“No, thanks,” Merrick said. “You know, Sam, just because the food here is free, doesn’t mean you have to eat all of it.”
Fisk ignored the comment and popped another olive in his mouth.
“How’d the meeting go?” Merrick asked, as he was swiveled away from Fisk so Georgia could trim his right side.
“I’ve had better times,” Fisk said.
“How are Louis and Ken getting along?”
“They’ve hit an all-time low.”
Georgia backed away from the President and said, “Do I need to leave for a minute while you two talk?”
Merrick looked at Fisk with a raised eyebrow.
“Sure,” Fisk said. “Just for a couple of minutes, if you don’t mind.”
Georgia placed her scissors on the counter. “I’ll be outside with the boys,” she said pointing to the hallway where two Secret Service agents stood guard. She shut the door behind her and Merrick swiveled around to face the Secretary of State.
“How come you never call me Mr. President?”
Fisk looked appalled. “I call you that all the time.”
“Yeah, at fundraisers or special ceremonies, but never when we’re alone.”
Fisk seemed to examine the integrity of Merrick’s questioning. He finally came to a conclusion, then shook his head. “Fuck you.”
“That’s better,” Merrick grinned. “I thought for a moment you’d forgotten why I cajoled you into this position in the first place. I don’t need yes men, Sam.”
Fisk shrugged.
“Well?” Merrick asked. “What about your War Room meeting?”
Fisk chomped on the last olive, then crumpled up the napkin and tossed it in the trash can under Georgia’s counter. “An offspring of Hamas is trying to get a dirty bomb across the Arizona border.”
“Who?”
“The United Palestinian Force. UPF.”
Merrick pulled his hands out from under his protective cape. “How close are they?”
“Close,” Fisk said. “The committee is still dubious about the potency of the bomb, however.”
“Which means?”
“They feel it’s lacking a main component to achieve full detonation.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Nothing.”
Merrick squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means just what it sounds like.”
Merrick jumped up from the chair and tossed the cape onto his vacant seat. “I’ll announce a press conference,” Merrick said, rubbing his hands together and taking random steps around the small room. “I’ll denounce this new terrorist organization and put them on everyone’s radar.”
“No,” Fisk said. “It’s what they want. They understand how Al Qaeda became a household name after 9-11 and they want that kind of global attention. Attention brings in new recruits and draws more funds.”
“So we ignore them?” Merrick said in a huff. “Then what happens when the bomb explodes and we haven’t been ahead of the incident, warning our people?”
Fisk stood and wiped his hands on a small white towel hanging from a hook on the wall. He went over to the President and gripped his shoulders. “Listen to me,” he said. “I know these guys. They’re publicity whores. They’re like a five-year-old screaming in a grocery store. Let them scream. We’ve got the right people in place. Let them do their job.” He let go of Merrick and remained in front of him while the President folded his arms and looked up at the bigger man.
“Who’s down there?” Merrick asked.
“Nick Bracco.”
Merrick winced. “Hasn’t that guy done enough? Does the entire country’s safety fall on the shoulders of one man?”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Fisk looked down for a moment. “Also. . Matt McColm’s girlfriend, Jennifer Steele. . she was killed by one of Antonio Garza’s crew.”
Merrick stood still and shook his head. “Shit,” he murmured.
“Walt’s in Arizona this morning for the funeral,” Fisk said.
Merrick put it together in his mind. “So Garza’s the one transporting the bomb?”
“Yes.”
Merrick nodded. “And Nick is going after him for killing three FBI agents.”
“That’s another motivating factor, yes.” Fisk walked around Merrick with his hands behind his back. “There’s one other thing. We have an operative down in Mexico. Someone who has dealt with Garza. He seems to know where the bomb is and will notify his contacts when the time is right.”
“And?”
“And Ken needs two million in black ops money to fund their contractor’s operative.”
Merrick sighed. “What’s going on, Sam? How come I’m being told this at such a late date?”
Fisk pursed his lips. “Because we have issues down in the terrorist War Room. If we continue on this same path of information segregation, we’ll be relying on luck more than data.”
Merrick turned his back to Fisk and contemplated his options. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll approve the black ops fund, but only. . and I mean only if we schedule a meeting for the end of the week where I’ll put an end to this info divide.”
“Okay.”
“And I want a plan “B” set up immediately. I’m not going to sit at my desk and wait for a bomb to explode before we react. I have a responsibility to the civilian population to protect them from these types of attacks. I want a continuous update e-mailed every couple of hours. If I have to evacuate a city or county, I’ll do it. I don’t care about the political ramifications.” He turned back to face Fisk. “Is that clear enough, Sam?”
Fisk nodded. “I’ll pass it on.” As he headed for the door, he added with a grin, “Mr. President.”
A large crowd of family and friends milled around Jennifer Steele’s gravesite clutching balled-up tissues and wiping their puffy eyes. They held each other close as one sob bled into another. The priest dipped his fingers into a chalice and sprinkled holy water over the casket while reciting a prayer in Latin. Nick felt Julie tremble in his grip, her head dug deep into his shoulder.
The cemetery was on a twelve acre lot of green rolling hills and overgrown pine trees in Payson, Arizona. A dirt lane curled around the grounds for cars to drive into the appropriate grassy parking area. Matt stood next to Jennifer’s mother who flew in from New Mexico; occasionally the widow would collapse into Matt’s arms while grieving over her only child’s premature death.
Finally, the priest turned toward the assemblage of mourners and opened the Bible. “Beloved members of the Steele family, friends, acquaintances, and all who gather to pay their respects to this wonderful woman,” the priest began.
Just the tone of his voice sent the throng of onlookers into a frenzy of anguish. He continued on about Steele’s courageous life and how she was in a better place, but this wasn’t going to stop the agony. Nick couldn’t bear to hear much more. He kept a close eye on his partner who was holding up quite well under the circumstances.
Nick looked over his shoulder to see Walt Jackson standing in the periphery, respectful, but not wanting to mingle too much. He’d already been to two other funerals that week. He looked as if he’d aged five years over the past seven days.
“So it is worthy of note that her soul will be with our Father. .” the priest continued. This certainly didn’t help. Even the believers were blowing their nose.
To Nick’s right, a small cloud of dust meandered across the hilltops finding its way toward them in a serpentine fashion. The trail was preceded by a blue sedan.
“She’s in Heaven, right?” Julie whispered in Nick’s ear.
