The End Game

Mike felt goose bumps rise on her arms. She was trying to memorize every word the vice president said, everyone’s reaction—and there was the secretary of state, clapping wildly, for her and Nicholas—so much, too much, and she couldn’t wait to tell her parents. She knew she would hold this close to her for as long as she lived. There was no doubt in her mind that patriotism was still very much alive and well in the halls of the White House.

She felt Nicholas’s hand close around hers. Strong, steady, that was Nicholas, honorable to his core, not to mention a wild man. A moment in time, she thought, she’d just lived through a moment in history that would last her forever.

Nicholas tightened his hold on Mike’s hand. When Callan turned and winked at him, he very nearly laughed. He was very grateful they weren’t expected to say anything. His mind was perfectly blank.

Callan said, “I would like to tell you that I received word from Mossad that they’d captured both Colonel Vahid Rahbar and his Hezbollah cohort, Hasan Hadawi, known, I’m told, as the Hammer, along with the scientist who’d reproduced Spenser’s coin bomb. They were headed for Israel’s border.

“Evidently, both the colonel and the Hammer wanted to witness what the bombs could do with their own eyes.

“As to any bombs found with them, I formally requested that the Israeli government return them to us, which they will do. I fully expect the count to be on the short side.” And she thought of Ari’s jubilant shouts, and smiled.

There were huge sighs of relief around the room, more applause.

“So all’s right with the world.”

“Until tomorrow,” a general remarked, and laughter and groans followed them from the room. They followed the vice president into the Oval Office, also small, so much less than Mike had always imagined it.

Callan waved them to one of the sofas, sat opposite them. “Tony sends you his best, Nicholas, Mike, and his thanks, between curses, since he naturally feels he failed me.”

Nicholas said, “I’d be royally pissed off as well, even though I’d eventually come to accept that it wasn’t my fault that madman Damari stole my face. Tony’s a good man. He’ll be back to himself soon enough.”

Mike asked, “We found out too late that Damari had the plans to Camp David. Has there been any word on how he managed to get in? How he managed to break into the Secret Service’s communications?”

“The prevailing theory is he crossed the fence during the power outage, then hid in one of the outlying cabins. They found evidence of him there. Since he could hear everything happening, he was able to dodge the Secret Service and the dogs. This was a very sophisticated attack, lots of pla

Mike said, “Isn’t it ironic that, in the end, Matthew Spenser got what he wanted—we’re at war with his enemies. His goals are now our goals.”

“My hope is our war will be brief. Between the air strikes and the cyber-attacks, we’re neutralizing them for a long time to come. Perhaps in the future, wiser heads will prevail and peace talks could become a reality.” She rose and they did as well.

“Now, I have to leave you in Qui

She grew serious. “I hate to say good-bye, but I have a few things on my schedule today. I want you to know you both have an open line to this administration. If there’s ever anything you need, you pick up the phone and call.”

She took both of their hands, held them tightly for a moment, then said again, “Thank you.”

Nicholas said quietly, “Ma’am, it’s been an honor.”

Qui

With a last nod, Callan headed back across the hall to the cabinet room, and Qui

“Seeing you off in style,” Qui

Mike and Nicholas took the steps into the helicopter, settled into the seats. “Under two hours to home,” the pilot said over their headsets. “Time to have a little snooze. Here we go.”

Home.

Home to New York. Nicholas didn’t think he’d ever heard anything better.

EPILOGUE

The End Game

New York

Nicholas slept twelve hours on Friday night, ate pizza Nigel made for him, and made his plans.

Mike slept longer, had a hankering for Thai food, and ate it three straight meals.

Saturday night, just before ten o’clock, Mike got out of the shower, pulled on a sleep shirt, and turned on the television to watch something mindless. Her parents’ excitement had worn her out.

And she waited.

The doorbell rang.

Finally.

She padded barefoot to the door. “Who is it?”

“Delivery.”

“What are you delivering?”

“A ski

She opened the door, pulled him inside, slammed the door, locked, chained, and dead-bolted it, took the baguette and carton of tuna salad from his hands, laid them carefully on the table, and turned.

“It’s about time you showed up.”

“That’s what Nigel said. I like your T-shirt. She Who Sleeps with Dogs—does that include bad dogs?”

“Yeah, big lamebrain butt-biting, face-licking bad dogs.” She leaned up and bit his ear.

“I, ah, I came to talk.”

She backed up, folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve told you a dozen times, Drummond, there’s nothing to talk about,” and she gave him a manic grin and jumped him, her legs going around his waist, her arms around his neck, and he pulled her up hard against him, laughing, kissing all of her he could reach.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said into her mouth as he carried her down the short hallway to her bedroom, “maybe talk is overrated.”

He pulled off her glasses and tossed them into the bathroom where they landed squarely on top of the laundry hamper.

She stopped kissing him, pulled back. “Nicholas? Do you know Handel’s Messiah?”

“Yes, I suppose. Why?”

“I have this feeling that in a few minutes we’re going to be singing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’”

“Amen to that,” he said. “Nice bedspread.”

26 Federal Plaza

Monday morning

•   •   •

Mike hummed “Mamma Mia” as she stashed her newly replenished go-bag in her bottom desk drawer, and booted up her computer.

Nicholas had left her two hours before to go back to his house and change.

A red notice was flashing on her screen—a meeting had been scheduled with Milo Zachery. She and Nicholas had spoken to him a good half-dozen times over the weekend. Always, he had one more question. He’d never said a word when Nicholas had answered Mike’s cell. Mike admired her boss for that. She supposed that since they hadn’t heard from him in twelve hours, he’d made up a whole new list.

She grabbed a notepad and a pen, ran into Nicholas in the hall. She shoved up her glasses, gave him a silly grin, and patted the small butterfly bandage on his forehead, his only remaining injury from the mad time at Camp David. As for her face, her makeup was light since there was no more black eye, no more patches of green and yellow.

Nicholas got within six inches, but no closer. “Good to see you, Agent Caine. Been too long.” He looked her up and down, from her shiny blond ponytail, vivid eyes gleaming from behind her glasses with pleasure at seeing him, and that made him feel very fine indeed. He’d swear she glowed from the inside out. He probably did, too, he’d have to ask Nigel.