“Her prognosis is good,” Markowitz lied.
He was standing in the Oval Office, facing the vice president and his chief of staff.
“Good?” Gross remarked. “Brain surgery?”
“We all know how strong she is,” Markowitz said, hoping there was confidence in his voice.
“Are the physicians planning a press conference?” Quarrels asked.
“Yes, they’re going to hold one after the procedure is complete. In the meantime, we have to put out something regarding the surgery. I suggest we word it positively.”
“I’m not sure that’s the right tack,” the vice president said. “We don’t want to give the country false hope. Matt, why don’t you get with Susan, draw something up.” Susan Reyes was Quarrels’s chief speechwriter.
“I’m on it,” Gross said.
“Even in the best case,” Quarrels thought aloud, “her recovery is going to take longer.”
“I’m confident she’ll bounce back,” said Markowitz. He felt an urge to shift gears. “Is there anything new on the investigation?”
“The FBI sent an update an hour ago,” Gross said. “Apparently you’re not part of that loop any more. They identified the bodies from the Cessna that crashed in the swamp. The woman is a Slovakian national named Magda Bartos. Former Slovakian intelligence.”
“SIS?” Markowitz asked.
“That’s right. It seems she left the service under suspicious circumstances a few years back, and didn’t leave a forwarding address. The pilot’s name was Lazlo Kovac. His background is equally shady. We know he spent a year in a Budapest jail, then three in the Hungarian army. After that he apparently learned how to fly, and at some point, he hooked up with Magda. For the last couple of years they’ve been running a sketchy fly-for-hire operation, mostly in Africa and the Middle East. They spent a week last February tracking a rival for a Russian oligarch. In December they were helping a Nigerian crime syndicate steal oil from pipelines. Before that, the Syrian minister of agriculture had them doing god-knows-what in Darfur.”
“The FBI thinks they were involved in this attack?”
“Almost certainly. The details are still being hashed out, but the premise is that these two served as spotters for whoever was in the trailer. It’s been confirmed that this aircraft was circling nearby when Marine One took off, close enough to have eyes on Joint Base Andrews. With a decent pair of binoculars, they could have seen Air Force One land, watched the president transfer to Marine One, and then tracked her to the point where the drones launched.”
Markowitz nodded. It made sense. “So the man at the construction site had help.”
“Apparently. But there was something else notable about the two victims in the Cessna—they didn’t die from the crash.”
Markowitz took on a befuddled look. “What do you mean?”
“Our suspects, Magda and Lazlo, each died of a single gunshot wound to the head. The investigators have pretty much ruled out a murder-suicide scenario.”
“Which means—”
“Which means someone else was on that plane.”
“I saw the pictures of the crash,” Markowitz said. “There’s no way anyone could have survived.”
“True. The operating theory is that a third individual, in all likelihood the man who launched the drones, was picked up from a small airfield in Maryland—the FAA has raw radar data showing the Cessna landing there. Then they took off again, headed toward North Carolina, and at some point our drone operator shot the others and parachuted to safety.”
“Parachuted? Is that possible?”
“No less possible than a bunch of drones taking down Marine One. The FBI couldn’t figure any other way to make it all fit together. They also found evidence to back the theory up—after scouring the area around the crash site, they found a discarded parachute along the access road to a nearby radio tower.”
Quarrels interjected, “Which means we still have one person to track down. And whoever he is, he’s a highly proficient killer.”
“Are there any leads?”
“A few,” Gross said. “A tiny amount of DNA from the trailer where the drones launched, a bit of grainy video from a camera near the river. The FBI is working to enhance the video. One way or another, we’ll find him.”
Gross addressed his phone momentarily, then said, “A message from Charles Eraclides. He says the transport heading to Hong Kong is running on schedule.”
“And we’re sure Corsair is on board?” Quarrels asked, the double meaning obvious.
“David Slaton?” Markowitz wondered aloud before Gross could respond. He noted a subtle visual exchange between the vice president and his COS.
“That’s right,” Gross said.
For two days now, Markowitz had been adrift, outside the Oval Office and looking in. Yet he knew perfectly well who David Slaton was. And what he did. Markowitz was also still copied in on the president’s daily briefing: one member of The Trident had been identified and traced to Hong Kong. The nexus between the two was simplicity itself, and it brought conflicting reactions. He knew a retaliatory strike against The Trident was necessary, and perfectly justifiable in terms of national defense. He also understood that Slaton was the perfect weapon.
On the other hand, he wished Elayne Cleveland could have given the order.
“What’s the timeframe of this mission?” Markowitz asked.
After another swapped glance, the vice president simply said, “Soon. Very soon.”
The hastily drafted press release was set to be issued later that evening. President Elayne Cleveland would undergo emergency surgery for a brain hemorrhage. Her condition was grave, and her doctors would provide an update after the procedure was complete. The wording of the statement was bland, succinct, and infused with all the cheer of an obituary.
Thirty minutes before it was released, at precisely 9:30 p.m. Eastern time, a text message streamed from the West Wing of the White House to a very secure phone in Hong Kong: No changes. Proceed as planned.