“You’re thirsty. I’m sorry,” Connie said, and held a straw to his mouth. “Only a little bit, okay?”
He took a few sips, managed to whisper, “Connie.”
“Yes, I’m right here. No one’s going to get near you, Mark. You’re perfectly safe with me.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s good. I’m really glad I’m not dead,” and he drifted away, his brain closing down, and everything was fine.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw Davis Sullivan standing over him. He was saying his name over and over. Well, not his name—
“That’s right, Beef, open those baby blues because you and I have got beers to drink, hoops to shoot, wrestling to do, unless you’re afraid of me.”
Out came a thin gruff voice. “Afraid of you, pretty boy? In your dreams. You’d last five seconds.” Was that skinny little voice really his? He sounded pathetic.
He must have barely made a sound, because Davis was leaning close to him now. “Yeah, maybe. Right now, though, you can’t even pee on your own, so save your strength for the pretty nurses.”
Hooley started to laugh, but it hurt so bad he gasped. He felt Sullivan’s hand tighten on his forearm.
“I’m okay,” he whispered. “Connie says I’ll be okay.”
“You’d better be okay or I’ll sic Savich on you. Talk about the big mean dog, he’d put you on the mat in under five seconds at the gym. You scared the crap out of us, Beef.”
Hooley wanted to laugh, this time simply because he was alive, but he knew better. He did manage a small grin without the pain slamming him again. “My older brother called me Beef—short for beef on the hoof.”
“I thought you only had a sister. Did Connie tell you she’s on her way from Denver to coddle you?”
It wasn’t pain that made Hooley want to groan. Margie was a sweetheart, but she would fuss and bother, treat him like he was eight years old again. “Aren’t you a thoughtful bastard.”
“I do my best. I didn’t call her, Connie did, your doctor insisted. Now, what’s this about a brother?”
Hooley whispered, “Kevin. He was career Army, a major. He died, in Iraq.” His breathing hitched for a moment, then, “I was proud of him. Is Mrs. Black okay?”
“I’m sorry about your brother. Mrs. Black is fine. She and Perry are on their way in. As for Savich—ah, here he is now.”
Savich looked down at the wide bandages wrapped around Hooley’s chest, saw the drains were clear of blood. He looked good, considering. Hooley would survive this. He said quietly, “I spoke to Dr. Proctor. He said he’d kick us out in five because he wants to check you over. He’s pleased with how you’re doing, so keep it up. I don’t want to wear you out, Hooley, but that doesn’t give us a lot of time. If it becomes too much, you close your eyes and we’ll leave you alone. Are you up to telling us anything about last night? Anything Natalie and Connie don’t know?”
Hooley felt a stab of pain and stayed silent, coming to grips with it. He nodded toward the cup, and Davis placed the straw on his tongue. He managed to suck a little. Davis closed his hand around the pain medicine dispenser lying at his side. “Press the button for a shot of morphine. You don’t want to chase the pain, Beef, you want to stay in front of it.”
Hooley pressed the button. After a few moments, the pain seemed to float away, or maybe he was the one doing the floating, he didn’t know, nor did he particularly care. He saw the two men standing beside him, looking down at him, and was baffled for a moment. Then he remembered the question. “It was so bloody dark,” he said. “I don’t know how he saw me well enough to throw that knife in my chest. Have you found him?”
Davis said, “Not yet. He’s either gone to ground, trying to deal with it himself, or he’s found himself a doctor. He hasn’t been to an ER.”
“He wouldn’t go to an ER. That would be stupid,” and Hooley closed his eyes as his head fell to the side. He wouldn’t be talking anymore for a while.
Savich’s home
Saturday morning
What would you think if we moved in with Natalie?”
“What?” Sherlock whirled around to face him, scrambled eggs falling off the spatula in her hand.
Savich fiddled with a slice of wheat toast. “Well, with Hooley down, she could use the protection of our sleeping down the hall. It’s been tough to concentrate on helping her with Blessed hanging over us like a black cloud of doom.”
