“You too, Mr. President.”
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Michaels said, gesturing toward the pair of chairs in the corner of the room.
Bozeman nodded and lowered himself into the seat, cautiously eyeing Michaels, who settled into the opposite chair.
“How can I help you, Mr. President?”
“If that much isn’t obvious to you yet, I’m not sure you’re the right guy for the job, Harry.”
Bozeman cocked his head and tilted it to the right, his eyebrows arching upward. “Your approval ratings, I assume, would be the purpose of this meeting.”
Michaels leaned forward before clapping his hands and pointing at Bozeman. “You’ve got it. I need help to make a miraculous comeback with the people in the arena of public opinion or my election bid next year may never even get off the ground.”
“I think I can help you with that.”
“What do you suggest?”
“The same thing I always do: The proven method for resurrecting the career of any president—war.”
Michaels took a deep breath and exhaled before knitting his brow. “But are you sure? The people are protesting in the streets. They want peace.”
“They say they want peace. But what they really want is to feel safe.”
“That distinction is a little lost on me. Seems like those two go hand in hand.”
Bozeman flashed a sardonic grin. “Consider this example for a moment. If you live in a neighborhood where armed guards are on every corner, you feel safe because even if someone tries something, they’re not going to get away with it. Justice will be served—and maybe even with a cold hard bullet. Now, what if you live in a neighborhood where there are no armed guards but everybody supposedly gets along and it’s all rainbows and unicorns. But at any moment, any one of those neighbors could turn on them and commit a crime, and the residents wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Which sounds safer?”
“The first one, of course.”
“Exactly, though that may not be rooted in reality. Crime may have been more prevalent in the first scenario despite the presence of guards. But facts don’t matter any more. It’s all about how people feel. That’s why you need to help them realize they are safer because you’re tough on terrorism—and you get your man. If you want to see spikes in recent presidencies, just look at what happened when Saddam Hussein was caught or Osama Bin Laden. Huge waves of favorable ratings.”
Michaels smiled. “This is an idea I can get behind. How do you propose going about and making this happen?”
“Glad you asked,” Bozeman said as he stood. “I’ve got just the plan.”
CHAPTER 3
Portree, Isle of Skye
Scotland
AS HAWK AND ALEX WALKED up the long pathway to the stone villa situated atop a grassy knoll, he watched the surrounding trees sway beneath the weight of a relentless wind. He stopped and took in the dramatic scene in the distance just beyond the house—rollicking waves colliding with rocks rising from the shallow waters against a backdrop of a never-ending gray sky hovering over the Loch Portree. After a long moment, Alex tugged on his arm.
“Come on, let’s go,” she said. “You know how much Blunt hates to be kept waiting.”
Hawk didn’t move. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The rhythmic chaos?”
Alex pulled on Hawk again. “It looks like our lives right now, though far more predictable. Now, let’s go.”
Hawk relented and directed his gaze forward. “It’s not going to be like that forever, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. It’ll be peaceful when we both get shot in the head and die. Until then, we must shoulder this burden for everyone else who fortunately doesn’t have this calling.”
Hawk sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps, but that’s our fate, right?”
“I wish I could choose another fate.”
“That’s the thing about fate—it chooses you, not the other way around.”
They stopped at the doorstep.
“Why don’t you choose to knock on the door?” Alex asked. “I’ve had enough of this psycho-babble talk for now. It’s starting to hurt my head.”
Hawk went to knock, but before he could, the door swung open.
“I thought you two would never make it,” Blunt said, gesturing for them to come inside. He scanned the area and shut the door, locking it behind them.
“How many places do you own exactly?” Alex asked, gawking as she ran her fingers along the oak wood inlays and looked up at the elaborate mosaic built into the ceiling . “This place is amazing.”
“Not enough, apparently,” Blunt said, leading the trio toward the sitting room.
“Did someone discover your German chalet?” Alex asked.
“I’m not sure, but it’s possible, which makes it useless to me now.”
Alex started to ask another question, but Blunt waved her off emphatically.
“Let’s just get to the matter at hand, shall we?” he said as he slunk into a recliner.
Hawk and Alex took a seat on the couch across from him.
Blunt sat up and leaned forward. “Unfortunately, since you killed Thor, The Chamber will assume that you’re both still alive. Neither of your bodies were found, and your attacker was killed in Washington. Not to mention all his money was drained from his account.”
“Got to have a savings plan,” Alex said.
“Well, be careful with that. It’s a good way to get yourself killed. And that defeats the purpose of saving, doesn’t it?”
Alex nodded sheepishly.
Hawk let out an exasperated breath. “Look, we need to make a move now on Bozeman and eliminate him altogether.”
“That wouldn’t be such a good idea,” Blunt warned. “Everybody and their brother is going to be looking for you, waiting for the two of you to return to Washington. And when you get there, they’re going to pounce on you.”
“We’ve avoided them before; we can avoid them now,” Hawk argued.
“It’s not that simple,” Blunt said. “We’ve poked the bear, and the last thing you want to do is enter the capital with every agency on high alert looking for you two.”
“When have they ever not been looking for us?” Hawk countered.
“I’m with the senator on
