Once every two weeks or so, Secretary Dennis Paull scheduled a senior staff meeting at dawn, much to the grumbling of those closest to him. There was no obvious reason for doing this except to keep them on their toes, which is what pissed off his senior staff because it cut into their social lives. God forbid they should attend one of Paull’s senior staff meetings with a yawn or, worse, hungover. The secretary would hang them out to dry in front of their colleagues.
The meetings were held at Fort McNair, which was a building that didn’t look like a fort and was in the heart of downtown Washington. No one understood why the meetings were held at an army base and not at Homeland Security HQ, but no one had the intestinal fortitude to query Secretary Paull. Consequently, people thought he was simply eccentric and this behavior, along with numerous other peccadilloes, simply became part of the Beltway lore concerning him.
This was precisely what Dennis Paull had in mind. He never did or said anything without a specific reason, though that reason, like the moves of a chess player, was not always readily apparent. The reason Paull scheduled the meetings at the crack of dawn was because virtually no one was around. The reason he held them at Fort McNair was that it was a place within which even the president couldn’t track him.
This particular morning, at precisely 0617, Secretary Paull called a ten-minute break, pushed his chair back, and strode from the conference room. He walked down a number of halls, went down a flight of stairs, up another just to reassure himself that he was absolutely alone. Then he ducked into the men’s room at the rear of the third floor. No one stood by the row of sinks; no one was using the urinals. He went down the row of stalls, opening each door to ensure no one was in temporary residence.
Then he banged open the door to the last stall in the row and said, “Good morning, sir.”
Edward Carson, the president-elect, who had been reading the Washington Post, stood up, folded the paper under one arm, and said, “No need to call me sir yet, Dennis.”
“Never too early to get started, sir.”
The two men emerged from the stall. “Imagine what the Drudge Report would say about this,” Carson grunted. “We’re all alone?”
“Like Adam before Eve.”
Carson frowned. “What news of Alli? Lyn is beside herself.”
Paull knew it wasn’t presidential for Carson to add that he was also beside himself. Presidents never lost their cool, no matter how dire the straits. “I believe we’re closer to finding her today than we were yesterday.”
“Knock off the media-speak,” Carson said testily. “This is my daughter we’re talking about.”
“Yessir.” Paull rubbed his chin. “The ball is in your man’s court. I’ve given McClure every ounce of freedom I possibly can without showing my hand to the POTUS.”
Carson’s frown deepened. “But is that going to be enough, Dennis?”
“I’d be lying if I said I knew for sure, sir. But you and McClure go back quite a ways, from what you tell me, and you’ve said he’s the best man for the job.”
“And I stand by that,” the president-elect said stiffly.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Paull went on, “my agent agrees with you.”
“The only thing that’s going to make me feel better is the safe return of my daughter.”
There was a sudden noise outside, and both men went completely still. Paull held up a finger, crossed to the door, pulled it open quickly. One of the cleaning personnel was turning a corner. When he was out of sight, Paull ducked back into the men’s room, shook his head in the negative.
“I had to deliver Yukin into the POTUS’s hands,” Paull said. “I had the evidence against Mikilin, and I gave it to the POTUS before he left for Moscow. I attended a celebration of sorts following the POTUS’s return. He’s got the Russian president in his back pocket now, so does he demand exports from RussOil, as I suggested? Does he forge a pact to create a joint strategic uranium reserve, as I also suggested? No, of course not. Instead, he’s spent the ammunition I gave him obtaining Yukin’s promise to back the POTUS when he makes his final national-policy address to the nation. In it, he’s going to charge that the government has direct evidence that Beijing is funding E-Two, and that the First American Secular Revivalists are, in fact, a front for E-Two. And where d’you think that bogus evidence will come from? Moscow, of course. And no one will be able to say it’s false.” Paull crossed to the door once again, put his ear to it. Satisfied, he returned to where Carson waited for him. “The POTUS is going to declare war on the missionary secularists of any and every stripe.”
“I want to help you, Dennis, but until Alli is returned to me safe and sound, my hands are tied. As long as there’s a suspicion that either E-Two or the FASR is behind her abduction, I can’t make a stand against the president.”
“I understand your overriding concern here, sir, but we’ve had a complication.”
Carson’s blue eyes bored into the secretary’s. “What kind of a complication?”
“The men I sent to keep McClure safe were compromised.”
He’d caught the president-elect’s full attention.
“Compromised in what way?”
“The POTUS’s people gave them orders to terminate.”
A deathly silence overtook them. “Jack’s safe?”
“Yessir, he is.”
“I don’t want another incident like that,” Carson said. “Am I being clear?”
Paull stiffened. He knew a rebuke when he heard one, and this one was well deserved. “Absolutely, sir.” Somewhere along the line, his careful security net had been breached. He had to find out where with all possible haste.
Carson stepped away, regarded his pale, lined face in the mirror, then turned around. “Dennis, if the POTUS got on to your men, then he knows. Jack’s not the only one in terrible danger. We are, too.”
“Yessir.” Paull nodded. “That’s the goddamned truth of it.”