Page 71 of Enemy of My Enemy

“We will never retreat. We will never cower. We will never run. We will never turn back in the face of terror.” Swallowing, Jack stared up into the briefing room’s lights, letting halos of color dazzle his vision. “The combined forces of the United States, and her ally, Russia, are coming for you. This is a promise.”

He and Sergey arrived back in the Situation Room after their statement and found Ethan waiting in the hallway. He glowered at the floor, his jaw clenched with his hands shoved in his suit pockets.

Jack reached for his elbow. “What is it?”

Ethan couldn’t look up. “Madigan,” he growled. “This is all Madigan’s doing. All of it.”

“Show me,” Jack whispered.

Inside, the national security advisor, Meredith Peterson, and Director Todd Campbell, walked Jack through the evidence. The man in black spoke Arabic with a Sudanese dialect and a North African accent. The camera was a knockoff brand made in Turkey and widely available at street vendors in the Middle East, and especially on routes taken by human smugglers moving from Africa and the Middle East overland to Europe and to Russia. Forensics from Evgeni’s phone showed that the murderer used broken English to communicate with Evgeni in a pattern most closely linked with individuals who learned English as an adult and came from an Afro-Arabian background. Evgeni, who also spoke broken English, probably hadn’t noticed anything was amiss.

From the Persian Gulf to Moscow, Madigan’s prisoners were on the move.

* * *

“I must return to Russia immediately.”Sergey bid his farewells to Jack in the Oval Office as his aides buzzed behind him, speaking in fast Russian into their cell phones.

Sasha stayed glued to Sergey’s side, watching everything and everyone with narrowed eyes. Scott glared back at Sasha, as if having a Russian bodyguard in the White House and so close to Jack was a personal affront to his existence.

“Is there anything we can do?” Jack shook Sergey’s hand. “Anything at all?”

“Find this Madman Madigan,” Sergey growled. “And make him suffer.”

“Done.” They hadn’t managed to capture him so far. But they would. They would. Ethan seemed to be taking the revelation that Madigan had been behind the murder as a personal censure. He hadn’t come up to the Oval Office with them. He’d stayed behind in the Situation Room, not able to look Jack in the eye since he’d met them in the hallway. Ethan’s absence from his side was a physical ache. “We’ll get the bastard.”

“And, would you consider coming to the memorial? I will be giving Mr. Konnikov a state funeral. He is a victim of a terrorist attack, and we honor our fallen heroes in Russia. It would mean much if you would attend.”

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze in the Oval Office. Cell phones stopped buzzing, the chattering of Russian by the glass doors ceased, and even the air Jack breathed seemed to shiver to a halt. It was just him and Sergey, and his request.

And then, time resumed. Scott whipped his head around, staring at Jack. Sasha turned wide, over-bright eyes to Sergey. Irwin and Elizabeth, holding court by the couches and typing on their phones, froze.

Where was Ethan when he needed him? “I would be honored to pay my respects, Sergey. I’ll be there.”

Scott let out a faint wheeze behind Jack, like a popping balloon.

“Blagodarju vas, Mr. President. Thank you. I will see you again soon.”

* * *

“You can’t goto Russia with the president.”

Ethan stared at Scott and Daniels, his friends facing him down on the other side of his desk in the East Wing. Daniels had asked for a minute of his time, and when Scott walked in, his stomach had curled, souring. “What?”

“Youcan’tgo with the president.” Scott stepped forward, his arms crossed. His expression was hard, a stern glare fixed on Ethan. “There’s too much risk right now. Everything is getting crazier by the minute. We have over a hundred real-world threats right here that we have to run down, have to protect you both from, and that was before this attack. And now the president wants to go to the funeral, inRussia?”

“The Secret Service’s job is to keep the president safe—”

“Iknowwhat the damn job is, Ethan! And Iknowyou think you could do this better, but Goddamn it, do you know how difficult you’ve made everything?” Scott blew, shouting at Ethan before turning and running his hands through his hair. “I’ve been running my people into theground. We’re operating two hundred percent over capacity. I’ve got agents sleeping in Horsepower, and they haven’t been home in days. We’re pulling fourteen- to sixteen-hour shifts. It’s fucking nonstop.” He glared at Ethan again. “And the fucked-up thing is, even with all of that, I still don’t feel that you both are fully protected! Not with every fucking crazy thing that is out there right now!”

Silence.

Daniels stared at the carpet, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re asking me,” Ethan began slowly, “tonotbe at Jack’s side while he is at the state funeral for a murdered gay man?”

“I’m not asking. I’mtelling.” Scott held Ethan’s cold stare. “I’m sorry. But we have to put our foot down on this. We’re nearing the breaking point, and if something were to happen to you, or to the president—” Scott’s jaw snapped shut. He shook his head. “Ethan, please,” he said through clenched teeth. “You know what it’s like on this side.”

He did know. Years of battling with presidents and first families, of doing everything he could to ensure their safety and security, even when the first family was determined to be as unsafe as possible. The headaches, the heartburn that came with dealing with recalcitrant, stubborn politicians who thought of the Secret Service as little more than window dressings or accessories. Not being listened to and having to scramble on the back end to cover the security exposures.