Chapter 29
The White House, 6:30 AM
Ran Kimura normally found herself calmed, emotionally blank after a bloody conflict. Before or after, she was not the type to wander without purpose. She either stood and waited patiently, or moved directly to her intended objective. That was before she had come face-to-face with her mother. Now she paced the length of the Oval Office, moving like the works of a precise clock in front of the fireplace, looking up only to stare holes in Drake and decide if whether or not she should cut his throat.
Of course, she’d known of Emiko Miyagi’s existence. She had seen more than one photograph, but pictures were nothing like a face-to-face encounter.
Ran had almost dropped her dagger when she’d come out of the coffee shop in Gettysburg. The look in her mother’s eyes hit her like a cold slap. Frozen and defenseless for far too long in her line of work, Ran realized the woman could have killed her had she been so inclined. She wondered though if her mother even realized it. It was terrifying, demoralizing—and Ran hated the woman for it.
Drake leaned back in the chair with his feet up on the Resolute Desk. He droned on and on about something but Ran chose to ignore him, knowing that if she focused on even a word he said, it would send her into a rage. McKeon must have sensed this and glanced up from the couch to put a hand over his phone to shush the President. He gave Ran a look as well, but she waved him off and kept walking. He might as well waste his attention on training an angry cobra. When she decided she’d had enough, Drake would be dead before anyone else in the room could blink. There was something about him, a palpable smell that made Ran’s blood boil with rage. She hated the way he used his position to prey on young women, she loathed him for his ignorance . . . and she absolutely despised his stupid bow tie. It was early, so Drake was still in his gym clothes. Had he been wearing one of his signature ties, she might not have been able to stop herself. McKeon needed the idiot in place at least for another day—and that was the only reason Ran left him alive.
McKeon turned back to the phone conversation, springing up from the sofa as he spoke to pace on the opposite side of the room from Ran. He’d barely been able to contain his giddiness since the arrest. It had imbued him with an energy that made the muscles in his angular face appear to twitch with anticipation, his words breathless and rushed. Veronica Garcia was in custody. It was only a matter of time before Palmer, Virginia Ross, and all the other conspirators were brought in as well. The death of Mike Dillman would serve notice to others in Congress about the danger of crossing the administration. The IDTF would sweat Senator Gorski to see what she knew before making her disappear on a more permanent basis. He hadn’t said as much, but Ran knew the way he worked.
“Whatever you have to do,” McKeon said. “I don’t have to remind you how important this is.” He’d already given Glen Walter carte blanche in his treatment of the prisoners but wanted to make it perfectly clear. As long as one arrest kept leading to another, all the gloves should come off during interrogations. The arrests not only yielded valuable intelligence, but had the added effect of destabilizing alliances and derailing any attempted putsch.
“Call me when she gives you something,” McKeon said, nodding his head like a child about to open a present. “No, I don’t care about the hour.” He ended the call. “This is outstanding. Walter will be there this evening.”
“Holy hell, Lee,” Drake scoffed. “Do you realize you are actually rubbing your hands together like some kind of fiendish villain? You might give some thought to the whole vice-presidential bearing thing.”
Ran spun in her tracks, her chest heaving.
McKeon stepped in between her and the President’s desk, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” he whispered. “Forget about—”
She cut him off with a voice as sharp as her dagger. “I must do something to settle my mind, something productive.”
Drake chuckled. “I could probably find you a sack of kittens to kill. Shit like that seems to calm you down.”
McKeon’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She let him keep it there and shut her eyes, working to control her breathing. She was a professional, dispassionate, and would not let her anger at this fool prove otherwise.
“I think I will go to Oregon,” she said, opening her eyes to gauge McKeon’s reaction. “Everything is happening quickly. It’s time for me to sort out your wife.”
McKeon let his hand fall away. “I need you with me,” he said, a little too quickly. A flash of something Ran hadn’t noticed before crossed his face. The familiar beguiling look returned to his eyes. He spoke so both she and Drake could hear. “Things are happening fast, but they are happening just as we have hoped they would. In two days’ time, the President of the United States will stand with the newly elected Prime Minister of Japan and reassert our support for Japan’s claim to the Senkaku Islands—and publicly condemn China’s blatant aggression towards her weaker neighbors, who happen to be our allies. China will see it for what it is—a declaration of war without the actual words. The Fifth Fleet will be out of the Arabian Sea by that time, on its way to the Pacific. I do not know if the United States is strong enough to win a war against China, but I am certain she cannot do it while leaving assets in the Middle East.”
“The venue is a concern,” Drake said, suddenly serious. “That Kobe bell is too out in the open. I’d prefer we moved it to a more secure location like the Japan Cultural Center. At least it’s got walls. In case you haven’t noticed, our actions have garnered me an enemy or two.”
And I should be at the top of that list, Ran thought but kept it to herself.
“That is fine,” McKeon said. “The location is of no consequence. The message is the important thing. I’ll have David inform the Secret Service.”
“After the speech then,” Ran said, still watching McKeon’s eyes.
“What?
Ran glared at him. “After the speech, I will sort out your wife. Having her in the picture exhausts me.”
McKeon pulled away, laughing, avoiding her eyes. He did many things, but he never avoided her eyes. “Oh, dear Ran,” he said. “I have the situation with my wife under control. Trust me. Everything will work out as it must.”