“That’s true, but moving in? No, Dillon, I don’t think it’ll come to that. The assassination attempt on the ambassador to the United Kingdom is all over the news, on the Internet, and that means the State Department have already sent over agents to protect her. They’ll wrap her in a blanket and form a circle with H-and-Ks around her.
“Do you know, this whole deal with Natalie, it feels like Blessed in a way. Like obsession, like someone has set a course and now won’t, or can’t, back down until it’s over. Seems to me it goes real deep.”
“Like a wound that never healed, that will fester until he finds a way to make her pay?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
Savich said, “Blessed isn’t going away, either, and he knows where we live. He’ll try for us here sooner or later, we both know that and need to face it head-on. It might have happened last night if we hadn’t had all those people over for dinner. Sean is with his grandmother for safekeeping, but what about you? About us?”
Sherlock didn’t notice the scrambled eggs on the kitchen floor. “We could ask a couple of agents to hang out with us here or, better yet, they could hunker down in a warm car outside. What’d I’d really like is for Blessed to come back to the house so we can end him. Then we can fetch Sean and Astro from your mom’s and get our lives back on track.”
Savich realized the eggs were burning, grabbed the skillet off the stove, turned off the flame. He took the spatula from her hand, but again Sherlock didn’t notice. She started pacing the kitchen. “When you left for the hospital this morning to see Hooley, I looked around the neighborhood—yes, I was very careful—to make sure Blessed wasn’t lurking around. I found a candy wrapper in the bushes. I think he was hiding here last night, waiting for a chance to get to us. We need to act, Dillon. I’m thinking Blessed will come back to the house tonight.”
He sat her down and kneaded her tense shoulders. “All I know for sure is that he’s committed to killing us and that’s not going to happen.”
Sherlock leaned her head up to look at him upside down. “Let’s stay up tonight and wait for him.”
He leaned down, kissed her mouth. “One thing in our favor, Blessed’s a lousy shot. Let’s do it.”
He looked down at his watch. “Now we need to head out to Quantico if we’re going to meet Davis there. He’s bringing his recording of Milton Holmes’s voice to play for Carlos Acosta. We can say hello to Nicholas Drummond if we have the time.”
Savich waved to Mr. MacPherson catty-cornered across the street as they walked out the door. He was sitting on the top step of his porch, his new puppy, Gladys, leaping around him and chasing a bright red ball.
They hit horrendous traffic on the way to Quantico, made worse by earsplitting construction and a few dead stops for huge dump trucks filled with gravel crawling across the road. Savich got a call from Natalie as they waited. Sherlock couldn’t make out what it was about. When he punched off, he said matter-of-factly, even as he steered the Porsche between two big SUVs, “Natalie and I are going to see the president at two o’clock this afternoon. He was informed about the attempt on her life last night and asked to see her. She said she was looking forward to it, now that there were no more questions about her honesty. She said it would be useful if I came along, in case he had any questions for the FBI.”
Sherlock punched him in the arm. “I should have guessed what it was all about, given how excited you are.”
• • •
Carlos had no idea if his caller’s distorted voice was Milton Holmes or not. Savich cheered him up by leaving
him Isabel’s new cell number.
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Saturday afternoon
Savich had visited the White House twice before, both times to see the president with Director Mueller to receive congratulations from the Head Dude himself on high-profile cases resolved. As always, security was tight, thorough, polite, and fully engaged. Marines posted near the lobby, both for security and for show, watched them respectfully but closely. The Secret Service agents, Savich knew, were clustered close to wherever the president happened to be—presently, around the Oval Office. There was activity everywhere, but noise levels were low.
For Natalie, of course, this was old hat. She greeted the various staffers they saw and several of the security people, all of whom, as far as Savich could tell, were happy to see her. And worried, he saw, since by now the whole world knew about the attempt on her life right in her own home. He and Natalie were met by Chief of Staff Eric Hainny. Natalie offered her hand, nodded, and said, “Good morning, Eric.”
