pay him his exorbitant salary and tolerate Ferraro’s need to disappear from time to time to explore the stupidity of his private interests. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the inner doors to his spacious suite.

‘Come in, Simone,’ he said, moving back to his large walnut desk.

‘Morning, Richard.’ Simone Carstairs was tall and fit. Her striking red hair contrasted arrestingly with her deep tan. She was universally referred to as ‘Big Red’ around Halliwell Pharmaceuticals, although no one ever used the nickname in earshot of either her or the company’s chairman. Simone guarded the moat around Level 37 with an iron fist in a velvet glove. If you wanted to get to the chairman, you had to get past her. She had an oval face and her immaculate teeth were a brilliant white. Simone Carstair’s orthodontist was one of the most expensive in Atlanta, although there was nothing artificial about her cleavage, a fact that had never been lost on Richard Halliwell. Simone was wearing a loose-fitting top; she bent over his desk, lingering for a fraction longer than she needed to as she placed a cup of freshly percolated coffee on his desk. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Like a log – you?’ he asked meaningfully. Although he knew better than to quiz her, Halliwell often wondered what Simone got up to out of hours, or when she was on one of her numerous holidays to the Caribbean. So far his private investigator had not turned up any attachments. Where possessions were concerned Richard Halliwell was not one to be crossed.

‘I would have slept better if you’d been around,’ Simone replied none-too-subtly. It had been a constant source of irritation to her that Richard would not countenance leaving Constance, his depressingly boring and very religious wife, but she’d reluctantly learned to live with it.

Richard Halliwell had married into one of the most well-connected families in American politics, although if Halliwell thought he might benefit, he’d been sadly mistaken. Constance Halliwell was the daughter of Congressman Davis Burton. The Congressman had failed in both of his attempts to win the Republican nomination for the White House, but as one of the most respected and erudite congressmen on the Hill, he’d risen to lead the Republicans in the House. Speaker Davis Burton was now second-in-line to the Presidency after the Vice President, and a very astute judge of people. With years of experience in dealing with lobbyists and other characters of dubious pedigree swimming in the murky waters of politics, Davis Burton had taken an instant dislike to the young Halliwell. He’d been opposed to the marriage from the very beginning, and as time had gone on, that opposition had strengthened to the point he would no longer tolerate Halliwell in his house; but Richard Halliwell continued to believe he could win the congressman over. At the start of their marriage, when Halliwell discovered his wife was a complete waste of time in the bedroom, he’d nevertheless decided Constance was worth keeping. His difficulties with her father were not in the public domain and there were advantages in having a wife to whom middle-America could relate. To the voters, Halliwell was the ‘all-American boy’ made good, with powerful connections on the Hill and to the White House. Richard Halliwell had no doubt that when the time came, his prominent membership of an increasingly politically savvy Southern Baptist Church would also be a factor. Dan Esposito was not the only one to notice that the new Christian Right in America had become a powerful political force.

‘Your wife rang a few minutes ago. She said to tell you that Randy Baker has been offered a congressional page’s place. He’s going to work with your father-in-law.’

Halliwell nodded in satisfaction. Randy Baker, a young member of the Buffett Center, had recently expressed to Halliwell he had an interest in politics. Richard Halliwell had immediately recruited Constance to put in a word with her father. For the cost of a mobile phone and a few nickels out of petty cash, Halliwell had no doubt he could recruit the impressionable young Randy Baker to report on the comings and goings in the Speaker’s office. Information was power. Halliwell made a note to ring the young man and congratulate him.

‘She also asked me to remind you that you’re having lunch with Jerry Buffett after church next Sunday. He’s asked a Marine Corps Colonel to come down from Maryland and give the sermon as part of his “Wake Up America” program.’ Simone raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in a ‘that should be fun’ expression. ‘And the White House rang. They wanted to know if you are free for a game of golf with the President on Thursday this week at The Vineyard Country Club in California. Dan Esposito will be there as well.’

Richard Halliwell nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. Nestled amongst stately old coastal oaks and towering redwoods not far from the Napa Valley north of San Francisco, The Vineyard was one of the most exclusive golf clubs in the United States and with less than 400 members, it was a club membership that Richard Halliwell had coveted for a long time. A ‘males only’ club, it had been designed in the early 1930s and played host to one of the world’s greatest golf tournaments. The average age of the membership was 76, most of them billionaires and although Richard Halliwell qualified on the latter count there was a problem. You couldn’t apply to be a member of The Vineyard, you had to be invited, and despite some quite intensive lobbying, that invitation had been elusive. Perhaps this might be an opportunity to make some useful contacts, he thought. ‘Sounds interesting, I think you should tell the pilot to stand by.’

‘Already done.’ Simone Carstairs was not just a pretty face. She was also ruthlessly efficient.

‘Did they say who else might be playing?’

‘I asked that, just you three.’

‘Interesting,’ Richard mused. ‘Very interesting.’ A quiet game of golf with the President and his most trusted political advisor was more than a little intriguing.

‘They apologised that the President can’t stay for dinner as he has a speech to deliver at the American Faith-based Policy Institute.’ Like Vice President Bolton’s address to the National Rifle Association, the President’s speech to the right wing think tank would be preaching to the converted, but the Institute was one of the White House’s more important constituencies, plus the audience could be relied on to applaud in all the right places.

‘We’ll just have to dine alone,’ Halliwell replied, his smile a quick, unemotional action.

‘I’ve booked us adjoining suites at The Vineyard Resort,’ Simone said.

Richard Halliwell watched his PA walk from his suite. There was no doubt about it, Simone Carstairs had a great pair of legs and a great fanny.

CHAPTER 29

CALIFORNIA

T he President of the United States was the only leader in the world who used a 747 to get him to a golf match, and the domestic and air travel arrangements for the President had not been lost on either Khalid Kadeer or al-Falid. al-Qaeda had spent many hours looking to exploit any weakness.

The arrival or departure of Air Force One was the stuff of security nightmares. It invariably involved a total air exclusion zone and a closure of taxiways which wreaked havoc with normal domestic and international schedules. If there was an option, airport authorities around the world were always keen for an air force base to be used. Since September 11 the protective screen around Air Force One had been strengthened even further and for the first time in the history of the United States, the US Air Force flew regular combat air patrols over major cities. Although it hadn’t been the practice in the past, if the threat level rose even slightly, Air Force One would be given a fighter escort and the Air Force was confident that the series of security screens around the President’s aircraft would be very difficult for a terrorist to penetrate. The most dangerous time was on take off and landing when the aircraft was vulnerable to a missile strike, but the extra deployments of heavily armed secret service agents around an airfield provided additional protection. Earlier in the day, the 89th Airlift Wing at Andrews Air Force Base had received an anonymous threat to destroy Air Force One which would normally be put down as one of many hoax calls, but this morning’s caller had used the US Air Force’s classified codeword ‘Angel’ for the President’s aircraft, and the Air Force had scrambled two fighters, just in case.

It was a beautifully clear autumn day. In the cockpit of Air Force One, as President Harrison’s chief pilot Air Force Colonel Mike Munro and his crew went through their routine briefing for landing at Travis Air Force Base in California, the vapour trails of two F-16s were visible as they kept a vigilant patrol high above the President. The two young US Air Force pilots were watchful, ready to escort any intruders out of the area, or shoot them out of the sky if it was necessary; in the brave new world post-September 11, the rules of engagement were brutal. This morning only one civilian aircraft had clearance into Travis and that clearance had come from the White House. A black Learjet 60 with the Halliwell Pharmaceuticals logo on the tailfin was scheduled to land 30 minutes before the President.

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