―Break out the champagne!‖ the president called as he signaled to Halliday, and the two men entered the long bullet- and bombproof limousine.
The vehicle took off the moment the pair were seated. Across from them was the press secretary, his cheeks as flushed with victory as the president‘s, a bottle of chilled American sparkling wine in his hand.
―Sir, if you don‘t mind, let‘s hold the celebration,‖ Bud Halliday said.
―Mind?‖ the president said. ―Of course I mind! Solly, open the damn champagne!‖
―Sir,‖ Halliday said, ―there‘s been an incident.‖
The president froze in mid-gesture, then slowly turned to his defense secretary. ―What kind of an incident, Bud?‖
―Veronica Hart, the director of Central Intelligence, is dead.‖
At once the color drained from the president‘s flushed cheeks. ―Good Christ, what happened, Bud?‖
―A car bomb—we think. There‘s an ongoing investigation, but that‘s the most recent theory.‖
―But who—?‖
―Homeland Security, ATF, and the FBI are all coordinating their efforts under the NSA umbrella.‖
―Good.‖ The president, all business now, nodded curtly. ―The sooner we clear up this car bomb mess, the better.‖
―As usual, we‘re on the same page, sir.‖ Halliday glanced Solly‘s way.
―Speaking of which, we‘re going to need a comprehensive press release, and spin control. After the plane incident, the last thing we need is speculation about terrorists and another bombing.‖
―Solly, get our talking heads on it right away,‖ the president said,
―then get into overdrive on an official release. Coordinate it with Secretary Halliday‘s office, would you?‖
―Right away, sir.‖ Solly slipped the sweating bottle back into its bucket of ice and started calling contacts on his cell phone.
Halliday waited until the press secretary was engaged in his first conversation. ―Sir, we‘ve got to think about a replacement for DCI Hart.‖ And before the president could jump in, he continued: ―It seems fair to say that the experiment with hiring from the private sector has run its course. In any event, we need to move quickly to fill the gap.‖
―Get me a list of the qualified senior people at CI.‖
―I will certainly do that.‖ Halliday texted a message to his office as they spoke. He looked up. ―The list will be on your desk inside an hour.‖ But his face was still deeply troubled.
―What is it, Bud?‖
―It‘s nothing, sir.‖
―Oh, come on, Bud. We‘ve known each other a long time, haven‘t we?
There‘s something on your mind, now‘s not the time to hold back.‖
―Okay.‖ Halliday exhaled deeply. ―This is the perfect time to merge all the intelligence organizations into one organic whole that shares raw intel, makes coordinated decisions, and cuts through the bloated red tape that frustrates all of us.‖
―I‘ve heard all this before, Bud.‖
With some effort Halliday stitched a grin on his face. ―No one knows that better than I do, sir, and I understand. In the past you agreed with the DCI, whoever it was.‖
The president worried his lower lip. ―There‘s history to be observed, Bud. CI is the oldest, most venerable institution in the constellation of the intelligence communities. In many ways it‘s the crown jewel. I can understand why you‘d want to get your hands on it.‖
Rather than waste time in denial of the truth, Halliday decided to take another tack altogether. ―The current crisis is another case in point. We‘re having difficulty coordinating with CI—especially Typhon, which might very well have the intel we need to ensure that our retaliation against Iran doesn‘t hit a snag.‖
The president stared out the smoked window at the monumental public buildings at the district‘s heart. ―You‘ve received the money for—you know—
for the—what have you named the operation?‖
The secretary of defense gave up trying to follow the train of the president‘s thoughts. ―Pinprick, sir.‖
―Who thinks of these names?‖
Halliday sensed his boss didn‘t want an answer.
The president turned back to him. ―Who d‘you have in mind?‖
With his choice in the forefront of his mind, Halliday was ready for that one. ―Danziger, sir.‖
―Really? I thought you were going to propose your intelligence czar.‖
―Jaime Hernandez is a career office man. We need someone with a more—
robust—background.‖
―Quite right,‖ the president agreed. ―Who the hell is this Danziger?‖
―M. Errol Danziger. The NSA‘s current deputy director of signals intelligence for analysis and production.‖
The president returned to his contemplation of the passing streetscape.
―Have I met him?‖
―Yes, sir. Twice, the last time when you were at the Pentagon just last—‖
―Remind me, please.‖
―He brought in the printouts Hernandez distributed.‖
―I don‘t recall the man.‖
―Hardly surprising, sir. There‘s nothing remarkable about him.‖ Halliday chuckled. ―That‘s what made him so valuable during his stint in the field. He worked Southeast Asia before moving into the Operations Directorate.‖
―Wet work?‖
Halliday was startled by the question. Nevertheless, he saw no point in lying. ―Indeed, sir.‖
―And returned home to tell the tale.‖
―Yes, sir.‖
The president made an unintelligible sound deep in his throat. ―Bring him to the Oval Office at—‖ He snapped his fingers for the press secretary‘s attention. ―Solly? Opening, today.‖
Solly put his call on hold, scrolled through a second PDA. ―Five twenty-five, sir. But you only have ten minutes before the formal press conference.
We need to make the six o‘clock news.‖
―Of course we do.‖ The president lifted a hand, smiling. ―Five twenty-five, Bud. Ten minutes is more than enough time for a yea or nay.‖
Then, abruptly, he turned to other matters, a crisis agenda packed with daunting security issues, at the end of which was not a hot bath and a good meal, but a phone conference with his director of protocol, deciding on who to invite to the state funeral for DCI Hart.