Page 32 of The Presidents Shadow

MY PERSONAL AND private cell phone is restricted to only the most confidential and approved-for-clearance messages.

That means that the phone is mostly for urgent communications from Margo, Hawkeye, Jericho, Burbank, or Tapper. Yes, the occasional world government sources will reach out to me on it—and whoever that caller might be is still identified by caller ID.

I’m still reeling from Jericho’s surprise return from the dead, and the few times that he has called me on my cell since then, I’ve been overwhelmed with renewed joy.

He was able to escape the building in Kyoto before it collapsed but had been so overwhelmed by the destruction and need of the people there that he considered it his duty to stay and help where he could.

That accomplished, he’d come home as quickly as possible, not wanting to delay his return even long enough to give us some forewarning.

But it’s not Jericho calling this time.

The phone buzzes, and the caller ID flashes a group of letters and numbers that completely confuses me. 744ADS455. I’ve never seen this combination before, and I’m very reluctant to connect. I press the Decline button.

Within seconds the phone buzzes again. Damnit.

I know it could be risky, but I also know that anyone who has this number likely has a very good reason for using it. Before I answer, I click to allow for video calling and see a harmless-looking young man staring at his own screen.

I say, “To proceed with this call, please identify yourself.”

The young man says, “Please hold for Dr. DaSilva.”

“Please identify yourself, ” I say sternly.

The young man complies. “I’m Kevin Forrest, assistant to Dr. DaSilva.”

“Good start, Mr. Forrest. Now, if you could please identify Dr. DaSilva.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Dr. DaSilva is a senior officer in the Townsend administration.”

So, his office hasn’t given up, even after I kicked the president off my property. They must desperately need my help in this crisis that could potentially destroy the entire world.

“This Dr. DaSilva. What’s his role in the administration?”

He corrects me. “ Her role. Her full name is Anna DaSilva, and she has been asked by President Townsend to speak to you regarding an issue of importance.”

Enough of this telephone dance. “Put her on, Forrest.”

He says thank you, and a moment later the young man is replaced on the screen with the image of a pleasant, ordinary-looking woman, approximately fifty years old. Her silverish hair is cut short, simple, no-nonsense. I’m guessing that the white jacket she’s wearing is a lab coat.

She speaks first. “It is such a pleasure—a pleasure and an honor—to meet you, Mr. Cranston. President Townsend is confident that you will be able to help us on a project of enormous gravity.”

Her voice and manner are warm, but the “a pleasure and an honor” part is a little bullshitty.

I decide not to share with Dr. DaSilva that I think her boss, President Townsend, is among the most devious and unethical men I’ve ever dealt with.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I think that the matter is so urgent that I’d like to begin briefing you immediately,” she says.

“Of course,” I say. “But I do want to tell you that I have some very specific thoughts about the matter at hand.”

“The matter at hand?” she asks, looking a bit bewildered. “How would you know about this matter? I haven’t told you anything about it.”

“I don’t mean to be arrogant, Doctor, but I’ve personally witnessed the natural phenomenon that is unleashing itself upon the world.”

She nods, says, “That natural course of destruction of which you speak is indeed extremely troubling. But that is not the matter at hand.”

I am surprised. No, wait. I’m shocked.

“No,” Dr. DaSilva says. “We need you to assist with something else, something the public and press know nothing about yet. Something I think could turn out to be even worse than the environmental nightmare we’re experiencing right now.”