sedan and drove away, careful to obey the laws.
The couple knew the Berlin Polizei would no doubt conclude that banker Dieter Hansemann had been killed during a robbery, far from any surveillance cameras and witnesses. When the police detectives learned he was actually a deep-cover agent for the BKA, or Bundeskriminalamt—the German version of the FBI—they would know he was murdered, but not the reason why.
Dieter Hansemann’s corpse was proof of concept number two.
7
WASHINGTON, D.C.
THE OVAL OFFICE
President Ryan sat in one of the new tufted leather chairs, his back to the Resolute desk, his suit coat on the rack, tie loosened, and an iced coffee in hand. It had been a helluva long day, and the news Arnie van Damm was bringing was making it even longer.
SecDef Burgess and SecState Adler sat on opposite Chesterfield couches while Arnie took the other chair across from the President. The rich, caramel leather didn’t swallow them up like the old sofas had. The round silver carpet with the bold presidential seal lay between them.
“You can’t blame her. The Senate is just a hundred little Presidents waiting to run,” Adler said.
“I don’t fault her for her ambition, per se,” Ryan said. He was still smarting from Senator Chadwick’s unwarranted and vicious partisan attacks in the past few months. Vain and unscrupulous, Chadwick at least was a member of the opposing party. “But ambition needs to have its limits.”
Everybody in the room knew that Ryan never asked for the presidency. A suicidal Japanese airline pilot was the reason he was first thrust into the Oval Office. “But she isn’t President yet,” Ryan said, “and I don’t like the way she’s trying to hijack my foreign policy agenda.”
“I just don’t get why she did it,” Burgess said. “We kept her in the loop the whole time.”
“Maybe we should’ve put her out front and center. She likes her picture in the papers,” Adler said. “And Instagram Live.”
“We offered her the opportunity to run point on this. She said she had other legislative priorities,” Ryan said. “I took that to mean she wasn’t interested—not hostile. Maybe she was telegraphing and we missed it.”
“No way. I kept in touch with her office all the way through. Never a peep of concern,” Arnie said. “And frankly, it’s damn disloyal.”
Ryan couldn’t help but smile. His chief of staff was as loyal as they came, a virtue he greatly appreciated, along with the fierce intelligence lingering behind his pale blue eyes.
“Loyalty? That’s becoming as rare as honor in this town—and shame took the five-thirty Greyhound out of here a long time ago,” Adler said.
“Something happened,” Arnie said.
“Like what?” Burgess asked.
“Somebody yanked Dixon’s leash.” Arnie pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his wire-framed glasses.
“Meaning?”
Arnie fogged one of his lenses with his breath. “I think she’s dirty.”
“Whoa, hold on there. That’s quite a charge,” Ryan said.
Arnie tapped the side of his nose. “I’m telling you, I can smell it.”
“As beautiful as it is, I don’t think we can call on your honker to testify in open court,” Ryan said. “You have any proof?”
“None. But common sense and thirty years up to my neck in this filthy swamp of a town has taught me a few things. She T-boned the shit out of us—the political equivalent of a hit-and-run. Why? What does she get out of it? Especially knowing what she’s risking by crossing you.”
Ryan shook his head. “I’m not a Mafia boss, Arnie. I’m the chief executive and I’m just trying to do what’s right for this country and our national security. It’s not like I’m going to put a hit out on her.” He took a sip of his iced coffee. “But I will promise you this: If she’s committed any kind of crime or done anything to harm this nation, she’ll answer for it.”
Arnie fought back a smile. He knew his boss and his friend as well as any man in Washington. There wasn’t a vengeful bone in his body—for him, politics wasn’t personal. But he had a profound sense of justice, and when anything threatened the things he loved most, he was ready to fight. President Ryan wouldn’t sucker-punch anyone, but he was one hell of a counterstriker.
The SecDef shifted his weight on the leather sofa. “I’m with Arnie. I can’t for the life of me figure out what she gets out of killing this bill. The Poles are paying for the base and its maintenance, NATO gets a forward defense, and the Russians are kept back on their