—within walking distance of his previous home—former President Keegan Barrett is listening to his lawyer, Hiram Gloucester, a defense expert from an old-fashioned white shoe law firm in Boston. He’s his third lawyer in as many weeks, since he fired the previous two for not showing the proper enthusiasm in defending him.
Hiram’s a large man, with a tailored gray pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt with French cuffs, and a Harvard necktie. His hair is snowy white and his skin is deeply tanned. He shakes his head as he gathers his latest notes together and places them in his briefcase.
“Mr. President, I can’t—and won’t—sugarcoat the legal difficulties you are facing,” he says, in a fluid voice that’s familiar to millions of viewers on CNN and MSNBC. “The FBI investigation into the alleged financial improprieties against Speaker Washington has revealed a number of criminal forgeries connected to your administration. Speaker Washington has been cleared of these accusations. Your former special assistant, Carlton Pope, has had his fingers into many areas of malfeasance, including hiring private contractors, or mercenaries, to perform illegal acts. Possibly even murder. He is currently in custody of US Marshals, pending his arraignment.”
Hiram snaps his briefcase closed. “There is also evidence of you misusing government funds and agencies for your personal use, and I expect hearings on this matter to start in Congress later this summer. Trust me, they will be bipartisan and they will be thorough.”
Barrett thinks,Is this how the gods punish one who rises above the mundane, to protect the country and people he loves?
“I expect that,” he says.
“Well, prepare yourself for more bad news.”
“What’s that?”
“The FBI investigation into the VR headset that poisoned the vice president,” he says. “The company that makes those headsets … not only do they get secret financing from a Chinese company, two members of its board of directors were campaign bundlers who worked very hard to get you elected.”
Barrett just stares at the high-priced lawyer sitting before him. He is a guest in the Blair House for as long as he wants, but he knows if he decides to move somewhere else, the FBI will ask him not to leave. It’s a very gentlemanly form of house arrest before any charges get formally filed.
Hiram looks embarrassed at what comes next. “As incredible as it might sound, I’m hearing whispers that the FBI and CIA are looking into whether those two board members worked with Chinese intelligence to set up that VR helmet. And whether you had, um, previous knowledge of same. Or involvement.”
Barrett closes his eyes for a moment. So close, so very very close he had come to winning his dreams, fulfilling his destiny.
“Now what?” he asks.
Hiram stands up. “We have to look at a temporary insanity defense, Mr. President. That because of your lifestyle as one dedicated to the United States, who worked every day in challenging circumstances, from the military to defense to the CIA, Congress, and the White House … that you eventually snapped. I’m sure I can get afair number of prominent psychiatrists to testify on your behalf. That your mental abilities weren’t at full capacity during your term as president.”
Barrett’s voice is just above a disbelieved whisper. “Temporary insanity?”
A firm nod. “Mr. President, I don’t see any other avenue available to us. I know it sounds distressing, but as your attorney, I advise you that an insanity defense will be our least worst option.”
He heads out of the suite. “I’ll be back tomorrow, sir. Nine a.m.”
Barrett doesn’t say a word as the door closes.
Alone, he thinks over what his attorney has just said.
Insane?
He gets up, stumbles into his desk as he goes to the other suite. It has stacks of cardboard boxes of his personal belongings and clothing that left with him that horrid day, when he realized that not only had the presidency slipped from his grasp, but his yearslong plan to take on America’s most prominent enemy and secure freedom and safety for his people was gone as well.
Insane.
The newspaper stories, the cable broadcasts, the books upon books written in the future, about him, all saying the same thing, that he was unstable, a paranoid, delusional.