new style of messaging, and every cultural shift seemed to settle into his mind six months before anyone else even had an inkling. That, combined with his ability to act decisively on those abstractions, had made it possible for him to get a number of ostensibly unelectable people comfortable seats in Congress.
Her campaign was completely different, of course. The comfortable seat she was looking for was in the Oval Office and, with the exception of being a woman, she was eminently electable. A number of people in her party thought she’d been insane to hire Gray—dismissing him as a bottom feeder who relied on tricks and barely ethical tactics to salvage failed campaigns.
As usual, they’d been wrong and she’d been right. With a strong candidate to work with, the Gray magic became even more powerful. She was now thirty points ahead in the primary race and had become her party’s de facto candidate for the election that was already consuming the nation.
A few of her primary opponents were staying in the race, but more to position themselves for a place in her administration than any hope they could overtake her in the polls. She would be the nominee. And based on the weakness of her likely opponent in the general election, she would become the first female president of the United States.
At least that was the opinion of the idiot pollsters and television pundits. But if she’d learned anything as a woman in the most cutthroat business in the world, it was to not take anything for granted.
Gray sat in front of her desk and crossed his legs, bouncing his loafer-clad foot in a way that she’d come to recognize as a sign of impatience. The call was winding down, but she asked an open-ended question to the man on the other end of the line to prolong it. This was her office and her campaign. Gray needed to remember that.
After another five minutes, she felt like she’d made her point and wrapped up the call. “I understand exactly what you’re talking about, Henry. It’s why I’m running for president. And it’s why I’m going to win.”
Gray held up a thumb drive before she could even get the handset back in its cradle.
“Have you seen it?”
She had no idea what he was talking about but whatever it was must have been important. Normally the first words out of Gray’s mouth when she hung up with a donor were “How much?”
“I haven’t seen anything other than the inside of this office. And I haven’t talked about anything but taxes, guns, and environmental regulations. What is it?”
“Mullah Sayid Halabi.”
“What do I care about a dead terrorist?”
A smile spread slowly across his face. “You care that he’s not actually dead.”
“What are you talking about?”
He slipped the drive into his tablet and transmitted its contents to a television hanging on the wall.
Barnett watched in stunned silence as a slickly produced propaganda piece played out on the screen. Dramatic historical images of Halabi and ISIS victories accompanied by a voice-over diatribe about America and the West. In accented English and with a background of modern Arab music, he called on Muslim people throughout the world to unite against the infidels.
Just after that plea, the video stabilized, depicting him standing in front of a primitive village that was being consumed by fire. He appeared and disappeared in the smoke like a ghost, accusing the villagers of helping the Americans develop biological weapons to be used against the Muslim people.
Quick image cuts to bacteria squirming under magnification, overflowing hospitals, and diseased human flesh followed before returning to Halabi. Heavy-handed, but unquestionably effective.
The camera angle widened to encompass three people bound at the ISIS leader’s feet.
“Now I have your biological weapons experts,” he said, staring directly into the lens. “Now I have the power to use your weapons against you.”
The screen faded to black and Christine Barnett just stared at it, her mind bogging down on the almost infinite political possibilities Halabi’s survival provided.
“That video hit the Internet a few hours ago in Arabic and English,” Gray said. “And it’s expanding into other languages every few minutes.”
“Are we sure that the footage of Halabi isn’t old? From before Mitch Rapp supposedly killed him?”
“One hundred percent. According to the CIA, that video from that burning village was taken three days ago in Yemen.”
Barnett felt her mouth start to go dry. “Who are the people tied up?”
“Doctors Without Borders. They were there treating the villagers for some respiratory infection.”