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FIFTY-NINE
MARYLAND
4:50 PM
STEPHANIE SAT IN THE REAR SEAT OF A SUBURBAN, CASSIOPEIA beside her. They motored through the main gate without stopping, the SUV whizzing past armed guards. They’d driven north from Washington into the rugged Maryland countryside. She’d immediately known their destination.
Camp David. The presidential weekend retreat.
Past more guards and another checkpoint, the vehicle stopped before an elegant log cabin engulfed by trees and wrapped in a covered porch. They climbed out into a cool afternoon. The Secret Service agent from the museum waved, and the front door opened.
President Robert Edward Daniels Jr. stepped from the cabin.
She knew the president never used his birth name. Long ago he’d adopted the tag Da
“Stephanie, great of you to come,” Daniels said as he hopped down the porch steps. The president was dressed in jeans, a twill shirt, and boots.
She gathered her courage and stepped forward. “Did I have a choice?”
“Not really. But it’s still good you came. Been having some trouble, I’m told.”
Daniels added a cool chuckle, but she was not in the mood-not even from the leader of the free world. “Thanks to your people.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now, that remains to be seen. You haven’t even heard what I have to say. And the new look? The hair and clothes? I like it.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned to Cassiopeia.
“You must be Ms. Vitt. I’ve heard a lot about you. Fascinating life you have. And that castle you’re reconstructing in France? I’d love to see it.”
“You should come. I’ll show you.”
“I’m told you’re building it just like they did six hundred years ago. Amazing.”
Stephanie realized Daniels was sending her a message. They were here, and he was informed, so lighten up.
Okay. Time to see where this was headed.
“Contrary to what you think, Stephanie,” Daniels said, “I’m not an idiot.”
They were sitting on the front porch of the cabin, each in a high-backed wooden rocker. Daniels worked his with vigor, the floorboards straining from his thick six-foot-three-inch frame.
“I don’t think I ever called you an idiot,” she said.
“My daddy used to tell my mama that he never called her a bitch to her face.” He threw her a glare. “Which was true, too.”
She said nothing.
“I went to a lot of trouble to have you flushed from that museum. That’s one of my favorite places. I love airplanes and space. Studied everything about them when I was younger. Great thing about being president. You can go watch a launch whenever you want.” The president crossed his legs and leaned back in the rocker. “I have a problem, Stephanie. A serious one.”
“That makes two of us. I’m unemployed and, according to your deputy national security adviser, under arrest. And didn’t you fire me?”
“I did. Larry asked me to, and I agreed. But it needed to be done, so you could be here now.”
Cassiopeia sat forward. “I wondered. But now I know. You’re working with the Israelis, aren’t you? I’ve been trying to piece it together. Now it makes sense. They came to you.”
“I’m told your father was one of the smartest men in Spain. Built a financial empire from nothing. One you now run.”
“Not my strong point.”
“But I hear you’re an excellent shot, brave as hell, with a genius IQ.”
“And at the moment I find myself in the middle of a political mess.”
Daniels’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “A mess. That’s exactly what we have. And you’re right, Israel did contact me. They’re irritated with Cotton Malone.”
Stephanie knew Daniels was partial to Malone. Two years before, Malone had been involved with a murder trial in Mexico City-the victim a DEA supervisor, Daniels’s college roommate, murdered execution-style. She’d sent Malone to ensure a conviction, but during a lunch break he’d found himself in a crossfire that resulted in the death of the Mexican prosecutor and Henrik Thorvaldsen’s son. Malone shot the assailants and came home with a bullet in his shoulder, but got the conviction. When he’d wanted to resign early in return for what he’d done, Daniels had personally allowed him out of his navy commission.
“What about you, sir?” she asked. “Irritated with Malone, too?”
“Sir? Now that’s a first. I’ve noticed the few times we’ve been together, you never use that word.”
“Didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”
“Stephanie, I pay real close attention to a great many things. For example, just a short while ago Cotton Malone called the Magellan Billet. Of course, you’ve been busy, so the call was routed to Brent Green, on the attorney general’s personal order.”
“Thought Daley was in charge?”
“I did, too. Why’d Green do that?”
“How do you know he did?” Cassiopeia asked.
“His phones are tapped.”
Had Stephanie heard right? “You have his phones bugged?”
“Damn right. Him and a few others. And, yes, one of those is Larry Daley.”
Ripples of uncertainty spread through her and she forced her mind to concentrate. This puzzle apparently came with a lot of pieces.
“Stephanie, I’ve worked my whole life to get here. It’s a position where one person can really do something. And I’ve done all right. Unemployment is at its lowest in thirty years. Inflation is nonexistent. Interest rates are modest. I even pushed through a tax cut two years ago.”
“With Larry Daley yanking Congress’s chain. Hard to lose.” She could not resist. This man may be president, but at the moment her bullshit-tolerance level was well below zero.
Daniels rocked in silence, staring out into the dense woods. “You remember Rocky III.”
She did not answer.
“I loved those movies. Rocky was always pounded to the breaking point, then that great music played, trumpets and all. He’d see everything clearly, grab a second wind, and beat the crap out of the other guy.”
She listened with amusement.
“In Rocky III he finds out that Mickey, his trainer, was arranging easy fights. Sure wins. Just so Rocky could keep his title and wouldn’t get hurt. Stallone played that great. He wants to fight Mr. T, but Mickey says no, he’ll kill you. Rocky gets furious when he realizes he may not be as good as he thought he was. Of course, Mickey dies and Rocky finally KOs Mr. T.”
The president’s words carried a tone of respect.
“Daley is my Mickey,” he said in a near whisper. “He fixed my fights. I’m like Rocky. I don’t like it.”
“And you didn’t know?” she asked.
He shook his head with an odd mixture of a
She needed to know, “How did you know I was doing it?”
“My guys love wiretaps and video. So they listened and watched. We knew about the flash drives. And we also knew his hiding place. So we were just waiting.”
“That investigation was months ago. Why didn’t you move on him?”
“Why didn’t you?”
The answer was obvious. “I can’t fire him. You can.”
Daniels planted both feet on the deck and balanced on the rocker’s edge. “Scandal is a tough thing, Stephanie. There’s nobody in this country who’s going to believe that I didn’t know what Daley was doing. I had to take him out, but with no fingerprints.”
“So Daley needed to do it to himself,” Cassiopeia said.