The Dragon Factory

“You honestly believe that Church has a leash on me?”

“Based on the information I received, yes. How many ways would you like me to phrase it? Look… you can ask me to step down and I will. You can put me in front of Congress and I’ll do it without ever taking the Fifth. I’m willing to jump through any hoops you want, Mr. President, but my answer is going to be the same thing every time. The information my source brought me was compelling. It still is compelling.”

“Are you willing to tell me what that information is?”

“I’m reluctant to do so with Linden here.”

“I can step out,” offered Brierly, but the President shook his head.

“If there are any skeletons in my closet, Bill,” said the President, “then Linden already knows about them. I also think it’s important that there be a witness to this conversation.”

Collins looked from one to the other, clearly uncertain.

“Mr. President… are you sure there is nothing too confidential for-”

“Nothing,” insisted the President.

Collins blew out a breath. “Very well. My source told me that Mr. Church has evidence that you used government assets and personnel to squash a link between companies for which your wife served as legal counsel to misappropriation of funds during the first round of financial bailouts.”

The President stared at him. Brierly’s face was a stone.

“If that were to be made public,” Collins continued, “it would destroy your credibility as President, seriously undermine the economic recovery of this country, which could cause an even worse market crash than we had in 2008 and early 2009, and very likely result in impeachment. It would effectively kill your presidency and reverse any good that you’ve done.”

“I see.”

“What would you expect me to do? I saw a chance to get you out from under the control of a blackmailer and at the same time protect you and this country from a catastrophe. You want to fry me for that, then do it. I won’t even make this public if you put me on trial or before a hearing. What I also won’t do, Mr. President, is apologize for my actions.”

The President nodded slowly. “Does the name Stephen Preston mean anything to you?”

Collins stiffened.

“I see it does. He’s your source, isn’t he?”

Collins said nothing.

“Bill, a few minutes before you arrived I received a call from the Attorney General. For the last eighteen months Stephen Preston has been the deputy information analyst for Homeland. His clearance is above Top Secret. He’s respected and well placed, and if anyone would be in a position to discover a scandal of the kind you’ve described it would be him. Likewise if anyone was able to crack MindReader and the DMS and learn of an ongoing campaign of blackmail it would be him. Agreed?”

Collins said nothing.

“So, if someone like Stephen Preston came to you with information of this kind it’s understandable, perhaps even imperative, that you would give serious credence to him. I can see that; Linden can see that. The Attorney General must have seen that, because he backed your play in this matter.”

Collins said nothing.

“Forty minutes ago a security guard found Stephen Preston at his desk, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

“What?”

“He had a note on his desk. While not exactly a suicide note, it was nonetheless a very long and rambling letter about the corruption of the American system and the need for it to be wiped away so that it can be replaced by a system created by God and dedicated to His will. That sort of thing. Six pages of it. Superficially the handwriting appears to be his, but the FBI will run their tests. The entire office is now a crime scene, and I’ve asked the Attorney General to work with the Bureau to make sure that the forensics are done without bias and with no stone unturned.”

“Good… God…” Collins looked stricken and Brierly pulled up a chair for him. The Vice President sat down with a thump. “I… I… don’t understand. He had records; he had proof…”

“Bill, there are probably very few people better suited to fabricate that exact kind of proof. Our biggest concern now is to determine if Preston acted alone or if this is part of some larger conspiracy. I am debating going public with this once we have the facts so that there is absolutely no stink of cover-up.”

“I… don’t know what to say. Mr. President, I-”

The President smiled for the first time. “Bill, I don’t like what you did. People were hurt, trust was broken, and tensions now exist between the NSA and DMS-two crucial groups that need to be able to trust one another and work together without reservation. And I’ll be straight with you… I’m going to look very closely at you. You’re going to be vetted all over again and if I find anything-anything-out of place I’m going to drop you into a hole and bury you with it.”

Collins shook his head. “I believed-”

“I know. I’m trusting you, Bill, but I have to be sure.”

“But Church…”

“Bill, if Mr. Church was really the enemy here he would destroy you. Don’t think I’m exaggerating.” He snapped his fingers, a sound that was as loud as a dry branch breaking. “Just like that.”

“He… MindReader…”

“Does Church know things about me, Bill? Things that I would prefer not be made public? Sure he does. Has he tried to use them as leverage? No. Not once. I won’t speculate on what happened during the previous administration. If Church had secrets then, and if he ever tried to use them, then I don’t know about it.” The President’s eyes were intense, his smile gone. “Does Church and his damned computer have too much power? Probably, and if I ever-ever-get a whiff that he has abused that power, lost control of it, or used it in ways that do not serve the mutually agreed best interests of this country I won’t bother with the NSA- I’ll send the National Guard against him and every one of his facilities.”

Collins sagged back in his chair.

“But I know the man. I know him very well, and I truly believe, Bill, that Church and his group are one of the strongest and most correctly used weapons in our arsenal. I’ve seldom met anyone in whom I place as much personal trust as I place in Mr. Church.”

“You don’t even know his real name!”

The President’s smile returned.

“Yes,” he said, “I do.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER Vice President Bill Collins was in the back of his limousine, the soundproof window in place.

“How’d it go?” asked Sunderland on the other end of the line.

“He goddamn near tore my balls off.”

“What happened?”

“He bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

Sunderland’s exhale was so long that it sounded like a hot air balloon deflating.

“J.P.,” said Collins, “I don’t want to know how you stage-managed the suicide. We’re never going to discuss this topic again.”

“We don’t need to. You’re out of it.”

“I’m out of it,” Collins agreed. “Now you have to watch your own ass.”

Sunderland made a rude noise.

“I wish we’d never tried this, J.P.”

“Little late to cry over it now… and we might still spin something useful out of it.”

“You might… I’m out of it.”

Before Sunderland could reply, Collins closed his phone. He folded his arms tightly against his chest and crossed his legs and wondered if he had just jabbed a tiger with a stick. In his mind Sunderland was not the tiger. Nor was the President.