After a brief pause, Hainny shook hers. “Good morning, Mrs. Black. Everyone is pleased you survived the attack last night. Ah, Agent Savich. It is a pleasure to see you again,” Hainny shook Savich’s hand.
Savich saw Hainny hadn’t changed since the last time he’d seen him a year before. He was still in desperate need of a gym, a merciless trainer, and fewer helpings at the dinner table. He looked rumpled and impatient, the quintessential guard dog, only Hainny was the alpha guard dog. He cleared his throat, looked at his watch. He said, his voice neutral, “The president is exceedingly busy, Mrs. Black. He made time for you he doesn’t have. Come with me.”
Natalie and Savich followed him past a reception room, two senior advisers’ offices, the dining room, and a study. Natalie spoke quietly to a tall, thin man who joined them, obviously one of the senior advisers. He patted her shoulder, then she double-stepped to catch up with Hainny, who never slowed. She rolled her eyes at Hainny’s stiff back. It was obvious, despite the attempt on her life, that Hainny still believed Natalie should resign and get out of the president’s hair, preferably far enough away to be forgotten by critics and citizens alike by the time elections rolled around.
Savich raised an eyebrow. Natalie said quietly, “I’m at the center of a firestorm, and Eric is very afraid he won’t be able to control the fallout. The way he sees it, I’m still a huge liability.”
Natalie let him march ahead when Mrs. Janikowski, the president’s secretary, stepped out to greet her. She hugged her and patted her cheek. “I’m so sorry about what’s happening, Mrs. Black, and so glad you’re all right. The president has expressed supreme confidence that Agent Savich and the FBI will figure all this out.” And she smiled at Savich. Now, that’s how you get to be the president’s secretary, Savich thought. He had to admit, hearing that made him feel quite nice.
Hainny cleared his throat, again looked at his watch, and Mrs. Janikowski stepped back. Hainny led them into the Oval Office as the clock struck two.
Savich saw Natalie pull her shoulders back, coach her expression into one of serene control. Her Armani suit was stark black, conservative, so stylish it had turned heads of passersby when she’d stepped out of her limo at the northwest gate to meet him. She wore power well, like a comfortable second skin. She added a slight, subtle smile as they walked in, a smile that said she would rule over her own reactions and her own personal universe, come what may. She was, he decided, quite remarkable.
“Mr. President, Mrs. Black and Special Agent Savich are here.”
Thornton Gilbert rose from behind his desk, came forward quickly to enfold Natalie in his arms. He spoke quietly to her, then stepped back and shook Savich’s hand.
“Agent Savich, it is a pleasure to see you again. Agent Sherlock is well? And your son? Sean?” Savich answered on script, assuming that Mrs. Janikowski prepared him with personal particulars on all his visitors.
The president nodded and turned serious. “Agent Savich, I will admit I was relieved to hear you were accompanying Natalie here. I’m very pleased you’re involved.”
Savich had always thought this president could play the role of the president of the United States in a movie if he wished. He was tall enough—that is, over six feet—he was fit without the hint of a paunch hanging over his belt, and he was blessed with a full head of dark brown hair with gray wings at the temples. He looked competent and measured, a man who would think things through before acting, a plainspoken man you could trust. Had he practiced that look, that expression?
There was no doubt in Savich’s mind that the president was genuinely pleased to see Natalie, an excellent sign. He turned to Mrs. Janikowski. “Bess, could you fetch us coffee and some of those good nutty rolls from the dining room?”
Bess Janikowski nodded, smiled at Natalie, and left. As for Chief of Staff Eric Hainny, he hovered until the president said, “Eric, would you run through the remarks they’ve prepared for this evening with the press secretary? I won’t have the time.”
It was a clear dismissal. Hainny paused for only a moment, then took himself off.
The president said, “Sit down, sit down, both of you. Nat, what’s been happening to you is a nightmare. I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how very worried both Joy and I are for you and for Perry as well. Director Comey has briefed me about the Scotland Yard investigation and the horrendous incident at your home last night. I asked you here to assure you we’re going to keep you safe, and bring whoever did this to justice.”
