12

THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C. —17 NOVEMBER

“Gentlemen, POTUS will see you now.”

At precisely 7 a.m. local time, President Clarke’s executive secretary nodded toward the open door. The Secret Service agent standing post stepped aside, and four men rose from antique chairs and headed into the Oval Office.

Richard Stephens, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, entered first. Almost sixty-five, the former three-term senior senator from Arizona had served for almost a decade as chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Along the way, he had emerged as the widely respected dean of the U.S. intel community even though he was technically outranked by the director of national intelligence. The DNI, however, was not present that morning. He was traveling with Secretary of State Margaret Whitney on a five-country trip through Belgium, the Baltics, and Germany, still trying to calm Washington’s NATO allies after the crisis the Kremlin had sparked just two months earlier.

Behind Stephens was Lieutenant General Barry Evans, the president’s national security advisor. Now sixty-two, the retired Army three-star had first made a name for himself helping Norman Schwarzkopf plan and execute the liberation of Kuwait. From there, Evans had gone on to run U.S. Special Operations Command and later served as deputy commander of Central Command. Bitter at not receiving his fourth star, he’d retired and become a military analyst for FoxNews and written two military thrillers. The first had done quite well. It had even been optioned by Hollywood, though it had not yet been produced.

Bill McDermott entered next. The forty-six-year-old deputy national security advisor was a former Marine. He’d enlisted after finishing Yale and served three tours of duty in Afghanistan and two in Iraq. For a time he’d commanded the unit Marcus Ryker and Pete Hwang had served in. Upon returning to civilian life, McDermott had gone back to school, earned an MBA from Wharton and a master’s in national security studies from Georgetown, before making a killing on Wall Street. Only then had he let himself be drafted back into government service.

Marcus was the last man in and the youngest of the four. The last time he’d been in the Oval Office, he’d been serving on the Presidential Protective Detail. Coming back stirred up memories he didn’t care to revisit. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never return. Now, once again, events had changed everything.

The president was sitting behind the Resolute desk, absorbed in the Wall Street Journal. The four men walked over to the couches in the center of the room and waited. A moment later, Clarke removed his reading glasses, came around the desk, motioned for them to take their seats, and took his own by the fireplace. A steward entered through a side door and served coffee.

“Agent Ryker, America owes you a tremendous debt of gratitude,” Clarke began. “Again.”

“Well, it wasn’t just me, sir,” Marcus demurred. “Kailea Curtis did an incredible job. Just wish we’d gotten there sooner.”

“A whole lot more people would have died if you two hadn’t gotten there when you did. But let me extend my condolences to you on the loss of your pastor. From what I understand, you two were very close.”

“We were, Mr. President. Thank you.”

“I tried to call his widow . . .”

“Maya,” Marcus offered.

“Right, well, I called her last night, but they said she was still in surgery.”

“I just came from the hospital, sir,” Marcus noted. “She’s under heavy sedation.”

“When will the memorial service be?”

“Probably Saturday, but I think Maya will have to make that call.”

“I’d like to attend.”

“That would mean a great deal to everyone, Mr. President.”

Clarke then turned to his national security advisor. “Where are we with the latest casualty count?” he asked.

“Nine dead, not counting the shooter,” General Evans said. “Twenty-seven wounded, including six critically, several of whom might not make it.”

Marcus could see the anger in the president’s eyes.

“And to top it all off, we lost Janelle Thomas?” Clarke asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Evans confirmed. “It’s a staggering loss to our team and to me personally, sir. Few people have worked more closely on crafting your Middle East peace plan than Janelle, and she was supposed to fly out with me Tuesday night to help sell it.”

“So what was it?” Clarke asked. “Wrong place, wrong time?”

Evans turned to Marcus. “You were there,” he said. “What’s your take?”

“Mr. President, I believe Deputy Secretary Thomas was the intended target of the attack,” Marcus replied.

“Based on what?”

