Page 148 of Enemy of My Enemy

“Lawrence Irwin.” Irwin’s gruff voice answered after the third ring. He sounded tired, like he’d just woken up.

“Where’s Jack? Is he all right? Is he okay?”

“Ethan? Jack’s at the White House. He’s asleep by now.”

God, not next to her. Please, not next to her!“Get there. Get him out. Get him to safety.”

“What did you find?”

“You’re right. It’s a trap. Madigan. Cloned her.” He spoke between deep breaths, and he reached for a water bottle, unscrewing the cap with his teeth and upending it in his mouth. “She’s not the real Leslie. Leslie is—” His throat closed, and he remembered the look on Jack’s face, the devastated, anguished, hopeful look when he gazed at what he thought was his wife. “The real Leslie Spiers is dead. All the ghosts are dead. These are clones. She’s got all of Leslie’s memories scrapped from the Internet inside her brain. Some kind of programming.” He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness crashed through him and he fell back against the seats with a curse.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Irwin was scrambling on his end. Ethan heard doors opening and slamming, the sounds of clothes being thrown on as Irwin grunted. “Are you all right? You sound awful.”

“Found the tanker. Ran into Cook. He sank the ship with me inside it.”

“Did you kill him?”

Ethan closed his eyes. “He got away.”

Cook’s voice slammed into him, running through his memories.You have no idea how deep this goes. How many of us there are.

“Irwin, be careful. Cook said some things. Everything, this whole thing… It’s bigger than we know. Be careful.”

“You too, Ethan. I’m going to the White House. Get to safety. Take care of yourself. I’ll call you soon.”

“Tell him—” Ethan’s throat clenched. He sighed. “Just keep Jack safe for me.”

“I will.”

* * *

Chapter 48

White House

“Mr. President!”

Wood splintered, Jack’s bedroom door breaking open. Flashlights bobbed, their beams cutting through the black of the bedroom. Welby marched in, flanked by Caldwell, their weapons raised and ready to fire.

Jack stared at the agents, eyes wide, frozen in place on the bed. His fingers clenched the bedspread beneath him, digging into the blue fabric. He’d lain down on the bed for the first time that night, on Ethan’s side, clutching Ethan’s pillow to his chest. He was still dressed, still in his suit pants and Ethan’s sweatshirt. “What’s going on?”

“You need to come with us, Mr. President.Right now.” Welby beckoned him to the door, his weapon drawn and up.

Screaming sounded down the hall, Leslie’s voice rising and shouting.

“What the hell—” Jack was on his feet in a moment, heading for the door.

Welby stopped him, a hand hard on his chest. “Mr. President. This is for your protection. Irwin is waiting for you downstairs.”

Leslie’s screams rose again. “Jack! Jack! Help me!”

“What’s happening?” Jack pushed past Welby. “My protection? What are you talking about?”

Down the hall, Leslie was being dragged out of her bedroom. Two agents had her by the arms. Others flanked them with their weapons drawn.

“Jack!” Leslie saw him, and she jerked, trying to break free. “Jack! Help me! Please!”

Welby grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Mr. President, she’s a threat.”