Vince Flynn - Separation of Power

The President asked, "Would you like to amend your story now?" "I don't know what this woman has told you, but she cannot be trusted." Freidman's forehead was beginning to glisten with sweat.

The President laughed. "Somehow I think it is you who can't be trusted, Mr. Freidman."

"Mr. President, I beg you. You cannot listen to this woman. She has stabbed my country in the back. We have been hunting her for almost a year."

"For the sake of making some progress, I'm going to at least for now ignore your comment about Ms. Rahn stabbing you in the back. I would like instead to focus on something else. Explain to me why you've been paying Ms. Rahn large amounts of money and hunting her at the same time."

Freidman tried to act confused by the whole thing. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Irene. "The President looked to Kennedy.

Kennedy produced a file, opened it and slid it across the table. They were the Swiss bank accounts that Freidman used to hide money from his own government. With Donatella's help, Marcus Dumond, the CIA's top hacker, had obtained this information and much more. The President asked, "Do you recognize these bank accounts?"

Freidman lied. "No."

"Good, then you won't mind that they were closed this morning and the money was transferred to us."

Despite trying to keep his cool, Freidman was showing signs of unraveling. He chose not to respond to the President.

The President looked to Rapp and nodded. Then he held his hand out and said, "Ms. Rahn, its time for us to leave."

Rapp drew his Beretta from his shoulder holster and methodically twisted a thick black silencer onto the end of it. Donatella got up from her chair and took the President's hand. In response to the recent development Freidman let out a laugh that sounded a little more nervous than he would have liked.

"Mr. President, how naive do you think I am? You can't intimidate me like this." Freidman shook his head disbelievingly at Hayes. "You could never get away with killing me. Especially not here in the White House."

"Oh, Mr. Freidman, I think you underestimate my dislike for you, and I think you overestimate your importance to your government. All I have to do is show Prime Minister Goldberg what you've been up to and by the time I'm done, he'll be thanking me for killing you." Hayes opened the door and ushered Donatella out.

"Wait," said a nervous Freidman.

The President motioned for Donatella to go on without him and he closed the door. "Don't waste my time, Mr. Freidman."

"What do you want to know?" Rapp asked the question. "Who hired you to kill Peter Cameron?"

Freidman squirmed. "That's a complicated question."

Rapp raised his gun and pointed it at Freidman's knee cap. "No it isn't."

He looked at the gun and then at the man holding it. There was absolutely no doubt in Freidman's mind that Rapp would pull the trigger. In the blink of an eye he made up his mind and said, "It was Hank Clark." "What?" asked a shocked President.

"Hank Clark." Freidman looked at Kennedy and said. "Give me my money back, and I'll tell you everything I know." Rapp turned to the President and said, "I'd like you to leave now."

Hayes, still reeling over the name he'd just heard, said, "But--"

Rapp grabbed the President by his shoulder and said, "Leave."

Hayes looked to Kennedy for guidance. She nodded and looked at the door. After a moment of hesitation he reluctantly left the room. When he was gone Freidman breathed a sigh of relief and said to Kennedy, "Good. Now we can deal."

"Wrong!" bellowed Rapp. He pointed his gun at Freidman's leg and pulled the trigger. A bullet spat from the end of the silencer and grazed the Israeli's meaty inner thigh. Freidman lurched back in his chair and grabbed his leg in a mix of shock and pain. Rapp moved the weapon back to Freidman's knee and through clenched teeth said, "I'm looking for a reason to kill you, so there ain't gonna be any negotiating. If you want to walk out of here alive, you're gonna tell us everything you know."

Clutching his leg in pain, Freidman nodded his head and began to talk.

The Cosmos Club was Senator Clark's kind of place, especially around Christmas. The mansion at 2121 Massachusetts Avenue was a bastion of wealth, class, intellectual discussion, fine food, cigars and liquor. It was the type of place that would have never allowed Congressman Albert Rudin through its doors. The century-old club had rules, and chief among them was a sense of decorum. Differing opinions were encouraged, but loud divisive arguing was not.

The senator's limousine was cued up on Mass Avenue with the other social elites of Washington. He was fifth in line with at least as many limos and cars behind him. Sally Bradley's annual Christmas party at the Cosmos Club was an event not to be missed. That was, unless you were wife number three. She'd gone home to Phoenix. Washington's cold gray December skies depressed her too much.

Clark was more than a little surprised at the lack of remorse and guilt he felt over killing Rudin. He found it very satisfying that he was the only person who knew the truth. Just three weeks after the death the case was ruled a suicide and closed. The police had been very easy to handle, Clark laid it all out for the detectives. Rudin had been depressed for some time, especially since a meeting he'd had with his party's leadership and the President several weeks earlier. They'd threatened to strip him of his chairmanship and do everything in their power to make sure he didn't get reelected. Rudin had been devastated. Blinded by his convictions, he tried to find a way to torpedo Kennedy's nomination, Clark warned him against it, but Rudin said he'd discovered something that would ruin Kennedy. That was when he went on Meet the Press with his accusations. The next night his world fell apart around him when the President gave his speech to the nation. Clark told how a panicked Rudin came to him and begged him to talk to the President. He'd pleaded with Clark to intercede and get the President to call off the FBI's investigation.

Solemnly, Clark told the investigators that he'd refused Rudin's plea. How he'd told Rudin that he had nobody to blame but himself for the mess he was in. "I didn't think he'd jump. The thought never occurred to me. Now I realize I failed him in his hour of need." Clark seemed genuinely remorseful and the police believed him. Much of his story was backed up by the President himself and even Rudin's wife had said he'd been in a dark funk for several weeks. Clark was never once treated as a suspect, and after a short investigation it was ruled that Rudin had committed suicide.

The feeling of having avoided near disaster was intoxicating. Knowing that he had fooled them all gave him a sense of omnipotence. His plans to run for the White House, however, were on hold. Ellis and his West Coast financiers were very upset that Kennedy had been confirmed as director, but there was nothing he could do about that. At least not for now. In the meantime he told Ellis that he would begin trying to find another mole at the CIA. Amazingly, neither Steveken nor Brown's name had been dragged into the spotlight. After Rudin's death the FBI just dropped everything.

President Hayes was untouchable at present. His numbers were so high, someone would have to be a complete fool to run against him. But that was now. Who knew what the political climate would be like in a year? Clark would hang around biding his time. He'd lived to fight another day, and his dream of someday occupying the Oval Office was still alive.

Clark's limousine finally pulled into the small drive and a doorman, resplendent in topcoat and top hat, opened the door. The senator got out of the car in his double-breasted tuxedo and entered the club. He looked tanned and rested from another weekend retreat in the Bahamas and was in the mood to have some fun. He proceeded to the magnificent Warne Lounge where a band was playing and most of the partygoers had gathered. Too many in fact. Upon seeing that they were five deep at the bar, the senator reversed his course and headed off for the Cherrywood Bar. A few folks tried to stop him on the way but Clark politely informed them of his predicament and told them he would be back. Fortunately, there were only a few wise souls bellied up to the curved granite bar.