all opposition, and Iraq will return to a Hussein-style dictatorship. We can’t let that happen. All the money spent and lives lost will have meant nothing. And if that happens in Iraq there’s no reason to think the Taliban can’t reemerge in Afghanistan.”
Brennan looked at Gray. “What do you think?”
Actually, Gray was chagrined he hadn’t thought of it first. Decker had clearly outflanked him on this.
Brennan didn’t look convinced. “I need to think it over.”
“Absolutely, Mr. President,” Decker replied. “But it is on a tight time frame. And as you well know should Iraq and Afghanistan fall back under the control of governments hostile to us, the American public will raise holy hell.” He paused and added, “That is not a legacy you want or deserve, sir.”
For all his hatred of the man Gray had to admit, from the concerned expression on Brennan’s face, Decker had played it perfectly.
After Decker had left, Brennan sat back and took off his reading glasses. “Before we start the briefing, I want to run something by you, Carter. I’m heading up to New York on September 11 to give a speech at the memorial site.” Gray knew where this was going but stayed silent. “I wanted to know if you’d like to accompany me. After all, you’ve done more than almost anyone to ensure something like that never happens again.”
It was unheard-of to decline an invitation by a United States president to travel to an event. However, Gray really didn’t care about protocol or tradition with this particular subject.
“That is a kind offer, sir, but I’ll be attending a private service here.”
“I know it’s painful for you, Carter, but I just thought I’d ask. You’re sure?”
“Very sure, Mr. President. Thank you.”
“All right.” Brennan paused. “You know about my hometown renaming itself after me?”
“Yes, sir. Congratulations.”
Brennan smiled. “It’s one of those things that come along that’s both flattering and embarrassing at the same time. My ego’s not so large that I can’t see that the town’s hope in profiting by the change is at least equal to their wanting to pay homage to a local boy made good. I’m going up to give a speech at the dedication and shake some hands. Why don’t you join me?”
If the most important rule was you never declined a president’s invitation, the second most important rule was you never turned the man down twice.
“Thank you, I’d like that very much.”
The president tapped his glasses against his briefing book. “It’s likely that I’ll be here for another four years.”
“I’d say it’s more than likely, sir.”
“I want you to speak frankly, Carter. This will stay between you and me.” Gray nodded. “Despite your successes in protecting this country, do you believe that the world is safer today than it was when I took office?”
Gray carefully considered this question, trying to ascertain the answer his chief wanted. However, Brennan remained inscrutable, so Gray decided to tell him the truth. “No, it’s not. In fact, it’s far more volatile.”
“My people tell me that at its present consumption the planet could run out of fossil fuel in fifty years. No more plane travel, a few electric cars, cities shutting down for lack of energy. How we communicate, work, travel, get our food, all radically transformed.
“That’s all certainly possible.”
“Yes, but without our military, how do we remain safe, Carter?”
Gray hesitated and then said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer for you, sir.”
Brennan said quietly, “I believe the difference between a mediocre president and a great one is
“You’ve done a good job, Mr. President. You should be proud.” Actually, in Gray’s opinion, the man hadn’t done anything special, yet he was not about to tell his boss
As Gray walked out of the West Wing an hour later, his mind, for once, wasn’t on stopping America’s enemies or pleasing his commander in chief. As he climbed aboard the chopper, Gray was thinking about purple. That was his daughter’s favorite color until she was six. And then orange became her favorite. When he asked her why the change, she informed him with hands on little hips and her stubborn chin angled up that orange was a more grown-up color. Even to this day that memory never failed to make him smile.
Warren Peters finally found the boat where the Camel Club had hidden it. He immediately called Tyler Reinke and the man joined him quickly.
“You’re sure this is it?” Reinke asked as he gazed at the boat.
Peters nodded. “There’s blood on the gunwale. So I was right. I hit one of them.”
“If they took the boat and brought it back, someone might have seen them.”
Peters nodded and then stared out at the water. “But there might be an easier way to track them down. Johnson had ID in his pocket.”
“Right, so?”
“So what if our witnesses saw where he lived, and get curious?”
“It might save us a lot of legwork,” Reinke agreed. “We’ll go there tonight.”
CHAPTER
23
CHOOSING HIS WORDS WITH CARE and hedging as much as he possibly could without drawing the ire of his superiors, Alex wrote up his report and e-mailed it to Jerry Sykes. He finished up some other paperwork and decided to call it a day before someone grabbed him for post duty. Alex had no desire to spend another evening watching a king or prime minister stuff his face with crab dip.
He passed an agent who was stashing his pistol in a wall locker before going in to interrogate a suspect.
“Hey, Alex, bust any more ATM bandits?” the agent asked. The story had made its way through WFO with the swiftness only a water cooler broadcast network could inspire.
“Nope. Couldn’t find anybody else that stupid.”
“Hear you and Simpson make a nice team,” the man commented, barely suppressing a grin.
“We have our moments.”
“Heard of J-Lo?”
“Who hasn’t?” Alex replied.
“Well, Simpson is J-
“J-Glo? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Alex, she’s got a halo over her. The light is shining from heaven above on that little southern pistol. They say it’s blinding from at least five hundred yards. I’m surprised you can still see.”
The agent walked off, laughing.
As luck would have it, Alex ran into his partner on the way out of the building.
“Going home?” he asked.
“No, I’m going to see if I can find any friends. I can’t seem to dig up any here. ”
She started to walk off, but Alex put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, what I said was meant as constructive criticism, nothing else. I would’ve paid good money for tips like that when I was just starting out and didn’t know squat.”
For an instant Simpson actually looked like she wanted to take a swing at him, but with what seemed immense self-control she regained her composure.
“I appreciate your interest but it’s different for a woman. The Service is still very much a man’s world.”
“I’m not denying that, Jackie. But the fact is you’re not doing your career any favors by letting yourself be
