F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“But there’s one big point you haven’t covered,” John told Tom. “They’re expecting you to get sick. If you don’t…”

“I think we can cover that,” Decker said. He turned to Tom. “But it will involve you admitting yourself to Bethesda Naval Hospital. Your office will say you’re in for a check-up but the people behind this will read that as a sign that you’re ill.”

Tom pressed his fingertips together and leaned back, musing. “Well, Bethesda’s got the presidential suite… I can conduct business from there for a few days… Not a good time for this… not a good time at all…” He glanced up and his eyes met John’s. “But that’s what we’ll do.”

John felt his throat constrict. “Thanks, Tom. You don’t know what this—”

“It’s Katie. And she’s been kidnapped and hurt because of our friendship. That makes me part of this. Don’t you worry. We’ll get her back.” John leaned back and closed his eyes. He wanted to believe that. He had to believe that.

3

Bob Decker saw Dr. Vanduyne out to the elevator, then headed back to the Oval Office.

He had to admit he was pumped up. That had been one goddamn close call in the Oval Office. A catastrophe had been averted, but the Service could take no credit for it. Yet if Vanduyne had let Razor swallow those pills, even though he was Razor’s best friend, the Service would have taken all the heat. A no-win situation all around.

But that was past. Razor was safe, the conspiracy had been exposed, now came the fun part: tracking down these sons of bitches.

Maybe not that much fun. The leak bothered the hell out of him. Directly beneath the Oval Office lay W-16, the Secret Service command post. Was the mole among the select one hundred agents on the White House detail who worked out of there? Decker hated to think so, but he had to consider the possibility. Had to be very careful who he brought in on this.

But the first step had been taken. He’d sent Vanduyne home to e-mail the kidnappers that he’d dosed the President with whatever it was that was supposed to kill him—Decker still didn’t understand that part—and then he was to return with hard copies of all the e-mail he’d received from the kidnappers… plus his daughter’s toe and whatever packaging had come with it. Who knew? Maybe they’d get lucky and find a fingerprint or something else to help narrow the search.

He stepped back through the door into the Oval Office.

Razor was standing at the windows, gazing out at the morning. He turned as Decker closed the door behind him.

“I want this settled quickly. Bob.” His eyes were blazing. “I want these bastards. I want them to resist arrest, and I want the shit kicked out of them. I want them hurt real bad, real bad before they’re brought in.” Decker had never seen Razor this angry; he realized it was the emotions speaking and figured the best course was simply to agree.

“Yes, sir.”

“But I can’t emphasize quickly enough. I want that little girl returned before The Hague conference.”

“We’ll do our best, but without a full mobilization—”

Razor nodded. “I understand. You’ve got one hand tied behind your back. But what’s your plan? Who are you bringing in?”

“Well, I figure I can limit the second tier to one each from FBI and DEA. Get them up to speed on everything except the fact that you didn’t swallow the pills.”

“Why DEA?”

“Because of the drug connection. We’ll need some backgrounding on the possible players behind this. I may want to tap into the CIA too—”

“Good God, why?”

“This anonymous remailer in the UK. If we can locate the guy who’s running it, we may be able to backtrack from his computer to this Snake character.”

“All right. But keep them in the dark as much as possible. What about the tier-two people? Got anybody in mind?”

“Yes, sir. Gerry Canney over at the Bureau. He helped break the Duncan Lathram case, if you remember.”

Razor allowed a chagrined smile. “How can I forget?”

“He just got moved up to a supervisory position. He’s as straight and sharp as they come. Knows how to keep his mouth shut too.”

“Perfect. Who from DEA?”

“I’ve got a few possibilities there. I was thinking of Dan Keane. He’s with the Washington office.”

“I know him. Good man.”

“Right. I’ve known him for years and can’t think of anybody who knows more about the drug trade and hates the dealers as much as Dan.”

“All right. Canney and Keane. Get them. I want to meet with them personally. I want to make it very clear that even though kidnapping is FBI business and drug dealers are DEA, you are in charge. I don’t want any interagency turf war here. I want them to hear it straight from me before I head for Bethesda.”

Decker had to admire Razor’s grasp of all the practical problems facing his mini task force. He remembered the infighting between Justice and Treasury back in 1994 when someone took a few pot shots at the White House.

The jockeying for control between the Secret Service, FBI, and ATF had been embarrassing. But with the chief laying out the chain of command at the outset. Decker was sure the operation would run smoothly.

“When are you going in?”

“This afternoon, right after I meet with your team.” He lowered his voice. “Get this done, Bob. Get it done by Tuesday. Because no matter what, that’s when I’m leaving for The Hague for the international drug conference.”

Decker swallowed. He felt as if he’d been punched.

“Three days, sir? That’s not much time. Can’t we—?”

“It’s all I can give you. I love John. He’s the best friend I’ll ever have. And I love his daughter like my own. Hell, I’m her godfather. But I’m also the guy who occupies this office. As President I can’t be influenced by terror and blackmail, and I sure as hell won’t allow some slimy drug lord to dictate U.S. government policy. I’m leaving for The Hague Tuesday, and I want to step on Air Force One knowing that Katie Vanduyne is back with her father. Am I making myself clear. Bob?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Then let’s get moving.”

Bob Decker’s intestines began to wind themselves into slow knots as he left the Oval Office and hurried down to W-16.

Tuesday! How the hell was he going to get this done in three days?

4

“I’ve been talking practicalities, but let me get philosophical for a moment. Can we all agree that you own your own body? That seems to me to be the cornerstone of all human rights. If we can agree on that, then where does another person get the right to dictate what substances—food, liquids, whatever—you are allowed to put into your body? This is a completely personal decision on your part. And if one person has no right to so dictate, then neither do two… or ten or a hundred or a million or a hundred million. It’s still your body. I think taking drugs is very stupid, but I also think it is a human right.”

Paulie turned down the radio volume. Had he just heard the kid giggling in the living room?

He leaned his chair back and edged his head past the jamb of the kitchen door for a peek. Some kind of weird scene in there, what with Poppy in a Minnie Mouse mask and the kid with a fake bandage on her foot, and the two of them playing Chutes and Ladders on the couch.

Paulie had retreated to the kitchen to get out of that damn Mickey Mouse mask he had to wear in front of the kid. Probably wasn’t all that necessary, seeing as the kid had already seen him as the limo driver, and he still wore the beard that would come off as soon as this was over, but why risk her getting a better look at him than absolutely necessary?

Poppy glanced up and saw him. “Wanna play?” He couldn’t see her face through the Minnie mask, but something told him she was smiling.