Eric Lustbader - First Daughter

He turned to Paull. "Dennis, I'm ordering you to begin taking members of the First American Secular Revivalists into custody. Since you have been unable to make any headway in identifying anyone in this underground E-Two, I want each one of the prisoners interrogated on the subject." He raised a finger. "I needn't remind you that my term of office is just about over. I personally won't feel as if our job was finished unless we bring these homegrown terrorists to justice. I certainly don't trust the incoming president to get the job done, so it's entirely up to us."

Paull, secretly fuming under the president's veiled rebuke, nodded, said enthusiastically, "Consider it done, sir. Now that we have the weight of evidence, we can attack in a more public way that was closed to us before."

"Good." The president, appearing immune to Paull's cleverly worded response, rubbed his hands together. "Now, to the business of what comes after January twentieth."

The Pentagon was built on secrets, but Paull observed that today there was about this room the deathly hush of secrets held close to the chest. On his desk, Paull had a rosewood plaque given to him by his mentor. On it was engraved in gold leaf the famed Benjamin Franklin quotation: THREE CAN KEEP A SECRET IF TWO OF THEM ARE DEAD. Paull was never more aware of the wisdom of that saying than he was now. As he looked around the room, it seemed to him that the atmosphere was rife with secrets. Perhaps this is what happens when the skein runs out , he thought, when after eight years of hard decisions, close calls, and the need for frantic spin control, the trust among even the closest of colleagues turns rancid . He'd been warned by his mentor that the last days of an Administration are gripped either by ennui or by desperation. Neither was healthy. Both revealed the corrosive workings of corruption. Each man had to face his moment of realization: Either the power had worn him down to a nub or he couldn't live without it. Over time, his mentor told him, all that's left to flush away is sewage, the entropy of power slipping through your fingers.

"Gentlemen," the president continued, "how goes our sub rosa campaign to ensure the continuance of our influence on Congress and the media when Edward Carson becomes president?"

Here, now, Paull faced the truth of his mentor's words. He was disgusted with the tenor of this meeting, the scrounging of Caesar facing the blade of the ides of March, railing against time and history. But he knew he couldn't allow the underlying wretchedness to blind him to the extreme danger of these last few orders. The desperate animal was the most dangerous animal. The question he had to answer, and soon, was which one of these three men was the most desperate and, therefore, the most dangerous.

It fell to Paull to discover for himself what form of damage eight years of power had worked on these three men. Which one was a nub, which one a junkie?

The Secretary of State, a large man with the flushed face of an inveterate drinker and the twinkling eyes of Santa Claus, was the first to take the president's challenge by the horns.

"If we stay the course, we have nothing to fear. The evangelicals are still our broadest base, though admittedly the NRA is less fickle."

"There's a growing problem with the NRA's power," the National Security Advisor said. He was a Texan, with a leathery face, a raspy voice, and the no-nonsense, faintly intimidating demeanor of a federal marshal in the 1880s. "Latest figures find an alarming decline in the number of hunters nationwide. Our concern has been given an environmental spin by our media outlets. We're worried because hunters keep the deer population in check, hunters are pro-environment, that sort of thing. Of course, the real worry for us is that faced with declining membership, the NRA is going to lose its clout on Capitol Hill."

"Now that would be a real shame," the Secretary of State said. "Can we find some way to funnel money in their direction to make up for the shortfall? By God, we don't want them running out of money to pay their lobbyists."

"I think we can twist some well-heeled arms in that direction," the National Security Advisor replied.

The president turned to his Secretary of Homeland Security. "Dennis, we haven't heard from you yet."

Paull tapped a pencil on the table. "I've been thinking on the evangelical issue. We have all the usual suspects tied up, but the growing influence of the Renaissance Mission Congress is a real concern. I've gone over the post-election breakdown a number of times, and each time I'm more impressed. There's no doubt its influence swung the election in Carson's favor. It got out the black votes in every state with appalling efficiency."

"What's your point?" the Secretary of State said. "Surely you're not advocating we turn Reverend Myron Taske into another Martin Luther King, Jr."

"God no." Paull poured himself some water to cover the wave of revulsion that washed over him. With all his heart, he prayed for God to protect him from people like the Secretary of State. "It happens that Carson's own man, Jack McClure, has a relationship with Reverend Taske. With that in mind, I've been running a Secret Service special operative, Nina Miller, who I made sure joined Hugh Garner's joint-operations task force."

Once again, Paull paused to take a drink of water. As he did so, his gaze caressed the room like a lover, absorbing every texture, gesture, shift of body or head without seeming to do so. All these men were suspect; all of them, in one way or another, could have infiltrated his security measures. He was hoping one of them would betray himself-even by as little as the flicker of an eyelid-as he revealed the nature of the very operation his enemy had discovered.

"Now that McClure has found Alli Carson," Paull continued, "the task force is disbanding. However, following my orders, Agent Miller has formed a bond with McClure. She now has his trust." He turned directly to the president. "Here's what I meant to do from the beginning and now propose to you: Agent Miller will get McClure to use his influence on Reverend Taske to take our side."

"I've met with Reverend Taske several times," the president said. "He's as honest as he is black."

The National Security Advisor nodded. "We've vetted Taske thoroughly. He won't abandon Carson."

"He will if we convince McClure that Carson's values are not what they seem to be," Paull said. This was a total fabrication, one that his enemy in this room would discover when Jack didn't denounce the president-elect. But by that time it would be too late. All he wanted now was to buy enough time to get them all through the next couple of days. "What I've learned from my agent is McClure's an odd duck-loyal in the extreme, but quick to turn on a dime if he thinks he's been betrayed. I can use that to my advantage."

"He sounds unstable," the Secretary of State said. "I don't like it."

"Unstable or not," the National Security Advisor said, "I like the shot. Dennis is right on target as far as the Renaissance Mission Congress is concerned. It's powerful and getting more so every day. Of course, it would be ideal if we could wrap up the RMC and the Hispanic vote in one tidy ball, but I'm as much a realist as the next man. I know a goddamn pipe dream when I see one."

"I concur." The president nodded. "We'll give Dennis his head with the McClure mission."

"Dennis," the National Security Advisor said, "if there's any assistance I can provide, I'm only a call away."

"I appreciate that," Paull said. "That might be just the boost I need." When there are ice cubes in hell , he thought.

The president held up a hand. "Please, all of you, keep our accelerated timetable in the forefront of your plans. Dennis, McClure has to be wrapped up and delivered before the twentieth."