James Lilliefors - Viral

He shrugged. “But it’s stopped much worse. There are bigger threats right now than al Qaeda. Much bigger. If someone develops a technology that trumps what the United States government has, then the whole idea can be jeopardized, can’t it? There are a lot of technologies and unorthodox means of warfare that are very problematic right now, Charlie, that the public doesn’t have a clue about. We have to respond.”

Yes . He had heard the same words from Thomas Trent: If someone develops a technology more sophisticated than what the government has, and chooses not to sell it to the government, then the government can be undermined and rendered obsolete .

That’s what Gardner was part of. That was Gardner’s war. An invisible war to prevent the United States from losing its dominance to shifting demographics. Or shifting technologies . He had launched what was in effect a hostile takeover of the Covenant Group. Of the U.S. government . His was a businessman’s war, the only kind he knew. Run by remote control. That could have taken out eight million people in a single night. But Landon Pine was different. Pine had been a real soldier. A Navy SEAL. He saw the flaws in Gardner’s war. The fatal mistakes.

“The reason Covenant continues and the reason it works is because it’s larger than any individual,” Franklin went on, as if he was beginning to convince Charlie. “This country takes care of its people. But you can’t mess with it. You can’t challenge it. No individual is strong enough or important enough to do that.”

Franklin sat up straighter. He placed his glasses in the pocket of his polo shirt. “Okay? It really has little to do with me, or any of the people who are involved with it right now. It’s written in the DNA of this country. But it’s something even our leaders don’t understand. Our visible leaders. That’s why they choose to become leaders. Our brand of democracy fosters imperfect deceptions. And a lot of gridlock, pettiness, and inefficiency. In truth, it doesn’t work. You can see what happens with Congress. It’s a system that by nature is ineffectual. As you once said, there’s weakness in numbers. And that’s okay. But the steering wheel of the country is something else, something that can’t be seen.”

“And right now it’s focused on Africa, isn’t it?” Charlie said. “That’s the next battleground. The jihadists want it. Chinese industry wants it. And we’re having a hard time making inroads.”

He nodded, wouldn’t say “yes.”

But what was really going to happen? Wasn’t the infrastructure all in place to do what they were planning to do? What Isaak Priest had set up. Would the government shut it down, or simply take over and operate it, spreading the idea, the Covenant, to a new continent? Was that the perfect deception? Was that why they didn’t want any of this publicized?

Questions he knew he would answer later, or let his brother answer. There was no point in asking them here, now. Because the questions would be perceived as challenges.

Charlie tucked the gun in his pants. “Okay,” he said. He turned, ready to walk away from Richard Franklin and the Watergate. Knowing that killing him wouldn’t fix anything. And, besides, he had just video-recorded their entire conversation.

“Anyway, it’s over now,” Franklin said.

“Yes. It is.”

Charlie nodded, extended his hand. Franklin stood. The two men shook.

“What are you going to do, Charlie? You ought to take some time off. Think about things.”

“Probably will, yes. Learn to relax a little.”

“Take care.”

“I will.”

CHARLIE HAILED A YELLOW Cab two blocks from the Watergate, asking the driver to take him to 950 Pennsylvania Avenue. As they rode through the afternoon shadows of the federal buildings, he wondered how long the relay would take: Franklin contacting Gardner. Gardner contacting Hassan. Hassan making arrangements to find him.

The cab stopped in front of the Justice Department building. Mallory got out, tipped the driver generously.

The attorney general worked from a suite of offices on the fifth floor. Charlie had never been here, but he had thought many times about the current A.G. Had pictured her arriving by limousine from her sprawling home in the Virginia suburbs each morning. Being led by a prompt, efficient security detail to the elevator and then emerging on the fifth floor carrying her executive briefcase.

He had thought about visiting her, too, but the timing had never seemed right. Until now.

“I’m here to see the attorney general,” he said to the middle-aged security guard at the visitor’s desk. The man just gave him a look, suppressing a smile. “Tell her it’s Charlie Mallory. We’re old friends.”

“Okay. And do you have an appointment?”

“Sort of. She’ll see me.”

Nineteen minutes later, she did.

Angelina Moore’s eyes momentarily sparkled with recognition. Then she opened her arms and they hugged, clumsily. She looked pretty good , Charlie thought. Older, a little heavier, perhaps, but better. More polished and confident. But still vulnerable, in a way he had never really picked up from her television appearances. The same look he’d known when they were at Princeton together.

She quickly recovered, though, becoming the attorney general, a role she played very convincingly.

“Well. Please. Come in,” she said, ushering him into her office.

It was huge. Too posh to be functional, it seemed. Charles Mallory just stood inside the entranceway at first, taking it in. Behind the desk were photos of her husband and children—her second husband—and one with the president of the United States. She had spent a good portion of her career at the Justice Department, he knew, as a federal prosecutor, as U.S. prosecutor for the District of Columbia, and as deputy attorney general.

“Congratulations,” he finally said.

She was watching him, trying to contain her smile. “For what?”

“I mean, you know. You’ve done okay for yourself, I’d say. Kind of like I figured you would.”

“I guess I have.” She shifted to a more businesslike demeanor again. Looked at her watch. It was funny to him, the way a part of her old self was still visible. “Anyway, this is good timing. You caught me between meetings. What brings you here, Charlie?”

“I’ve wanted to visit,” he said, “although I’m here on business today, actually. I have a case for you. A fairly big one. I’m going to leave some evidence with you. Do you know how to make a copy of a memory stick?”

She laughed. “Not me, personally. I’m terrible with computers.”

“Can you ask someone to do it? We can catch up while we wait.”

“Well, I only have five minutes but … okay, sure.” She pressed a button on her phone, signaled an assistant. Charlie sat in front of the giant mahogany desk. As they waited, he told her an abridged version of the story, all that he had time for—not his story, but the story of Perry Gardner and Isaak Priest and the Covenant Group.

He had had a thing for Angelina Moore back when they were in college and she had had a thing for him. But their frames of reference were much narrower then, their lives too unformed. It wasn’t the kind of relationship that would have worked well. That was obvious now, even if it hadn’t been then. He had sort of hoped that they might bond again in some way, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. Before leaving, he had planned to ask her about the tattoos they’d each had inked onto their ankles, but as she told him about her children and her husband, and then segued into the challenges of combating homegrown terrorism, he had a change of heart. The past was the past, and that was okay, too.