O’Rourke. He tossed Garret to the side, and as he bounced off the wall, he was met square in the jaw by O’Rourke’s fist.
Garret’s upper body twisted briefly in the direction of the blow, and then his knees buckled, bringing his body crashing to the floor.
Michael stood over Garret for several seconds, adrenaline rushing through his veins, fighting the urge to kick his teeth in. He took several deep breaths and got control of himself. Turning, he looked at a wide-eyed and stunned President Stevens. Michael ignored him and walked back to where he had been sitting. As he put on his watch, he said, “Director Stansfield, I’ll leave you and the President alone to work out the rest of the details. Call me later and we’ll talk.”
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Grabbing his suit coat off the back of the chair, he walked to the door. Neither
Stansfield nor the President said a word.
THE NORTHWEST WING OF MIKE NANCE’S RURAL-MARYLAND HORSE
ranch was decorated in a turn-of-the-century Western decor. The large room was forty feet long and half as wide. Dark oak paneling covered both the walls and the ceiling.
Three antique brass-and-wood ceiling fans helped partition the room into thirds. On the right was an ornate wood bar that looked as if it had been plucked out of an old Western saloon.
The middle of the room was dominated by a stone fireplace with a buffalo head mounted above the mantel, and the far end was occupied by a billiards table. The walls were adorned with expensive oil paintings of Western landscapes and U.S. cavalry troops and Indians in the throes of battle. The owner of this expensive collection of American art had never learned to appreciate the beauty and history of the room. His input into its decoration was limited to writing the check to the interior decorator. Mike Nance stood in front of the bar with a glass of Scotch in his hand. It was his third in less than an hour.
Nance stared at his reflection in the mirror that adorned the wall behind the bar. The white bandage over his nose made his two black eyes look worse. With a tense restraint, he reached up and carefully pulled off the bandage. He set the blood-soiled bandage on the bar next to his drink and decided to leave the two pieces of crimson-colored cotton in his nose. Looking into the mirror, he could see over his shoulder that the sun was floating downward in the western sky. Nance turned and walked to a set of French doors that looked to the west and over his estate. The soon-to-be-former national security adviser judged that in another hour it would be dark. He took a drink of Scotch and again asked himself if there was a way out. He was not ready to give up.
His resignation did not have to be announced until noon tomorrow, and until then he wasn’t done. Nance heard the clamor of frantic footsteps coming down the hall, and a moment later the door sprang open. Stu Garret entered wearing a tan trench coat and minus two of his upper front teeth. Garret approached with his hands thrust outward in an apologetic fashion. “I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t want to talk, but I didn’t see any other way out.” Nance had not seen Garret since he’d been knocked unconscious earlier in the day.
An hour earlier Nance had called the loose-lipped chief of staff and summoned him to his ranch.
Garret continued to blab, but Nance wasn’t listening. As soon as Garret came within striking distance, Nance reached out in a wide arc and slapped him in the face. The sound of skin on skin rang out through the long room. Garret immediately stepped backward and clutched his cheek. With his eyes opened wide he screamed, “What in the hell did you do that for?” Nance felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. He smiled ever so slightly at Garret. “That is for not keeping your mouth shut.”
While rubbing the sore spot on his face, Garret shot back, “This whole thing wasn’t my fucking idea, Mike. I can’t believe I let-” Nance raised his hand in preparation to strike again and took a step forward.
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Garret cowered backward and put his hand up to block the blow. Nance did not hit him. Instead, he kept his hand above his head and said, “I am the only thing standing between you and your grave, Stu. Lest you’ve forgotten, Arthur took out a contract on you before he died, and I’m the only one who can rescind it.” Taking another step backward,Garret said, “Well, why in the hell don’t you call it off?.”
“It’s not that simple, Stu. And besides, I’m not so sure I want to.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to?” asked a panicked Garret. Nance finally lowered his hand and took a deep breath. “If you could have kept your mouth shut, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“What about the fucking tape?” asked Garret with bugged eyes. “They had that damn tape of Arthur admitting everything. That wasn’t my fault.”
“I knew I should have never listened to Arthur.” Nance glanced upward and shook his head in frustration. “I told him you didn’t have the stomach for this.”
“Hey, I was fine until that madman O’Rourke started flexing his muscles.”
“You were cracking long before he entered the picture.” Nance turned and looked out the window for a moment. His thoughts settled on O’Rourke. “I wonder if Mr. O’Rourke knows more than he was letting on.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it might be worth our while to have a little chat with the young
Congressman.” Nance looked past Garret and honed in on his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He reached up and gently touched his swollen, purple nose. “Besides, I’d like the opportunity to give him a little payback.”
“Mike, are you fucking crazy? We’ve been given a chance to walk away from this whole mess. Let’s take the deal and cut our losses.” Nance wheeled toward Garret, causing the chief of staff to abruptly step backward. “I have worked my whole life to get where I am.” Nance stepped closer and Garret retreated, matching his strides. “I am more than willing to gamble on the fact that O’Rourke might know more than he claims. We have nothing else to lose thanks to you and your lack of composure.” Nance turned away from Garret and walked toward the door.
“Wait right here, Stu. I’ll be back in a minute.” Nance walked to the opposite end of the four-thousand-square- foot rambler. He stopped at the door to his private study and punched in the eight-digit code for the security lock on the door. The light turned from red to green and he twisted the handle.
