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“That simpleton? Of course not … it will have to be someone the president knows and respects. An American. A friend of ours.”
Another satisfying drag as he thinks through the options. “Dale Loomis. From Boston. The former congressman who set up those software companies and trading firms. He does a lot of business with us, and elsewhere in the Pacific. He was also an early supporter of President Barrett, did a lot of fundraising for him. Just the man to talk to the president and quietly ask him what the hell is going on. Before our generals get permission to sink an American warship near the Spratly Islands in retaliation.”
“Do you think he’ll do it?”
Dejiang says, “The Industrial & Commercial Bank of China and the China Construction Bank both have him by the balls. He’s overextended in China and elsewhere. He’ll do it or we’ll bankrupt him by this time tomorrow. Make it happen.”
Zheng stands up. “Absolutely, sir. But the matter in South Africa …”
Dejiang waves a hand. “That’s a powerful instrument, only to be used at the right time. Now’s not that time.”
CHAPTER 61
LIAM GREY IS walking to his condo in the Southwest Waterfront section of DC, near where he grew up, having taken nearly an hour to get here after driving a circuitous route to get to a near lot and taking several stops on the Metro, finally getting off at the aptly named Waterfront Station. The night is pleasant and lots of residents are out and about, going to the bars, bistros, and restaurants in this up-and-coming neighborhood.
Yet Liam feels more exposed, more at risk, than at any time in his military or CIA career. During those dangerous times, at least he had support, backup, from fellow soldiers or operators in the field, or the full might and fury of any nearby Air Force or Army assets.
Not tonight.
He is utterly alone.
He sits on a park bench that’s up against the concrete wall of a building next to his, spending a few minutes surveilling the sidewalk traffic.
A line from a great movie about CIA operatives comes to mind:
“Whenever there is any doubt, there is no doubt.”
In other words, trust your gut.
Maybe the DC detective was right.
Maybe Doc was caught up in a robbery gone bad, ending with a bullet to the head.
This is the unfortunate way of life in the District of Columbia.
But Liam’s gut tells him otherwise.
Doc being shot down in the street right after his phone call to Liam, saying he was ready to come forward about what he knows about the president’s mental state?
No.
Either the president or someone in his employ ordered the hit.
And are he and Noa the only ones POTUS selected for illegal activities?
Stupid assumption.
Barrett has lots of allies still working in the DoD and the CIA.
Who else is out there, working in the shadows?
He gets up and quickly walks to the entrance of his condo unit. He flashes his keycard to the electronic lock and after the satisfyingbuzz,opens the door and walks into the small lobby.
It has a tile floor, two chairs, a short hallway to the left and two elevator banks, and, most important, a semicircular desk where there’s a doorperson, 24/7.
On duty at this hour is Belinda Roper, a Black woman who’s a retired Navy chief petty officer with a ready smile, a sharp tongue, and a sawed-off baseball bat under the counter. She’s wearing black trousers and a light-tan uniform shirt.
Liam goes up to her and says, “How’s it going tonight?”