“Oh, no,” Liam says, as he pulls in tight behind the cruiser, nearly hitting its rear bumper.
He jumps out of the Jeep, runs up the short driveway and to the front door of the two-story brick house, doesn’t bother knocking, just opens the door, pushes past a female uniformed DC cop, right to the living room. Miriam is sitting on a couch, face pale and drawn, eyes red rimmed, her arms nearly crushing three-year-old Elizabeth on one side and Lincoln on the other, their eyes wide and fearful, not sure what’s going on with Mommy, only that something very, very bad has happened.
A male in civilian clothes with a police shield on a chain dangling around his thick neck looks at Liam when he comes in. Liam says, “Miriam?”
“Oh, Liam, he’s dead … my Spenny … he’s dead.”
Her chin quivers and tears start rolling again. He says, “What happened?”
Miriam forces the words out. “Liam, he was shot. Murdered.”
CHAPTER 58
PRESIDENT BARRETT IS alone in his office in the family quarters area of the White House when the door opens and Carlton Pope comes in and takes a chair without asking, his usual approach.
“Well?” Barrett asks.
Carlton says, “Taken care of. Made to look like a random robbery. Like that’s a rare event in DC. Doubt it’ll even make the late-night news, even with his record.”
Barrett shakes his head. “A pity. He was a good doctor, a good officer. But still …”
A variety of emotions are roiling along in him, anger at knowing that this doctor had betrayed him, both personally and professionally, and guilt for ordering what had to be done. So much had been accomplished here in such short time, and to have it be betrayed now is intolerable.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow it.
The destiny that’s been promised to him for years awaits him.
Nothing can stop that.
Barrett says, “Robert E. Lee—that famed traitor—once said, ‘To be a good soldier, you must love the army. To be a good commander, you must be willing to order the death of the thing you love.’”
He goes on. “I love the army, and all of our armed forces, and our intelligence services. But in my years of service, I know I’ve sent young men and women to their deaths … and I’ve been comforted in knowing that it was for a greater good, a greater cause. You can’t rise in the ranks and take on this heavy burden of command without knowing it. Or letting it haunt you.”
Carlton said, “You did the right thing, sir. Our progress has been impressive, but if the doctor started talking to the press, getting rumors started, we would be finished before we even started, before your goals were met. Before we could say, ‘Mission Accomplished.’”
Barrett smiles. “Well, at least I’m not going to make Dubya’s mistake and put up a big goddamn banner to announce it.”
“Glad to know it, sir.”
He says, “When we’re at the mission accomplished stage, Carlton, nobody except for you, me, and a few others will know that we’ve won. That the nation has been saved, and that I’ve been protected, to keep her great.”
“It’ll be a historic day, like none other.”
“But there will be casualties. Like Captain Webster. If he had just kept his mouth shut, had followed his professional and military obligations, hadn’t reached out to Liam Grey, and hadn’t called him to say he was going to cooperate …”
Carlton says, “In some ways, it’s his fault.”
Barrett is pleased with his special assistant. “True. That’s a very good point.”
A knock on his door, and he calls out, “Come.”
The door swings open and one of his aides comes in, a young Black woman, staff lanyard around her neck. She holds out a manila envelope to him. “Sir, here’s the package you’ve been expecting.”
“Thanks … Grace. That’s right? Grace Tilly. How are you doing?”
“Fine, Mr. President.”
“And your grandmother? How did her hip replacement go?”