Was it, he wondered. He supposed that depended on your point of view. He could begrudge her her elaborate deception, but to what end? He had seen firsthand how Sharon’s rage at him had destroyed not only their marriage but Sharon herself. As long as she held on to that anger she would never be able to trust anyone, she’d be alone and in anguish for the rest of her life. That was a path he had turned away from some time ago.
“There’s one other thing I can’t fathom,” he said now. “How did you know I’d follow you to the alley that night?”
She put the flat of her hand against his chest. “You’re a decent man, you weren’t going to let me walk into an ambush where you were convinced that I would surely wind up dead.”
He shook his head. “I’m not buying that answer. You could never have been certain that I would come, even after you were careful to tell me in the hotel bar that the Moscow police were worse than useless.”
Her smile was cunning, which had the startling effect of turning her into a sexual creature he did not want to resist. “I studied you, Jack. I knew what had happened with Emma, I knew how your ex-wife blamed you, how you blamed yourself, how, to compensate and to try to make amends you couldn’t resist someone in peril, especially mortal peril.” When he made no comment, she went on, “Tell me you didn’t think of Emma when you made the decision to leave the hotel and come after me.”
“You’re right,” he said, after a time, “Emma was all I thought about that night.”
“Once again, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Leaning forward, he kissed her. “I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry again.”
“Don’t worry,” she put a hand behind his head, caressing him, “you won’t.”
Jack saw the Carsons coming and remembered that Edward had invited him to dinner after the ceremonies.
“I’m going to have to go,” he said, reluctantly breaking away from her.
“Meet me tomorrow,” she said, “in the lobby of the Bolshoi Ballet at seven forty-five.”
And then she was gone, vanishing in the dense swirl of people.
“I hope I didn’t scare off your lady friend,” Edward Carson said. “I was going to invite her to dinner.”
“That’s all right, sir, I don’t think she cares much for this place.”
Carson looked around. “Who the hell could?” He put his arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Once again I owe you a debt I can never hope to repay.”
“No need, sir.”
“On so many levels,” the president continued, “not only me, not only Lyn and me, but the country itself. Dammit, Jack, no one else could have figured out a way to make this damnable security accord a success.”
“I appreciate your faith in me.” Jack didn’t want to talk about a success that involved Dyadya Gourdjiev getting everything he wanted. Instead, he looked around. “I haven’t seen General Brandt.”
“And you won’t. He’s being held incognito and in strict isolation aboard Air Force One. The Justice Department has been notified and will deal with him in due course, as will every other knotty problem of state, when we arrive home tomorrow.” His smile was broad and, for once, relaxed. “Tonight we eat, drink, tell jokes, and best of all, listen to the stories you and Alli have to tell about your adventures in Ukraine. For this one evening we’ve all earned the right to forget about the difficulties of yesterday and whatever may come the day after tomorrow.” He took Lyn’s arm and nodded in Alli’s direction. “Now how about you escort Alli back to the hotel; everything has been prepared for us in my suite.”
THE NEW day dawned just as it had ended, with snow. The presidential motorcade set out for Sheremetyevo, where Air Force One was fueled and waiting. Jack, sitting beside Alli in the limousine directly behind the one carrying the president and First Lady, was looking forward to interrogating the General. Carson had promised him an hour alone with Brandt before anyone else had a crack at him. The president was of a mind to grant Jack pretty much anything he asked for.
“Sorry to be going home?” Jack asked half in jest.
“As a matter of fact,” Alli said, “I am.”
They had reached the Ring Road, coming up on the exit that led to the airport. The snow had lessened and, according to the latest forecast, would be nothing but a memory in an hour or so, but the night had been frigid, and with the overcast predicted to hang around for the next couple of days the sidewalks and roads would remain slick. Jack thought about Annika and the date at the Bolshoi for tonight that he would not now make. He’d called her and left a message on her voice mail telling her of his change in plans. Carson had been expected to stay another day, but the itinerary had abruptly changed because of embarrassing difficulties Ben Hearth, the newly appointed Senate whip, was having keeping the conservative wing of their party in line.
“I miss Annika,” she said, “do you?”
“I wish we were staying longer.” Jack looked out the window at the bleakness of Moscow. “I wanted to see the Bolshoi.”
Alli smiled. “But not with me.”
He smiled in return. “No, not with you.”
Alli was silent for a moment, staring at the motorcycle cops flanking their limo. “Maybe she’ll come to Washington, maybe you’ll come back here.”
“Maybe.” He put his head back; he was suddenly very tired. The moment he closed his eyes he saw Emma. He smiled at her but something was wrong.
Alli must have seen the change in his expression because she said, “Don’t be sad, Jack.”
“I’m not sad, exactly, I—”
The rest of his thought was cut off by her scream. His eyes snapped open to see everything in frantic motion. The presidential limo had skidded, most likely on a patch of black ice, and was now veering off the roadway. Still spinning, it plunged down the verge onto the median, where it struck something buried under the snow. It flipped over as it slammed into a high-tension pole. The cables broke free and swooped down like black crows out of an icy sky, striking the limo, sending a powerful charge through the car.
Alli was still screaming and Jack was out of their limo, running with the Secret Service agents toward the wreck. Sirens were wailing, people were shouting, the entire motorcade had come to a halt, the press corps piling out and running, too, cell phones out, calling, texting, Twittering, whatever means would get the news out the fastest, spreading it to all four corners of the globe even before those on the scene could determine the condition of the president and the First Lady.
Alli caught up with Jack as he waited for the two agents who were closest to swing the cable off the limo. The moment it was safely aside, he wrenched on one of the rear doors. The limo was resting on its roof, there was a welter of security personnel, both American and Russians. Because the Russians were being turned back, their commander decided his men should form the perimeter, keeping back the howling press corps.
By this time Jack had wrenched the door open. He took one look inside and handed Alli to one of her detail.
“What’s going on?” she cried. “Jack, tell me what you saw!”
Putting his head back inside Jack saw Lyn Carson cradling her husband’s bloody head. All the personnel in the front were mangled, clearly dead. Defib Man checked on the president, shook his head, and started to cry.
“Mrs. Carson,” Jack said, “Lyn, we’ve got to get you out of there now.”
She did not move, did not respond, and Jack climbed in over the body of his good friend. When he began to pull her away, Lyn screamed. Her eyes were wide and staring, she was clearly in shock. Then there were other hands helping him, and slowly the Carsons were separated. That’s when he saw that the front of Lyn’s coat was soaked through. At first he thought it was Edward’s blood and, indeed, some of it undoubtedly was, but when she passed out as they tried to extricate her he knew that something was very wrong.
THEY TOOK the president and First Lady—Edward and Lyn—straight to Air Force One, where the president’s trauma surgeon was standing by in the plane’s operating room for Lyn Carson, who had sustained abdominal damage. The American medical team worked on her for six hours, and even then the team leader could not give a definitive long-term prognosis. She was, however, stable enough for Air Force One to take off. By that time the snow had ceased, and a silver sun briefly showed its face through a crease in the thick cloud cover.
During those six hours Jack stood holding Alli, who, after asking him what he had seen, had said not a word. She stared down at her father, gray as ash, shiny as a melted candle, without an outward sign of emotion. This
