“There is no margin for error. None. And if there is the least hint of this coming out—”
“Sir, that will not happen. This is the first time we’ve ever had an asset placed that high over there. There was an attempt on the leadership last year, as you know. While he was traveling on the street in the capital. But it was botched. That was from low-level internal sources and had nothing to do with us. Our strike will be quick and clean. And it will succeed.”
“And you have your team in place?”
“Being assembled, and then they’ll be vetted.”
The president looked sharply at him. “Vetted? Who the hell are you planning to use?”
“Will Robie and Jessica Reel.”
Potter sputtered, “Robie and Reel?”
“They are the absolute best we have,” said Tucker. “Look what they did with Ahmadi in Syria.”
Potter eyed Tucker closely. He knew every detail of that mission. Thus he knew that neither Reel nor Robie had been intended to survive it.
The president said slowly, “But with Reel’s background. What you allege she did. The possibility of her going—”
Tucker broke in. Normally, this would be unheard of. You let the president speak. But tonight Evan Tucker seemed to see and hear only what he wanted to.
“They are the best, sir, and the best is what we need here. As I said, with your permission, they will be vetted to ensure that their performance will be at the highest level. However, if they fail the vetting, I have another team, nearly as good, and certainly up to the task of performing the mission. But the clear preference is not the B Team.”
Potter said, “But why not simply deploy the backup team? Then this vetting process becomes unnecessary.”
Tucker looked at the president. “We really need to do it this way, sir, for a number of reasons. Reasons which I’m sure you can readily see.”
Tucker had prepared for this exact moment for weeks. He had studied the president’s history, his time as commander in chief, and even gotten his hands on an old psychological profile of the man done while he was running for Congress many years ago. The president was smart and accomplished, but not that smart, and not that accomplished. That meant he had a chip on his shoulder. Thus he was reluctant to acknowledge that he was not always the smartest, most informed person in the room. Some would see that attribute as a strength. Tucker knew it to be a serious vulnerability ripe for exploitation.
And he was exploiting it right now.
The president nodded. “Yes, yes, I can see that.”
Tucker’s face remained impassive, but inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief.
The president leaned forward. “I respect Robie and Reel. But again, there is no margin for error here, Evan. So you vet the hell out of them and make damn sure they are absolutely ready for this. Or you use the B Team. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” said Tucker.
Chapter
3
WILL ROBIE, UNABLE TO SLEEP, stared at the ceiling of his bedroom while the rain pounded away outside. His head was pounding even more, and it would not stop when the rain did. He finally rose, dressed, put on a long slicker with a hood, and set out from his apartment in Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C.
He walked for nearly an hour through the darkness. There were few people about at this hour of the morning. Unlike other major cities, D.C. did sleep. At least the part you could see. The government side, the one that existed underground and behind concrete bunkers and in innocuous-looking low-rise buildings, never slumbered. Those people were going as hard right now as they would during the daylight hours.
Three men in their early twenties approached from the other side of the street. Robie had already seen them, sized them up, and knew what they would demand of him. There were no cops around. No witnesses. He did not have time for this. He did not have the desire for this. He turned and walked directly at them.
“If I give you some money, will you leave?” he asked the tallest of the three. This one was his size, a six-footer packing about one hundred and eighty street-hardened pounds.
The man drew back his Windbreaker, revealing a black Sig nine-mil in the waistband that hung low over his hips.
“Depends on how much.”
“A hundred?”
The man looked at his two comrades. “Make it a deuce and you’re on your way, dude.”