Valerie frowned. “What about Posse Comitatus?”
“It doesn’t apply to us.”
“Isn’t that unconstitutional?”
“Truman wasn’t concerned with Posse Comitatus when he created the Office.”
“Truman? Harry Truman?”
He nodded. “Val, the Office of Threat Management is the most powerful, most secret organization in the world. We have our hooks into the CIA, the NSA, the NRO, DHS, JSOC, and all the other agencies. We use those resources to ensure the continuation of the United States.”
He saw the skeptical look on her face and continued, “Those aren’t just empty words. We’ve prevented many threats over the years. Terrorist attacks. Financial manipulation that would have wrecked the economy. Crooked politicians ready to sell out the country. The scope of our influence can’t be underestimated. I want you to be a part of it.”
“It sounds… crazy,” she said, wide-eyed.
He almost had her. “You won’t be able to tell anyone that you work for us. You keep your NOC, and you’ll appear to work for the CIA, but you’ll have access to more resources.” He grinned as he cast the last line. Time to reel her in. “You’ll have one other thing. Deion.”
He watched the war of emotions play across her face. Confusion, hope, and uncertainty fought for control, but determination won. “I’m in.”
He remembered his own recruitment by Fulton Smith and smiled. “I always knew you were.”
Huang Lei read the report of Wong Yuan’s death in Seoul and shook his head. His enemy had found a weak spot. He sighed heavily. No matter how much wealth he possessed, it was impossible to do business without leaving some kind of footprint, some kind of path that led his enemy ever closer.
Worse, he had lost Wong Yuan. The man was dedicated to his cause, much like Liu Kong. Wong killed himself rather than be taken alive. He placed his hands on his desk and focused his breathing. His enemy was crafty, with great resources, and would soon have access to the data on the servers. Somehow they would find a way to trace it back, and the next connection would be Liu Kong. He turned to his computer and initiated the video call.
Liu Kong answered promptly. “Have you read the report?”
“It is a great loss. Wong Yuan was a good man.”
“I’m afraid the plan might fail.”
“It is possible,” he allowed, then shook his head. “But, unlikely.”
No, it had to succeed. All his work would be for nothing. Not after everything they had sacrificed. Not after everything his father had sacrificed. “They will come for you.”
“I know. I am preparing for our enemy. They will not best us so easily.”
He bowed deeply. “I trust you to handle this affair.”
“If I should fail,” Liu Kong said, “you must be prepared.”
Huang Lei glanced around at his office. It was the center of his power, but it was only a space he occupied. Even the painting on the wall was just a physical thing. Things could be replaced. “Fear not. I shall never stop.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The President was waiting for Smith in his underground bunker. “Tell me it wasn’t us.” The President tapped his fingers nervously against the desktop, the edges of his eyes tinged with red.
Smith shrugged. “Mr. President? I have no idea of what you speak.”
“I did as you asked,” the President said. “I went out during the press conference and played dumb. This morning the CIA Director called me to ask about a suicide in Seoul. Tell me that wasn’t us.”
Smith eyed the President carefully. “Would you rather not know?”
The President sagged back in his chair. “Damn it. I was hoping it wasn’t us. What happened?”
“That man was involved with the nuclear bomb. We were following an information trail, but he killed himself before we could question him. Sir?”
The President face filled with dread. “Yes?”
“We suspect there might be… more to the plan than just a bomb. There may be a biological component.”
The President soaked in the information, his face pale, before finally giving way to weary acceptance. “What can I do?”
Smith shook his head. “We’re working the intelligence.”
“Should I alert DHS?”
“No. They would likely get in our way. If we need their resources, we have ways of acquiring them. We’ll mitigate this threat, I promise you.” He hesitated, then decided it was time to broach the subject. “Mr. President? There’s something else.”
The President groaned. “Haven’t we had enough?”
“It isn’t a new threat, sir. I’ve mentioned Eric Wise is to be my replacement?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the President said. “Are you saying you’re ready to step down?”
“That day is quickly approaching. I’m not a young man anymore, not like yourself or Eric. He’s a good man. His will be a steady hand to lead the Office.”
The President’s eyes narrowed. “What about your daughter?”
He’d forgotten the young man from Chicago was quite perceptive. “I love my daughter dearly, but she’s not a… viable candidate to lead the Office.”
The President started to speak, caught himself, then nodded. “It’s your decision, Mr. Smith. If there’s one person I trust, it’s you.”
Smith offered the President a rare smile. “Thank you, sir. I must be going. I’ll keep you informed of any updates.”
He turned to go and was almost to the massive bunker door when the President stopped him. “Mr. Smith? What’s that on the back of your neck?”
He absently fingered the bandage, forcing the smile back on his face. “Just a small skin biopsy,” he lied. “A young man like yourself doesn’t have to worry about such things, but old men like myself need to keep a keen eye on our health.”
The President nodded. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Smith.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
He keyed open the steel door with his badge, then took the electric tram back to the underground parking deck. He thought about the President’s concern for his health, but he actually felt better than he had in years. His thoughts were sharper and words came to his lips quicker.
Since the stimulator had activated, he’d felt twenty years younger. Mentally, at least. He was upbeat, and felt he could take on the world, a feeling he had long been missing.
He sniffed as the electric tram rolled through the tunnel. He detected the smell of ozone from the motors, a sharp pungent odor he hadn’t noticed before. No, that wasn’t correct. He hadn’t noticed it for many years, not since the electric tram was installed in the seventies. He could even detect the faint hint of grease from the axles.
It was as if his senses had dulled through the years, then suddenly sprung alive, awake again after a long hibernation. He body was still old and aching — especially the arthritis in his hands that had swollen his knuckles and limited his movement — but the ache didn’t wear him out.
It had been less than two days since the implant and he felt alive again. A growing hope filled his heart.
Perhaps there’s still time.
Smith was impressed with the speed and precision of the attack. Robert was turning the Lincoln north at the intersection of G Street onto 20th when the four black Chevy Suburbans surrounded them. Robert hit the brakes and the vehicles came to a stop.