WASHINGTON, D.C.
Slott’s reaction to being supplanted was so professionally cold that Corrine couldn’t decide whether it hid anger or relief. She saw no sign that he was in on the president’s game, though she was starting to realize that was no guarantee he wasn’t.
Slott claimed to have no free CIA personnel to assign to the Team; in fact, he told her, the Agency was desperately undermanned in all areas—a hint that perhaps she might use her influence to free up personnel lines. She did so, but all her phone calls succeeded in doing was shaking loose a previously approved but budgetarily frozen slot for a high-level analyst to help the Team. Corrine finally decided that the SF people could undertake the surveillance mission themselves without Ferguson or another Agency minder. The mission was relatively straightforward, with the Team members expected to stay out of harm’s way and simply gather intelligence.
Back at her White House office, she tried sorting through some of the other work that was piling up for her. She hadn’t gotten very far when the president summoned her by phone; he had left a few hours before for Chicago.
“How is Russia?” he asked when she picked up.
“Russia?”
“Well now, isn’t that where you are?”
“Mr. President, you know very well where I am. You called me.”
“Generally when I ask to speak to someone, the call is put through without bothering me with minor details such as the location of my callee,” he said. “But now that I reflect upon it, the line does not seem to have the usual Russia twang. There’s more a kind of static in the background, the sort of electronic fog I associate with Washington, D.C.”
“Why do you want me in Russia?”
“I want you running Special Demands. You outlined a project for the Team, and I expected you to see it through. In person.”
“But I’m not qualified—”
“I do wish you’d stop putting yourself down, young lady.”
“Yes, sir.”
McCarthy dropped his playful tone. “They have to respect you, Corrine. Make them see you’re a tough ol’ gal. As tough as me. I know you are.”
“Tough young gal.”
“Get.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, hanging up.