So, while her husband hid behind his increasingly elaborate security apparatus, the world’s first trillionaire was out in public, looking poised, brilliant, and decisive. Worse, he now had the backing of Mitch Rapp and Scott Coleman’s organization. With the nearly inevitable addition of Irene Kennedy, he would have more power than most countries.
The fact that Ward was shamelessly taking credit for what had happened in Uganda was telling. He knew that she and her husband had moved against him and was making a show of pushing back. Sending the message that while he preferred to stay out of the spotlight, he understood how to use it as well as anyone.
Of course, the conspiracy theorists were having a field day and their ideas were already beginning to surface in the mainstream media. Ward’s paramilitary win in Uganda and subsequent resurrection were being conflated with the increased security at the White House. Elaborate stories about a shadowy war between the billionaire class and the political elite were springing up everywhere. The only variant was which side was good and which evil.
Fortunately, that was something that could be turned to their benefit. The value of Ward’s companies had plummeted during his temporary death and the inevitable rebound could be used to generate accusations of profiteering, tax fraud, and stock manipulation.
Even better, Ward’s actions in Uganda seemed to have caused the death of numerous minors. The fact that these children were butchers could be glossed over. With a little sleight of hand, they could be portrayed as innocents who could have been rehabilitated if their lives hadn’t been snuffed out by Ward in his single-minded pursuit of safety and ever more wealth. With luck, they might even be able to conjure a faint odor of racism.
These were the problems that would be the focus of her imminent meeting with her husband. Just the two of them and their lead political strategist. No distractions, no tangents, and no other considerations. They needed to regain control of the narrative and reestablish Anthony Cook as the only reliable purveyor of strength, truth, and stability. Because if they didn’t do so quickly, everything they’d worked for would collapse. Without a shepherd, the sheep quickly became lost.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
Catherine gave a nearly imperceptible nod to her husband’s secretary as she passed the woman’s desk. Her mood darkened when she opened the door to the Oval Office and saw that their political strategist was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he had been replaced by the director of the Secret Service and Darren Hargrave, the man they’d chosen to take Irene Kennedy’s place at the helm of the CIA. They were standing close to one another near the room’s seating area, speaking to her husband in rushed, muted tones.
The three men gave her barely more attention than she had the secretary outside, but Catherine refused to acknowledge the slight. Instead she took a seat on one of the sofas, examining each of them in turn. It took more focus than she would have liked to hide her deepening concern.
In many ways, Hargrave was Stephen Wright’s opposite. The Secret Service director was good-looking, forthright, and a man who made up for his lack of creativity with attention to detail. Hargrave possessed creativity in abundance, but at his core was a backstabbing bastard with a gift for destroying everything and everyone around him. The exception to this was Anthony Cook. For whatever reason, Hargrave was utterly mesmerized by the man. To call him loyal would fall well short of describing his relationship to the president. Acolyte might be a better word. Or disciple. Hargrave was less interested in gathering power unto himself than basking in the glow of her husband’s. He was also almost pathologically jealous, using any opportunity to drive subtle wedges between Cook and anyone else who had his confidence. In fact, Catherine sometimes wondered if Hargrave’s wife and children were just a cover. If, in fact, his feelings for her husband went deeper than people suspected.
All this had been quite convenient over the course of their fifteen-year association. Hargrave was a ruthless soldier with boundless devotion and flexible morals. Now, though, he had the potential to become dangerous. She’d monitored him over the years and could already see what was coming. He would carefully stoke her husband’s fear, using it to become advisor, confidant, and guardian. Allowed enough free rein, he would set himself up as the only person who really cared while everyone else just wanted to use the president for their own ends.
A few minutes passed before her husband finally looked in her direction. “Rapp’s still missing.”
“The question is whether he’s on the run,” Hargrave said, motioning with his head toward the windows. “Or if he’s just outside the gate. Waiting.”