“Sir, trust me—”
The President leans over his desk. “That’s what you told me on Air Force One. ‘Trust me, trust me.’ Well, I’ve trusted you so far and what has that gotten me? A drop in the polls, and the whispers out there that are going to start turning into shouts about the First Lady. Where’s the First Lady? Where’s the First Lady? Well?”
Parker has his hands folded in his lap. “We’ve done an extensive search up and down the river by the horse farm, using her Secret Service detail and elements of Homeland Security under the guise of a training mission.”
“And?”
“It’s time to change the approach.”
“To what?”
Parker says, “Sir, the First Lady … has gone rogue. She must be up to something … what, I don’t know. But we don’t have to play her game. We need to be a step ahead of her.”
“By doing what?”
“Sometime tomorrow, we leak the story to the press that she’s gone missing, following a ride at the horse farm she frequents. We believe she’s lost, injured, or perhaps even … drowned. We get the story out that way, we get the general public looking for her. A woman so prominent can’t hide forever.”
“But suppose … I mean, suppose she’s found?”
Parker smiles. “Then it works in our favor. She’ll have to explain why she went missing, why she frightened you and the other members of the administration, and that story will be on the front page and on the cable networks. Not the story about you and Tammy Doyle. And speaking of Miss Doyle, you haven’t been in contact with her, have you? Remember what I said coming back from Atlanta. No phone calls, no contact, nothing.”
Harrison recalls the not-so-happy conversation he had yesterday with Tammy and decides to leave it be. He’s not in the mood for a lecture.
“I listened very carefully to you, Parker.” The President leans back in his chair and stares at his chief of staff, and there’s something else going on there, something he can’t quite figure out.
“Parker?”
“Sir?”
“You’ve got something else going on,” he says. “Spill.”
Parker nods. “Agent Sally Grissom.”
“She all right? She still keeping her mouth shut?”
“Ah …”
“What the hell is it, Parker?”
“Sir, Agent Grissom’s husband was murdered at her apartment about two hours ago.”
It was like one of the bulletproof French doors behind him had opened up a crack, for it felt like a cool breeze was tickling the back of Harrison’s neck.
“Go on.”
“It seems that there was a break-in, or a burglary attempt, and Ben Miller, her husband, caught whoever was there. A fight ensued … and he was killed.”
He shakes his head. “Was anything valuable stolen? Was it a burglary?”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Harrison stares and stares at the man most responsible— besides himself—for getting him into the White House.
“So you’re telling me that less than two days after we tasked Agent Grissom to find my wife, her husband is murdered.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hell of a coincidence.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Parker … you’ve got to tell me, right now, if you or I or anybody in this administration, however distant, was responsible for his death.”
Parker says, “Sir, I’m … Harry, that’s a damn insulting question, and you know it.”
“Parker, answer the damn question!”
Parker stares right back at him. “Mr. President … we bear no responsibility for that man’s death. And if you think otherwise, you’ll have my resignation on your desk within the hour.”
Harrison thinks maybe he’s pushing him too far, and says, “Parker, please, you’re overreacting. I just need to know and—”
Parker interrupts him again, a record. “Harry, when I first met you at the statehouse in Columbus, you were like a dedicated and eager puppy, stumbling over your own paws. You had lots of raw talent, and you needed somebody to mold and direct that talent. That’s what I did, and defending you and your administration has been the key part of my life. No time for a wife, no time for a family. Don’t you dare insult me like that again.”
Harrison slowly shakes his head. “No insult was meant, Parker. I … it’s a tough time for all of us.”
“It certainly is,” Parker says, standing up. “Is that all, sir?”
“For now,” Harrison says. “Do keep me informed … and make sure Agent Grissom gets a card or flowers or something similar from me.”
“Yes, sir,” Parker says, heading to the door, and when he reaches the handle, Harrison calls out, “Parker?”
He turns. “Sir?”
“Usually I’m relaxed about such things, but don’t ever call me Harry again in this office. Do I make myself clear?”
Parker just nods, exits the Oval Office, and like before, the President of the United States is alone.
Still wondering whom he can trust.
CHAPTER 48
MARSHA GRAY IS in her out-of-the-way apartment outside of Silver Spring, Maryland, watching a Discovery Channel special about snipers and having fun picking out the errors, when her iPhone rings. She checks the incoming call and sees it’s Parker Hoyt, for the third time in the last ten minutes. The previous two times she’s hung up on him after the call deteriorated into insults and name-calling, and she’s deciding to give him a third try.
“Yes?”
She hears his heavy breathing. “Don’t you ever hang up on me, ever again.”
“What, you expect me to keep a line open with you, twenty-four/seven?” Marsha asks. “I always hang up on you when our conversation is complete.”
“You know what the hell I mean.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll say it for the third time, Mr. Hoyt. Just because you’re paying me doesn’t mean you have a blank check to scream at me or insult me. You want to have a serious, employer-to-employee conversation, I’m open to that. Otherwise, the minute the insults fly, I’m off to do something more productive. Like watching television or trimming my toenails.”
More heavy breathing. “Did you have to kill him?”
Marsha says, “Of course I did. I was there in the apartment, pretending to be a Comcast employee, with very illegal and technical surveillance equipment on my body. What, you think I should have given up? Let myself get arrested? That would have been a fun police interrogation later, don’t you think?”
“Answer the damn question! Did you have to kill him?”
She says, “Sorry to shatter any illusions you might have, Mr. Hoyt, but when I’m in a hand-to-hand combat situation, my goal isn’t to leave them with a lump on the skull. He’s dead, I’m alive, and that’s the way I wanted it.”
“And what the hell were you doing there in the first place?” On the television, the program depicts a sniper who is supposedly in camouflage, and Marsha thinks a Cub Scout wearing corrective lenses could spot him from fifty meters away. “I was trying to gather something missing from this little op, which is actionable intelligence. You’ve given me scraps and pieces, always late, and I’ve done the best I could with those scraps. Well, I was tired of doing the best I could. I wanted to try excellence for a change, by placing surveillance equipment in her apartment, and her vehicle, if I got lucky.”