Sinclair nodded. “I understand. It’s the price of safety in this day and age.”
He eased inside and slid across the seat. Once his door was closed, the driver strode around to the front and made exactly two turns before he reached the unloading zone.
Sinclair tipped the man and crossed the street.
Once inside the church, he wove through the sea of diplomats and dignitaries, all on hand to pay their last respects to Madeline Young. Sinclair knew most of the people on hand had never even met the First Lady. Not that he was intimately acquainted with her either. He’d spoken with her on two different occasions, both times expressing her dissatisfaction with the leadership of her husband. He explained that there were other options, which piqued her interest—and eventually persuaded her to volunteer to help.
Sinclair resisted the urge to smile as he approached the front door where photographers swarmed like a hive of hornets deliberating over their next victim. He knew Madeline Young wasn’t dead, but he needed to at least give the appearance of someone who was saddened by her passing. From what he’d seen on television, even President Young seemed convinced that his wife had passed away in the attack.
After forking over his invitation to one of the secret service agents, a man waved his wand around the sleek contours of Sinclair’s body. Once the guard was finished, he gestured for Sinclair to go into the sanctuary, satisfied that he wasn’t a threat to anyone.
And at a cursory glance, the guard was right. But Sinclair was determined to parlay his invite into an event that disrupted the world’s power structure.
Once the funeral began, Sinclair sat restlessly through several homages of people who were sharing stories about the public face of Madeline Young—kind, amicable, classy. But Sinclair had heard otherwise from others working closely with her. Behind closed doors, she was a monster, sharp-tongued and not a fan of her husband’s policies. And according to one staffer, she wasn’t happy with her husband in general, not to mention that she had a reputation among the Secret Service for carrying on a potentially scandalous dalliance or two. Her penchant for such relationships inspired his plan to have the late General Fortner woo her, a suggestion that didn’t need much encouragement given how gorgeous the First Lady was. She wasn’t Sinclair’s type, but she seemed to be more than desirable to most men, and he leveraged that into Obsidian’s infiltration of the White House bedroom. But Sinclair’s plan was far from finished.
He pulled out his pocket watch again, checking the time. An hour had elapsed since the funeral started, and the eulogies began to sound all alike.
Once the service finally ended, Sinclair joined a procession with President Young and his invited friends and family to the graveside service. Without any cell phones allowed and only one pool photographer for the press, Sinclair saw the opportunity to connect with the president without prying eyes. Sinclair was prepared to issue an invitation that Young would be inclined to receive with just the right pitch. And since Sinclair had already engineered the compelling reason that would stir the president’s emotions, acceptance was a mere formality.
As Madeline Young’s casket and faked remains were lowered into the ground, Young stood by the graveside, head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. His tear-stained cheeks shook as his soft crying transitioned to wailing.
Sinclair decided to seize the moment of grief and approached Young. A Secret Service agent slid in front of Sinclair and put a hand to his chest followed by a subtle shake of his head.
“Give him a moment,” the agent said.
“Of course,” Sinclair replied, backing away.
After another minute, the man looked at Sinclair and nodded at him before gesturing toward Young.
Sinclair strode up to the president and put his arm around him. “I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”
Young looked up and turned toward Sinclair, their eyes locking. “Did you know my wife?”
Sinclair shook his head. “Unfortunately, our paths never crossed. And based off all I heard today, since she’s gone makes that fact an even sadder one.”
“She was a big fan of all your space exploration,” Young said, his dour countenance lightening as he recalled his wife’s enthusiasm for space travel. “I don’t know how many times she implored me to direct NASA to restart the shuttle program and take more trips into space. I think deep down she thought she might be able to sneak on a future mission as a pilot.”
The two men began walking toward the line of waiting vehicles.
“I was certainly aware of her passion for space exploration,” Sinclair said.
“Well, I appreciate you coming to pay your last respects to a woman you never even met. I know it likely wasn’t easy for you to get here so quickly, but I was pleased to hear from my staff that you were interested in attending today.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Is there something more you’d like to do?”
Sinclair nodded. “As a matter of fact, there is. I know that you’re still grieving over your wife’s death, but you shouldn’t be. The only reason we’re standing here is because of another violent act from someone determined to inflict pain on you personally as well as instill more fear into the American people.”
“And there’s little we can do about it, especially when the world is teeming with terrorists intent on raining down death and destruction on our country. We do what we can, but it’s difficult to fight a foe with nothing to lose.”
“Until now,” Sinclair said. “My team has engineered a new weapon that might help you turn the table on terrorists and make them fear you like never before. Interested?”
Young stopped, his eyebrows shooting upward as he cocked his head to one side. “Very much so.”
“Excellent,” Sinclair said. “Next week, I’ll