“Well, sir, it’s now clear these were professional terrorists. The guy I killed was from Qatar. He traveled to Iraq and joined al Qaeda after we liberated the country. Killed a lot of Americans. Then moved to Syria and joined ISIS. Bugged out to Europe just before the Caliphate fell. Apparently spent most of his time in Italy or Greece; then about six months ago he just disappeared off the grid.”

“And the guy you took down in the bell tower?”

“He isn’t talking, but his fingerprints are. Born in Turkey. Joined al Qaeda. Fought in Afghanistan. Later in Iraq. Then joined ISIS in Syria. Best we can tell, that’s where the two met. Then he, too, drops off the grid. We have no idea where he spent the last year, but our operating theory is that they were together for part of that time.”

“And Janelle?” Clarke asked.

“Interviews of surviving witnesses indicate that most of the killings appeared random. The Qatari was spraying machine-gun fire everywhere. But with the deputy secretary, everyone says the guy stopped, studied her carefully, and asked her name. When she gave it, he shot her four times in the chest and once in the head. No one else was singled out like that.”

Thus far, McDermott had just been taking notes. Now he looked up and said, “Since then, sir, the FBI was able to crack his phone. They found emails he’d received from overseas —Greece, actually —with pictures of Janelle, the address of the church, and the starting time of the service.”

The president set down the cup of now-cold coffee in his hands. He hadn’t taken a sip yet, nor was he going to. He turned to the DCI. “Tell me why they went after her.”

“I can’t, Mr. President,” Stephens replied. “Not yet.”

“Is this part of the retaliation you guys have been warning me was coming?”

“Perhaps, but it’s too soon to draw any conclusions.”

“Has anyone claimed responsibility?”

“No, sir.”

“Do we have any evidence the Russians were involved?”

“No.”

“What about the Iranians or the North Koreans?”

Stephens shook his head. So did Evans and McDermott. Marcus had his suspicions, but for the moment he kept those to himself. Looking unconvinced, the president considered their answer as he flipped through the presidential daily brief, the CIA’s morning summary of the highest priority global intelligence.

Then he suddenly turned and looked up at Marcus again. “You know, Ryker, it wasn’t that long ago I thought you were a traitor.”

“Apparently you weren’t alone,” Marcus replied before completely thinking it through.

“Quite right,” Clarke said. “And now here you are. Guess we owe you an apology as well as our thanks.”

“Not at all. Based on the intel you had at the time, I know my actions looked bad.”

“They did,” Clarke replied. “Very bad.” The president studied Marcus’s face.

“Sir, at the risk of sounding self-serving, may I change the topic?” Marcus asked after an awkward pause.

“It depends,” Clarke said. “What’ve you got?”

“Two things, sir. One, I realize, is above my pay grade, but I’d like to recommend Tyler Reed to be your next deputy secretary of state.”

“Our ambassador to Russia?”

“Yes, sir. With Luganov gone and Petrovsky now in power, a new ambassador to Moscow is probably in order. And I was quite impressed with Reed when I worked with him. He’s smart. Savvy. Cool under pressure. And I think he gets what you’re trying to do, sir. Just a thought, but given how important your peace plan is, I’m thinking you might need to replace Mrs. Thomas rather quickly.”

“And the second matter?” the president asked, noncommittal.

“Well, sir, I need to recommend you give your speech unveiling your peace plan from here in the Oval Office, not from Jerusalem, and certainly not on the Temple Mount.”

“Hold it right there, Agent Ryker. That’s way outside your mandate,” the CIA director admonished his newest hire.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe it is,” Marcus replied. “You guys hired me to counter the blowback we all knew was coming after our recent operations against North Korea and Iran. Let’s be clear: that blowback started yesterday, and it’s going to get worse. Mr. President, I respect your commitment to forging Mideast peace, and your plan deserves a hearing, but strictly from a security perspective, the idea of putting you in Jerusalem right now is a mistake.”

“Noted,” Clarke said with an edge of irritation. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Agent Ryker, you’re dismissed.”