“I know. But take your best shot. We’ll be here at your side. In the meantime, I would like your permission to have two DC cops I trust, Carl Bishop and Pete Woods, to come out and give you and the Vice President rides. Won’t be a limo, though.”
Harrison grinned, full on. “I’ll survive.”
“That’s the idea.”
A presidential hand settled on Reeder’s shoulder. “And, Joe — as soon as you and your friends can get me back to the White House, I’ll be letting the Russian premier know that he and his people can get their collective ass out of Azbekistan or this attempted coup will be linked to them big-time in the media. And, boy, would that fire up the American people.”
“Kind of would.”
Rogers, overhearing all this, said to Reeder, “When we first get a chance, I’d like to drop by and see AD Fisk.”
His expression was typically unreadable, but his words weren’t: “Thought you might.”
“You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.”
Twenty-One
Within minutes of the firefight and rescue of the President, Reeder reported in to Miggie Altuve.
“You and Patti are miracle workers,” Mig’s voice said.
“Same back at ya. How are the supplies in the cabin?”
“Enough for several months. Cupboard of canned goods, freezer fully stocked. Why?”
“You need to stay put. When I’m able, I’ll send reinforcements, but for now, remember — you have precious damn cargo.”
“Our house guest you mean? The charming Lawrence Morris?”
“The very guy. A lot’s riding on him — he’s our most direct evidence against Wilson Blount.”
“We’ll need more.”
“There’ll be plenty more, but we need Morris to build on. You and Anne sit on him — but gently. He’s our new best friend.”
Miggie didn’t sound so sure: “He says under no circumstances will he testify. That he’s given you all the help he ever will, and that you and he have a deal that you need to honor.”
“Let him know the presidential coup has been exposed and violently quashed. Let him think about which side of that he wants to come down on.”
“Okay. I assume we’re talking immunity and WitSec.”
“Oh yeah. Tell him we’re going to buy him contact lenses and, when his hair grows out, get him dyed and styled.”
Miggie laughed. “He’s already got some five o’clock shadow going on that noggin.”
“Hang in. I’ll be in touch.”
The Marines quickly had the compound under control, and if any of them were Alliance, they faded back and fell into line as predicted. Two Soviet rocket launchers, in the forest just outside the security net, were taken out by more Marines; neither of the two mercenaries manning them survived, which was both a pity and just fine with Reeder.
The cabinet gladly vacated the nuclear bunker at the President’s command and the members were helicoptered out two at a time, an effort that took several hours.
By ten p.m., Pete Woods in a fresh Ford and Carl Bishop in his black Chevy had whisked away the President and Vice President, with Hardesy and Wade riding along respectively. Not your usual presidential motorcade, but with the Secret Service and God-knew-who-else compromised, protocol be damned.
Before the President left the compound, however, he made a call to the Director of the FBI and instructed him to rescind immediately the arrest warrants on Reeder, Rogers, and the surviving members of her unit.
For now, a media blackout had descended and even intra-government reports were kept at a minimum. What would be told to the public would be discussed and controlled beforehand, and — with various agencies infiltrated by the Alliance — much of it would be marked classified and all of it strictly managed.
Still in commando camo, Reeder and Rogers arrived in Washington, DC, finding its quiet almost unsettling, as if the town had slept through its own near demise... and hadn’t it? He drove her to her apartment, where she picked up a change of clothes, and then to his townhouse, where she took the spare bedroom. This was over, the coup if not the greater threat, but they wanted to be near each other tonight — each other, and their guns. As with an earthquake, Reeder was prepared to deal with aftershocks.
Before finally giving in to their exhaustion, they sat at his kitchen table in robes, like an old married couple, and had some chamomile tea. Morning now, technically at least, but still dark out there.
“I should call Kevin,” she said.
“Not just now. I’m not fetching Amy and Melanie yet, either, or their two undeserving males. There could be some immediate retaliation, and anyway, I don’t think I’ll sleep soundly till that bastard Blount is in custody.”
“Meaning the Senator, not the son.”
“The son will be our ally, I think. He may even testify, given what happened today. Right now we have only Lawrence Morris as a witness. But we need another.”
“Who?”
“Your boss and mentor, Margery Fisk, Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
She’d started frowning and shaking her head halfway through that. “No, no, no... not a witness. A suspect. No, not a suspect, a perp!”
“You blame her for Jerry Bohannon’s murder, I take it.”
“And Trevor Ivanek’s, and Anne’s kidnapping, and—”
“We don’t know that. She is almost certainly compromised, but to what degree, we can’t be sure. Do you think she’s capable of fingering two of her own people for death?”
Her smirk bore no humor at all. “Who the hell knows what anybody is capable of in this thing?”
“Good point. You know what I think?”
“What do you think?”
“We should talk to her.”
The next morning, eight a.m. Sunday, as arranged, they found Margery Fisk waiting for them at a table in the Starbucks on Wisconsin Avenue NW. Most of the business seemed to be grab-and-go, the tables on either side of Fisk vacant.
She looked small and not at all the executive in navy-blue sweats and white running shoes; her hair was freshly washed and back in a ponytail, making her look young unless you really looked.
The table was at the side window, with just three chairs. They went through the line — dark roast for Reeder, medium for Rogers, cream for both — then he took the chair across from Fisk, Rogers the one next to her.
“Public place, as requested,” Reeder said.
Fisk’s smile was small and bitter. “I thought it might keep me from getting shot.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t sit by the window.” He shrugged. “But you’re not mob and this isn’t a pasta joint. Should be fine. Or are you thinking of how Patti here may be feeling about you now?”
The AD’s eyes stayed on Reeder. “How did you get my home number, anyway?”
“We have our ways.” Miggie Altuve being most of them. “So here’s the basic program. You tell us everything you know and perhaps you don’t face treason charges, which by the way would almost certainly mean execution... Can I get you another coffee? I see your cup is empty.”
Bleak amusement touched her lips. “I’m fine. Thanks for your thoughtfulness, though.”
Rogers, coldly but with a tremor in her voice, asked, “How long have you been Alliance?”
Fisk shook her head. “I’m not Alliance and I never have been.”