The Threat

Sebold peered out. The snow was falling again. “Have you given any thought to where you want to go next? Whether you want to stay in government? A lot of people who’ve served here as junior officers find they have a taste for it. Scowcroft. Powell. Haig.”

Dan was astonished. “Sir, what is this? The last time we talked, you were getting me reassigned. You said I’d only be there till they could come up with somebody else.”

“I had to fight Brent Gelzinis to get you another chance. But I did.”

“Well, I have to say, I truly wish you hadn’t. I thought my reassignment was being worked.”

“So you don’t care to stay.”

“No, sir. I don’t have much taste for politics.”

“Probably a wise decision. Sometimes I doubt I have, myself.”

“You’ve got as good a rep around here as anyone I know,” Dan told him, not as a compliment, just as a fact. But it seemed to make Sebold uncomfortable. He looked away, prodded his lips with his glasses.

“Anyway … you’ve done a good job, both here and then over in the East Wing,” the general said. “I just wanted to say that.”

The guy still wasn’t meeting his eyes. Dan thought this was all very curious. As if Sebold were cleaning out his desk to leave, or Dan himself were being let go.

The general didn’t seem to have anything else to say, though. He cleared his throat again and said that would be all, thanks for stopping by. When Dan rose, Sebold put out his hand. Dan hesitated, then took it. The director’s grip, as they parted, was very firm.

* * *

As long as he was in the Old Executive, he stopped by counterdrug. Ouderkirk looked surprised to see him, then angry. Dan almost asked the sergeant what was going on, then didn’t. Just nodded and slid past.

His former assistant, Meilhamer, looked up from a littered desk. “Commander Lenson,” he said, with what sounded like gloating. “Back to the old stand?”

“Just wondered what’s going on. Anything?”

“Just the usual. Everybody’s out on travel but Bloom. Want to see him?”

“In a minute.” Dan couldn’t help glancing at his old desk. Empty and clean.

“Nobody yet,” Meilhamer said. “I’m signing as acting director.”

Bloom put his head in. “Hey, Dan. Thought I heard you out here. On our Colombian friend? The trail went cold after El Salvador. But one interesting thing. You might have seen it in the papers. The Baptist put out a contract.”

“On who?”

“Actually a bunch of contracts. He’s always been a fan of economic incentives.” The DEA agent slipped a newspaper clipping from his wallet and pointed to the bottom. “That’s in pesos, but it works out to twenty million dollars U.S. for De Bari. Ten million for Tejeiro. A million for a major drug enforcement official of either president. Doubt that includes us — he probably means cabinet level — but there it is.”

Dan shook his head. Putting a price on two presidents’ heads … “Well, we put out a reward on him. Didn’t we?”

“Hell yeah. Turnabout’s fair play.” Bloom grinned. “I’m just trying to figure out how I can collect.”

Dan asked Meilhamer, “How’s the Threat Cell idea going, Bry?”

The civil servant turned over a piece of paper. Past him Dan saw Ouderkirk talking on the phone. He glanced toward Dan, and their eyes met. The sergeant looked away as Meilhamer echoed blandly, “Threat Cell?”

“You remember. Trying to outguess the terrorists. I was pulling the money together to staff that. I thought maybe, after Louisville, Mrs. Clayton might think it was worth pushing.”

“Oh yes, Commander. I always thought that was a wonderful idea. Very far-seeing. Though I wasn’t sure this was the desk to implement it from.” His former assistant smiled. “You know how things work around here. If somebody stops pushing a project, there are always other fires to put out. Other priorities.”

Dan said between clenched teeth: “Yeah. I know.”

* * *

A glittering blacksnake slithered out the South Gate, past the demonstrators — their numbers had grown, he noted, and they shook their signs angrily from behind police barricades — and turned its nose east. Up front was a District patrol car, followed by a comm van. Then two identical heavily armored limousines, one of which carried the president and Mrs. De Bari. Next came the CAT truck, one of those he’d looked down on so often from his office in the Old Executive, with its heavily armed team hidden inside. The black control van the mil aides rode in was next. Then came the press van, and last another set of District wheels, to guard against surprises from the rear.

He was riding with three of the protective detail guys; another security type, apparently from the Capitol; and Dr. Yoshida. McKoy rode across from him again, knee to knee.