“I’ll help you,” Bloom told her. “But you must protect my people. These people.”
“All right,” Melissa said.
“Come.” Bloom rose. “Let’s talk to them.”
Chapter 33
Well before she became the country’s first female president, Christine Mary Todd had carefully studied the power of the presidency. Among the many conclusions she had reached was that much of this power consisted of imagery. The pomp and circumstance of the office were not just props, but weapons that could be yielded by a prudent President.
So was the President’s motorcade, especially when it pulled across a suburban lawn at five o’clock in the morning.
President Todd picked up the phone from the console as the limo came to a stop amid a swarm of black SUVs.
“Mr. Edmund, I hope you’re up,” she said when the head of the CIA answered his phone. “We’re going to meet this morning.”
“Uh—”
“Right now would be fine… Yes, thank you. Don’t worry about the coffee; I’ve brought my own.”
Todd put the phone down.
“David, are you ready?” she asked her chief of staff, David Greenwich, who was sitting in the front seat of the limo. Though generally an early riser, Greenwich gave a barely conscious “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Let’s go make Mr. Edmund’s day.”
Ms. Todd strode up the walk, heels clicking on the concrete. She wore pumps and a presidential skirt — knee length, a careful and distinguished drape. Her Secret Service detail buzzed around her; one or two of the agents may have had trouble keeping up.
Edmund’s wife opened the door. She was in her bathrobe.
“Nancy, good morning,” said the President.
“Herm is, uh — upstairs.”
“Very good. I noticed a new bed of daffodils outside,” added Ms. Todd as she walked into the hallway. “They’re really lovely. Don’t bother with me — I know the way.”
It had been some time since Todd had been in the house, but it was easy to find the way to the master bedroom — up the steps in the main hall, a slight turn to get to the front of the house, then a short walk across a very plush red carpet.
Red is such an ugly color for a carpet, the President thought as she walked to the bedroom door.
“Mr. Edmund — are you decent?”
“Uh — uh, Madam President,” stuttered Edmund from behind the door.
The President pointed to the door and nodded at one of her Secret Service escorts. He reached out and opened the door, filling the frame and entering quickly. Todd waited for a second agent to enter — out of discretion rather than fear that Edmund was waiting inside with a bomb.
Though he would surely wish he had been when she was through with him.
“I was just getting dressed,” said Edmund, who had pulled on a pair of trousers but was still wearing his pajama top. “What’s going on?”
“I want to know about the Raven project,” she told him. She went to the upholstered chair at the side of the room, pushed it around so it angled toward him, and sat. “Everything. Assassination, drone, and most of all, software.”
“I—”
“And when you are done, we’ll discuss your letter of resignation,” she added. “Coffee?”
Chapter 34
The aide offered to take Melissa to the house near the railroad tracks where she’d seen the armed strangers. Melissa glanced at Bloom. Bloom nodded.
“Let’s go,” said Melissa.
The aide’s name was Glat. She spoke only a little English, but they didn’t need many words to communicate. She led Melissa down the hill toward the main part of the town, then veered to the left, across the main road. They passed a small collection of cone-topped huts built so close to each other they looked like mushrooms, then hiked up a road lined by more prosperous houses, cement structures all recently built.
Yesterday, there had been a variety of sounds in the city, everything from the high-pitched whine of
Her guide slowed abruptly. Melissa put her arm on the woman’s shoulder.
“It’s all right,” she said. “If you’re scared, we can go back.”
The woman kept going, though her pace was barely faster than a small child’s. The road turned to the right and left the buildings behind. The railroad tracks were about fifty yards ahead.
Melissa had a pistol under her shirt, but she had no illusions of taking on more than one or two gunmen. Still, she kept walking, determined to at least figure out where the house was — to redeem herself, and her mission.
To impress Colonel Freah, too, though she didn’t dwell on that as they neared the house.
Intending to keep his appointment with the Russian despite the fighting, Li Han hid the computer and the UAV’s brain in the tunnel.
Upstairs, his young escorts seemed even edgier than normal. Shooting the tall one — whose body was buried somewhere outside — had made them fear him, but not to the degree that Li Han couldn’t worry about getting shot in the back himself. He watched them warily, even as he stepped outside.
He spotted the insect then, a large mosquito perched in the crevice of the rocks just in front of the door. His instinct was to swat at it with his hand, but as he pulled back to swing, he realized there was something odd about it. Not only did it seem slightly too big, but it was abnormally placid.
Was it a listening device?
Li Han walked past it. He’d scanned the building for bugs when he arrived, but not since then.
He turned and walked back into the building as if he’d forgotten something. He went downstairs to his tools, got out the detection device, then held his breath as he turned it on, preparing himself for the worst.
But of course there was nothing here. He swept it around slowly, like a priest offering a blessing.
Still nothing.
He walked through the house slowly, moving around the walls. He paused at the front door, reaching up and down the frame, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary to be that physically close. Still not getting anything, he moved outside and went to the mosquito.
Nothing.
But it was clear to him now that the bug wasn’t a real insect. Maybe it only turned on when it heard human voices.
Li Han knelt behind it. He held the detector next to it, then spoke softly in Chinese. There was no indication that the bug was transmitting. He spoke louder; still nothing.
It must be dead. Perhaps it would be worth something to the Russian. Li Han stuffed it into his pocket.