Natalie wanted to cry, but of course she didn’t. She’d hoped he would support her, but, in truth, she hadn’t expected it, not with all the political realities at play, even factoring in the events of the previous night that had shut the mouths of those who said she’d made up the attack in England.
Of course she and Thorn and Brundage and Arliss had been close for more years than any of them wished to acknowledge, but he was still the president of the United States, the most powerful man in the world, and their friendship, no matter how long or how deep, couldn’t matter to any decision he made about her. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been wondering why I am still an ambassador after all that’s happened.”
He laughed, a rich baritone that filled the room. He sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “Nat, we’ve known each other since we were twenty years old. It’s because I know you so well, because I know who you are and what you are, that I never doubted your word, not for an instant. Now, after last night, no one else can doubt you, either. Nat, let me say, and I plan to say this only once—you would not be helping me by resigning. I have other plans for you.”
He broke off when Bess Janikowski slipped in carrying a beautifully worked antique silver tray. She set about giving them coffee, tea for Agent Savich, and she said when he looked surprised, “Oh, I know everything about you, Agent Savich,” and she smiled at him on her way out. No one took a warm nutty roll.
As Mrs. Janikowski was leaving, Arliss Goddard Abbott came into the Oval Office, Eric Hainny lumbering behind her, both looking determined. The secretary of state walked in looking like the queen of the world, exuding arrogance and competence like a potent perfume. But, Savich decided, it was the arrogant set of her head that sealed the deal, and the aura of good old pioneer grit.
The president rose. “Arliss, I’m glad you’re here, but I’d expected you a bit later. I trust Brooxey is well?”
“Brooxey provides me endless entertainment,” Arliss said, not a hint of sarcasm in her smooth voice.
The president nodded. “Come and join us. Eric, you and I will meet here in thirty minutes, all right?”
It was clear to Savich the president didn’t want Hainny involved in speaking with Natalie because Hainny obviously wanted her out, plain to see, and the president didn’t want to have to deal with him in front of them. But what about Arliss Abbott?
Arliss nodded to Natalie and frowned at Savich, who rose. She turned to the president. “I co
uld leave if there are things you wish to discuss with Natalie before I’m to be included.” To Savich’s ear, she was practically screaming to stay.
“No, no,” the president said easily, and added, “Do you know Agent Dillon Savich, FBI?”
“I know of him,” she said, and this time, because it was expected, she shook his hand, her voice perfectly pleasant.
“Madame Secretary,” Savich said, his voice pleasant as hers. Why had she come ten minutes earlier than expected? Did she know exactly where the president stood, and would she try to change his mind?
He saw Natalie was sitting perfectly still, her back ramrod straight, her eyes on the rich dark blue draperies behind the president’s desk, changed from the bright red ones of his predecessor, or perhaps she was looking at the U.S. flag on one side of the desk, to the president’s flag on the other.
“Sir,” Arliss said, not sitting, “I was informed of your decision and I have some ideas to share with you both. First, Natalie, all of us are concerned for your safety. Last night shouldn’t have happened. I will ensure no one can get to you again. None of us want anything to happen to you.”
The president said very quietly, “Of course. Let me add that I already know what your feelings are in this matter, Arliss.”
“No, you don’t, sir. The press is giving heavy coverage to the intruder at Natalie’s home last night. It looks to become a major story that will change the dynamics for us, and for Natalie, entirely—if handled properly. I now believe Natalie should stay the course, remain the United States ambassador to the United Kingdom, and I have a plan on how we should proceed.”
Natalie said slowly, “Arliss, when you visited me Thursday afternoon at my home, you wanted me to resign.”
“The president had decided to keep you on and it was hurting him politically, Natalie, and I did what I thought best. Things are different now after what happened last night. A United States ambassador was attacked in her own home, her staff injured. Whatever happened in England, there is no doubt about last night. Your surviving, and persevering in your job, can be seen as a triumph. Obviously, what happened last night validates the president’s trust in you, his brave and wise decision to support you, despite the seeming impropriety.