but it had struck perilously close to the truth. The Campus was, indeed, a secret weapon available for rapid deployment by his father to defend the national interest when normal security resources couldn’t be used. The Campus was only as effective as it was unknown. They needed to keep it that way.
Jack sighed, frustrated. “Understood.”
“I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t of the utmost importance, or if there was someone else I could trust with the assignment. And you know your father. He won’t countenance the thought of deploying the FBI against an elected official without probable cause.”
“And it’s up to me to find it.”
“That about sums it up.”
“It just comes at a really bad time.”
“So do most things that matter.”
Jack nodded. “Then I’d better get after it. Any ideas about where to start?”
“Senator Dixon won’t leave any low-hanging fruit and sure as hell won’t even come close to breaking any laws. If anything, I’d take a look at her husband, Aaron Gage. He’s done a lot of business with the Chi-Coms over the years, and he’s tied in with the Belt and Road Initiative.”
“Chinese trade pushed through global infrastructure projects financed with Chinese money.”
“Exactly. The senator’s husband owns a private equity firm that invests heavily in infrastructure. I’d say that would be a good place to start.”
Jack stood. “I’ll get right on it.”
11
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The elegant two-story Tudor-style home stood on a hill in leafy Kalorama Heights, bordering the park below. The sturdy, hand-cut stone walls and antique wrought-iron gate were more decorative than functional but perfectly complemented the $5 million residence. Senator Dixon and her husband, Aaron Gage, relied instead upon the discreet services of a private contractor employing former spec ops personnel for 24/7 security.
After their Guatemalan housekeeper cleared away the plates from a late dinner of Chilean sea bass and mint-pea puree, Dixon poured fingers of scotch rocks for both of them in the privacy of her husband’s library.
“Long day.” Dixon sighed as she fell back into the sofa. She plopped her bare feet on his legs and took a sip of her drink.
“Must have gotten a little longer after van Damm showed up,” Gage said, chuckling, rubbing her feet with his powerful hands.
He was sixteen years her senior, but the seventy-two-year-old financial guru kept fit by submitting himself to a daily torture routine on his fifteen-thousand-dollar ROM total body workout machine. He kept one in each of their several homes around the country.
They first met when she was a freshly minted Wharton MBA and the vice president of marketing in a small firm his company had just acquired. Still smarting from a nasty divorce, Gage wasn’t looking for a new relationship at the time, but Dixon was single, attractive, and whip-smart, and the chemistry between them was obvious from the start. They found they enjoyed each other as much in the boardroom as the bedroom, and from day one had formed an incredibly strong partnership that proved mutually beneficial.
“You were smart not to get into politics,” Dixon said over the top of her glass.
“Everything is politics,” Gage said, driving his thumbs into her arches. “Especially finance. I just get paid better. Anything you want to talk about?” He reached for his glass.
“Arnie was pissed—I mean, really fired up. Which means Ryan is fired up, and that scares the hell out of me.”
“You? Scared? Since when?”
“Since I decided I wanted to be the next POTUS.”
“Ryan is a lame duck and he has his share of enemies. We’ve talked about this.”
“But Ryan isn’t distracted by retirement plans. He’s laser-focused on his job and I don’t want to be his next target.”
“Why would you be? You’ve dotted your i’s and crossed your t’s. A dozen lawyers from the best firms here and overseas have signed off on everything. We’re watertight and ironclad. Let Ryan rage against the night. What the fuck do we care?”
Dixon took another sip. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
The silence hung in the air like a fog.
Gage darkened. An old wound. “I wouldn’t worry about Christopher.”
“I didn’t say anything about him.”
“You didn’t have to.” Gage gulped the rest of his scotch.
After his divorce from his alcoholic ex-wife, Gage retained custody of his only son. Dixon understood that marrying Gage was a package deal, but being a stepmom taxed her nominal maternal instinct. The chore eased considerably after Christopher Gage was carted off to boarding school.
Despite his high IQ and athletic promise, the young man had a penchant for bad decisions and worse friends, both of