Hawk chuckled. “I’m glad to see that over the past nine months you’re still as sassy as ever.”
“And you haven’t lost any of your bravado. But seriously, I’d rather you wait and see before you storm the castle. I really think my plan is going to work, and the less we stay out of the crosshairs, the better as it pertains to our future.”
“If we wait on this, it may not matter. Once Michaels is re-elected, all bets are off.”
“This won’t take that long.”
“But you want to rely on the legal system to handle this. When was the last time they ever delivered for you?”
“Stop being so stubborn, Hawk. Think of this as the kind of operation that requires weeks, not hours. It’s going to work.”
“Let’s suppose for a moment that your plan is flawless. You’ve accounted for everything, including the variables of how certain people might react when placed in a pressure cooker of a situation like you’ve created. Even if you’re right, how long will this take before Michaels is gone and behind bars? Months? Years? We simply don’t have that long, not for our own sake or for the sake of the country. If Michaels remains in power, God only knows the destruction that we’ll suffer at the hands of this maniac. We’re liable to have another 9-11 all over again, only this time it could be far worse.”
“But charging in and handling it like a vigilante amounts to nothing more than anarchy—and that’s not good for the country in the long run either. You’ll open up Pandora’s box with that and will never be able to put it back.”
Hawk sighed. “I’m going to be vigilant, but not a vigilante. I’ll make him do the right thing.”
“If you’re making him do anything, he’ll fight back. He needs to choose to resign.”
“What makes you think Michaels would ever be humble enough to walk away without a fight?”
“I expect a fight, but he’s going to lose. The American people are going to find out exactly what kind of monster he is. But don’t worry—I have a failsafe.”
“You’re counting on me to handle this if it doesn’t work out?”
Alex chuckled. “When I was planning things, I wasn’t sure I could count on you getting out alive. So, I went with my next best option.”
“And who’s that?”
“Just don’t go right now, Hawk. Promise me that you’ll wait for a few days and let me keep you updated on what’s happening.”
“I don’t know, Alex. Sitting by idly isn’t my style.”
“Just promise me, Hawk. Okay? That’s what I need to hear right now.”
“I promise to proceed with caution.”
“Hawk!”
“It’s the best I can do, Alex. I’m not gonna lie to you.”
“Fine. I’ll take what I can get. But use extreme caution. Understand?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Hawk hung up and stared out the window at the Washington cityscape sprawling below. He vowed to honor his word to Alex, but he knew he wouldn’t sit around and wait long.
Something’s got to give—and it’s not going to be me.
CHAPTER 25
Camp David, Maryland
PRESIDENT MICHAELS APPROACHED the tee box with a swagger that didn’t quite fit his golf game. Since taking office nearly four years prior, he’d discovered that his skill level had increased significantly. He attributed his improvement to the fact that he had more access to more courses than he’d ever had before—and he took full advantage of them.
He leaned down and put a ball on top of a tee and slid it into the ground. Once he straightened upright, he glanced back over his shoulder to see David Kriegel whispering something to another aide. Kriegel covered his mouth with his hand, but Michaels knew what he was saying. Undoubtedly, Kriegel had launched into a diatribe about the terrible optics of golfing so close to the election. He’d implored Michaels to forego the outing and attend a nearby rally. But Michaels refused to listen.
“The people want to know that I’m normal,” Michaels said as he argued with Kriegel. “Playing golf is a way for me to show them that I’m just like them.”
“But your average voter doesn’t play golf. They all see it as a rich man’s game,” Kriegel fired back.
“It hardly costs anything to play a round. What are you talking about?”
Kriegel shook his head and didn’t say a word.
Michaels believed he knew better than Kriegel, who Michaels believed rarely offered any sound advice. Kriegel was there to be a sounding board, not to sound off. But when he dared to speak his mind, Michaels plugged both ears.
Michaels gave Kriegel one more glance before addressing the ball. Recoiling slowly, Michaels unleashed a vicious swing that sent the ball hurtling forward—and to the left.
“Damn it,” Michaels muttered as he watched his shot hook toward a patch of trees.
Michaels handed his club to his caddy and lumbered forward. The three senators he was playing with had all hit their balls straight and left them squarely in the middle of the fairway. And while Michaels had the honor of hitting last as the winner of the previous hole, such a position gave him no advantage. He squandered it when his shot landed deep in the wooded boundary.
“You’ll be all right, Mr. President,” one of the senators said as he continued forward.
“You’re not kidding I’ll be all right,” Michaels said under his breath. “You know I’m going to come back and win this hole.”
At least, that’s how it almost always went. Michaels’ tee shot would veer off course, but he’d make up for it with his short iron game.
Michaels snatched a 3-iron from his bag and told his caddy to wait along the fairway. The search for the lost ball lasted all of two minutes. Unable to locate the ball, Michaels fished one out of his pocket and dropped it on the ground, kicking it to a favorable lie before announcing that he’d found his shot.
He took a deep breath and gauged
