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“Says who?” Gwen asks. “Stop making shit up, Shania.”
Her press secretary looks mournful. “I’m not making it up. I’m reading it on CNN.”
CHAPTER 30
WASHINGTON, DC
A WEEK AFTER his swim in the Caribbean, Liam Grey is back to meet with President Keegan Barrett and Noa Himel, but instead of being in the White House’s family quarters, they are in a penthouse suite at the Hay-Adams Hotel, within walking distance of the Oval Office.
Which is not typical, but which is also not unusual for this president. “With the world’s best communications equipment at my fingerprints,” he once told a columnist for theWashington Post,“why should I stay stuck in a two-century-old house?”
The suite is two large rooms, with an adjoining bedroom and a sitting room that they’re occupying, with couches, coffee table, plush chairs, kitchen area, and large-screen television.
Noa says, “You’ve gotten some sun.”
“Yeah, but the trick is to goop up enough so you don’t burn and peel. How about you? Go any place interesting?”
Noa says, “Interesting is where you find it.”
Liam stifles a yawn.
“Lots of travel?” Noa asks.
“Some. You?”
Noa says, “You know the setup, it’s all domestic. Just stayed in the good old States.”
They wait.
Liam is sensing something from Noa, an unease, something making her uncomfortable, out of sorts. “You look like you’ve just come back from the dentist,” he says. “What’s up? And I don’t mean a rejected expense account or a poor Performance Appraisal Report.”
“Liam …”
“Come on, Noa,” he says. “We’re on the same team, just different squads. Something’s bothering you.”
She pauses, and says, “The other night I was in a CIA officer’s home. A stupid schlump who should have been cut loose years back. And I threatened him until he agreed to confess all and resign. It was a good job … but I felt like taking a long shower afterward.”
“The job was done,” Liam says. “One given to you by the president. That’s all that counts.”
“No, that’s not all that counts,” Noa says. “Who or what’s driving the job is what counts. Just before I left, this officer told me that when Barrett was Agency director, that he tried and failed to get rid of him. My mission, then. Something for the national interest, or Barrett getting his long-desired revenge? And you? What’s your time been like?”
Liam smiles. “I was on an exotic Caribbean locale, sipping frozen drinks, talking to four amazing Venezuelan young ladies in bathing suits.”
“What a burden.”
“Yeah, and a while later, I saw a nearby house being rented by Hezbollah tourists suddenly collapse from poor building materials and a modified Hellfire missile, but mostly from a modified Hellfire missile. Awful sight, but you know what? No second thoughts.”
“They’ll come eventually,” Noa says.
“What? Another operation?”
“No,” Noa says. “Second thoughts.”
“None from me, Noa,” he says, crossing his arms. “We got ahunting license, we have all the resources we need, and we have POTUS on our side. What’s to worry?”
Liam hears the doorknob turn. Noa says, “You know what they call dedicated CIA officers working on the edge, when they think they have foolproof protection?”
“Tell me.”