“And,” said Scot, “with the president not running for reelection next year, this scenario gave Marshfield a chance to get out in front of the cameras and show American voters how he could operate in a tough situation.”
“That’s right. The thing he wasn’t expecting was for the situation to get tougher. From what we’ve been able to uncover, the deal had been that the kidnappers would hold on to the president long enough for the bill to collapse, and then he would be sent home.”
“So the FRC angle was just a front all along, wasn’t it?”
“Exactly. The kidnappers knew Marshfield would never authorize the release of the Disneyland bombers, nor would he put pressure on any other countries like Egypt to release any funds or other prisoners the kidnappers might ask for. It was all one big ruse.”
“Just like the president’s cell in Switzerland. When he was returned home and debriefed, everything he would describe would be consistent with having been kidnapped by the Fatah. Right down to the lousy smells, desert heat, and calls to worship.”
“That was the plan, but then the kidnappers got greedy. They already had the president, why not demand more money? Fawcett didn’t care what happened, so he wasn’t going to pay up. He’d already paid them enough and even if they did kill the president, Marshfield would take his place and Fawcett would own the new president lock, stock, and two smoking barrels. When the kidnappers turned their sights on Marshfield for more money, that’s when he began to fall apart.”
“How did Bill Shaw fit into all of this?”
“Marshfield recruited him. Shaw had been involved in a couple of small things he shouldn’t have been. He was helping to rig security contracts for old friends, and when Senator Snyder gave this information to the vice president, it was pretty easy bringing Shaw on board. He was offered money and a good chance at the directorship of the Secret Service once Marshfield took office.”
“But you didn’t put all this together from the wine invoice, did you?” asked Harvath.
“No. A lot of this was the result of Miner’s and Shaw’s confessions. The wine invoice led us to Fawcett, which led us to the refinery fire in Magna, Utah, just outside of Salt Lake. When we realized the president had been kidnapped, we checked and triple-checked every flight that left the Salt Lake area. There had been a MediJet flight supposedly repatriating one of Fawcett’s British chemists terribly burned in the fire back home to England to die. The problem was, the deeper we looked into it the harder the chemist was to find. He was a ghost. He never existed.
“We got ahold of the plane and had our forensics people go over it for everything. The MediJet people said that because of an oxygen tent that was needed to transport the terribly burned patient, the patient used his own stretcher. We found small pieces of mud that must have been on the wheels of the stretcher that matched the mud from the farm where the Mormon couple had been murdered.”
Scot remembered how badly Lawlor had chewed him out at that farm and let it pass. That was behind them now. “So, the farm was a staging ground and they loaded the president into an ambulance there and simulated the burns before leaving on the MediJet flight?”
“Yes, and all of this has been confirmed in Gerhard Miner’s confession.”
“That’s why I needed you to let him live, Scot,” said the president. “We needed to know who was behind all this.”
“So, what now? I understand Fawcett is still at large,” said Scot.
“With his kind of money, it’s easy to disappear,” said Lawlor, “but we’ll find him. We already have a couple of leads. By the way, I have a message for you from my boss, FBI director Sorce.”
Scot’s eyebrows raised.
“He was needed at the office and was sorry he couldn’t be here to give it to you in person. You can imagine how busy all of us still are.”
“Of course I can.”
“Director Sorce wanted me to tell you how proud he is of you. He says you are a credit to the Secret Service and to your country.”
“Hear, hear,” said Director Jameson.
“Secondly, he knew the tremendous burden you felt losing so many men. He wants you to know his thoughts are with you.”
“That’s very kind of him. Please tell him I said thank you.”
“But, that’s not all.”
“No?”
“No. He is very aware of how William Shaw betrayed you and the rest of the Secret Service. He wants you to know that Shaw will be standing trial and that he apparently ‘slipped’ several times as agents took him into custody. The director knew you would appreciate this last bit of information.”
Scot looked at the president and the attorney general, who acted as if they didn’t comprehend the reference, and then let a small smile creep across his lips. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Lawlor. “So, that’s about it. Any questions?”
“I have one for the president.”
“Go ahead,” he said.
“How’s Amanda?”
“She’s wonderful and is mending quite well. That’s another thanks I owe you. You saved my daughter’s life.”
“I’m just glad she’s going to be okay.”
“If you have time after this meeting, she’s recuperating in the residence and would love to see you.”
“That would be nice. I’ll make sure I stop by.”
“Director Jameson, I believe you have something else to say?” said the president.
“Yes, sir. Scot, the Secret Service is extremely proud of you. We know what has happened over the last almost two weeks has not been easy for you at all. It also goes without saying that you have been cleared of all allegations of wrongdoing, and we apologize that you were ever placed in this situation to begin with. We know you’ll probably need a little more time off for R and R, but the president has authorized me to offer you the position of chief of White House Security. We have a lot of rebuilding to do, and none of us can think of a better man to do it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” said Lawlor, and the room broke out in another polite round of laughter.
“Yes, I’ll take it.”
Everyone in the room stood and applauded, and Scot rose to shake their hands.
“Before you go,” said the president as a hush fell over the room, “I would like to ask you, Agent Harvath, if there’s anything else I can do. You saved my life and my daughter’s. I’ve given you a new job, but that’s hardly enough. If there’s anything else I can do for you, say the word and it’s yours.”
“Well, Mr. President, there is one thing.”
Epilogue
Caspian Sea-one month later
“Dahling, if you don’t hurry, you will miss sunset,” drawled the beautiful blonde woman in her thick Russian accent. Her tan body was a stark contrast to the white cotton hammock in which she lay. Their sleek sailing yacht sat peacefully at anchor off the Russian coast, with only an occasional ripple across the warm, dark water to disturb yet another otherwise perfect day. “Dahling, are you bringing drinks?” she said in that voice that had captivated him when he first met her in Minsk.
“Da. A little more tequila and I’m going to show you the best margarita you’ve ever had. Even the fucking Mexicans don’t make ‘em this good,” shouted a man’s voice from below deck.
“Well, hurry. Light is going!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your perestroikas on. If you knew how to do anything else but lie around, I’d be up
