After the cameras and the lights left the Oval Office, the real meeting between President-Elect Chuck Roche and President Hunter began in earnest.
Roche twirled his cane with childlike giddiness and inspected the photos lined up on the Resolute Desk. “Why is your Chief of Staff still here?”
President Hunter snapped her fingers at her astonished aide. “I’ll call for you when we need you again.”
The door closed leaving Hunter, Roche, and Watson looking at each other like boxers before a fight.
Roche’s cane launched a photo of Hunter shaking hands with the Prime Minister of Canada off the desk. It landed with a thump on the plush carpet. He said, “My program is working. She’s completely discredited. Now all we need is another attack from a different angle and—”
“Get a grip on reality, Chuck.” Hunter fisted her hips. “Pia Sabel is America’s darling. She’ll wriggle out of it. She always does.”
Watson turned to the window. “I said all along we should’ve killed her right off.”
“How did your plan work out, genius?” Roche pointed his cane at Watson. “I had to give you a job to cover your ass before they traced your calls to Russia.”
“They already did.” Hunter bit her thumbnail. “All seventeen intelligence agencies are investigating your campaign staff. They have recordings of—”
“What is this, East Germany?” Roche yelled. “They can’t investigate me. I won.”
“That’s not how it works. The separation of—”
“You’re still the goddamn president. Make them stop the investigation.”
“I can’t.” Hunter turned away. “Presidents don’t have that power.”
“Fine, I’ll do it when my Attorney General gets confirmed.” Roche flicked a picture of Hunter shaking hands with the Queen of England off the desk. It hit the coffee table. The glass shattered.
“Watson, what new dirt did you find on Sabel?” Roche asked.
“Yeah, about that.” Watson stared at Hunter.
“I told him to stand down, Chuck.” Hunter faced Roche. “You don’t know how thorough the press is. They track every rumor back to its origins. They’ll debunk it like Pizzagate and Seth Rich. If you put some nasty story out there, they’ll trace it back to Watson.”
“Since when do my people take orders from you?” Roche swung his cane through the air between them. Hunter jumped.
“I asked for advice.” Watson stepped in. “She’s right. They trace it back to me, they’ll hang you with it.”
“But I had nothing to do with it!” Roche paced around the Resolute Desk. “I don’t text. I don’t email. They can’t prove anything.”
He stopped and tapped his cane against the side of Queen Victoria’s gift to President Hayes. “First thing I’m going to do is get rid of this ugly desk. Where the hell did you find it, a garage sale?”
No one spoke. He caught Watson and Hunter sharing a pained glance.
“Fine,” Roche said. “Get an expendable outsider. Find one of those brown-nosers who’re dying to kiss my ring. Have one of them take the fall for it. Feed it to the conspiracy sites. Just get a goddamn story out there. We need to start a second fire before she can put out the first.”
“Do what you want.” Hunter tossed up her hands. “But long term, it won’t work.”
“Then we go with Watson’s plan. Order a drone strike before you leave office. Don’t leave your messes in my lap.” Roche noticed the shocked look on his co-conspirators’ faces. “OK, I’ll bite, what’s wrong with that idea?”
“You’ll create a martyr and have a revolution.” Hunter stroked his shoulder and spoke in a calming voice. “You can’t touch her.”
“If I can’t touch her, Popov can. She already declared war on him. Watson, get General Krasny over to the Russian Embassy. We need to use their secure lines to have a conversation with Popov that our so-called intelligence agencies can’t hear.”
Yuri took his turn at the tripod-mounted field glasses. With care, he settled his bandaged nose between the lenses. His restructured orbital socket touched the eyecup, sending needles of pain through his head. He and Roman sat two feet back from the curtains, watching two white stucco motels across the river in Belo Horizonte, Brazil. It was their second day holed up in a city the size of Philadelphia—a city he’d never heard of before. They’d covered every conceivable topic to discuss. Except one. And now they were broaching it.
“You can let go of her like that?” Roman asked.
