Or at least, that’s what he had once been. Before they had crossed paths with a meaningless CIA thug named Mitch Rapp.
Catherine turned toward a television depicting the governor of North Carolina walking through the storm that was devastating his state. In normal times, her husband would have been alongside him—looking young and vital, his drenched dress shirt clinging to a muscular torso. He’d have been depicted talking to locals with an expression of deep concern. Unloading trucks. Stacking sandbags. But no more. Virtually all activities that took place outside the gates of the White House had come to a screeching halt. He’d even backed away from the online partisan sniping that kept the American people so entertained. His mind was now focused on one thing and one thing only: countering the perceived threat posed by Mitch Rapp.
She turned back toward the window and after a few moments heard the door open behind her. There was no question as to who it was. Only one person in the world entered her office unannounced.
“I thought you had a meeting with Dick Trenton?” she said without turning.
Trenton was a billionaire donor who reveled in his access to the president and missed no opportunity to sit across from him in the Oval Office.
“I canceled it.”
“Why?”
He evaded the question. “Still no word from Mike Nash?”
She let out a long breath but kept facing the window, preferring to look at his hazy image reflected in the glass. “No. But that isn’t particularly surprising. He said it would take time.”
“But how much time, Cathy? How do we know that he didn’t have a change of heart once he reconnected with Rapp and the others?”
“Mike’s not an idiot, Tony. He understands where the world is going and the role he can play in it. He’s not going to make enemies of us in hopes of getting forgiveness from Mitch Rapp.”
“Then maybe Rapp killed him. Like he has everybody else.”
She closed her eyes, blocking out the distractions around her. “Mike is a former recon Marine and one of the few people in the world Rapp trusts. More likely, Rapp’s already dead and Mike’s in the process of getting to Nicholas Ward. Once that’s done, we’ll replace Kennedy and it’s over. No one’s going to push back against Mike taking over at the CIA. If anything, he’s better liked around Washington than Kennedy. She has a way of making people uncomfortable.”
“But can we trust him to stay on the path we’re building?”
That was a more difficult question. Nash still had an archaic sense of morality that he couldn’t completely break free of. In the end, though, he didn’t have to like any of this. For now, it would be enough for him to understand that he had no other options.
“There’s nothing we can do about that now,” she said. “But there are things we can do about the Chinese making you look weak in the Pacific. And we need to strategize about how to take advantage of the immigration fight that we both know is coming. And then there are your slipping approval—”
There was a quiet knock on the door and a moment later her assistant opened it. “I’m sorry for the interruption, but Stephen Wright just called to say he’s on his way here. He wanted me to tell you it’s urgent.”
Not surprisingly, that got her husband’s attention. Wright was the recently installed head of the Secret Service and the man in charge of his all-important physical security.
“When?” Cook said, spinning toward the door a little too eagerly.
“Ten minutes, sir.”
Catherine Cook settled into the seating area that dominated the center of the Oval Office. In contrast, her husband chose his normal position behind the modern table that had replaced the Resolute Desk. Constructed of glass, steel, and polished wood, it fit the new décor and was a reminder to all who entered that the past was dead. The battles ahead could be won only by those capable of breaking free of history’s limitations.
Cook stood when his Secret Service chief entered, but Catherine remained on the couch. She’d known Wright for almost twenty years and had never seen him looking so haggard. His thick gray hair was still perfectly arranged and his tan improbably even, but there was perspiration gleaming on his forehead and gathering in the lines around his eyes. Not that it was surprising. He was a former judge with no history of running large organizations—government or otherwise. What he did have, though, was a vision of a new world order that was very similar to their own. Further, he was smart, trustworthy, and very much enjoyed the status provided by being a member of their inner circle.