“Everyone loses a mother sooner or later.” Yuri reached for another naan to hide his sigh. “Popov will hold our relatives over our heads. We can regret our choice. We can cry ourselves to sleep. What will change? Will Andrine come back to life? My mother? Your family? There is nothing we can do about it now. If we go back, they will either kill us or turn us over to the Americans.”
He tossed the bread back in the box. Take-out Indian in the middle of Brazil did not taste the same as eating it in Mumbai. And talking about his mother was killing his appetite.
“We must shed everything.” Yuri leaned to the binoculars. “Our families, our friends—any connection to Russia.”
“You and I are made of steel.” Roman finished his tandoori chicken. “Not everyone in SHaRC is so strong.”
“To stay in SHaRC is to shed everything.” Yuri stood and paced. “To leave SHaRC is to face death back home. To offer them a choice is to ask them to lie. We must test them.”
“What kind of test?” Roman leaned forward and watched the motels. “Loyalty? Like gangs?”
“Such barbarism. How could you think such a thing? No. Investment tests.”
“Where your money is, your heart will be also?” Roman craned over his shoulder to observe Yuri. “You think that’s a stronger test than Strangelove’s?”
“More honorable.” Yuri picked up the discarded naan and took a large bite. “Do you have a better idea?”
Roman returned to his observations and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he leaned back. “If I am to be part of the leadership, I am glad to hear you will not use Strangelove’s savagery. It should be as you say.”
Yuri finished his chana masala and mopped up his lentil soup with the naan. He put the empty boxes in the trash can.
“They’re here,” Roman said.
Yuri moved to the window and raised his handheld binoculars. He checked their haircuts and their fashion sense and their movements. They were Russians. Not Americans like Brad. “I see three. No. five.”
“Another car went around the back. There could be more.”
“More than I expected.” Yuri turned to Roman. “Which room are they swarming?”
Roman had rented a room with a credit card tied to his alias account. Yuri had done the same at the motel next door using his money. A test to determine which of them Popov had been following. Roman said, “Mine.”
Yuri watched two thugs dressed in business casual exit the motel office. They nodded to men at the room door. The gangsters used a battering ram to break it open. The remaining men flooded into the room, guns drawn.
Yuri laughed. “It is like a circus car full of clowns.”
“You think this is funny?” Roman jumped up. “This means they can lock down my account. I’ve lost everything.”
“No. You’ve lost nothing. I will take care of it, Roman.” Yuri gave him a hard stare. His voice lowered. “I have a plan in place. You will move all your money to my account.”
“Me? But I …” His words failed him. He lost all his color.
“I will not have Popov follow SHaRC to the next destination. I will eliminate the threat. And right now, you are the threat. Popov is following you.” Yuri pulled the pistol from his pocket and held it at his side. “You pledged your loyalty to me. It is time to put your heart into your loyalty oath. What was it you said? Where your money is, your heart will be also.”
Yuri pointed to the laptops whirring away on the coffee table. “Sit down and transfer all your money to my account. It will be SHaRC’s money.”
He waited, but Roman remained rooted in place.
“I realize you’ve always thought of it as your safety net. Your getaway stash. But I am your safety now.” He held the pistol to Roman’s face. “Strangelove would kill you, forfeit your accounts, and leave. But I’m different. I’m going to give you a chance. But with a platoon of Popov’s men across the street, time is running out. What will it be?”
They stood still for nearly a full minute.
“I’ll do it.” Roman rushed to the couch and touched the fingerprint reader on his laptop. “But won’t he follow the transfer?”
“I have shell accounts in countries he’ll expect. He’ll find those. But then I will move it through Florida, Wyoming, and Nevada before bringing it back to the Caymans and Panama.”
Roman relaxed and let a grin crease his face. “Exactly what the oligarchs did.”
“I studied the Panama Papers.” Yuri nodded. “I know how they operate. And I know their mistakes.”
Roman brought up his accounts online.
“And move Aleksandr’s accounts as well.” Yuri checked the chamber in his pistol. “I saw you unlock his phone. I know you have his passwords.”