Vince Flynn - The Third Option

As she approached the first gate, Rielly stuck her access badge under a sensor, and the lock on the gate released. She pushed the gate open and waved good night to the uniformed Secret Service officers as she walked past the guest house. At the next gate, she repeated the process and then stepped out onto the sidewalk bordering Pennsylvania Avenue. As she turned west, her thoughts settled on taking a nice, long, hot bath when she got home. Then maybe she would put a call in to her parents in Chicago and see how things were going.

There were always plenty of good stories about her nieces and nephews. The count was even right now. Three boys and three girls with two unknowns on the way: Rielly and her mother were hoping for girls. Anna had grown up with four very protective older brothers. Three of the four were married, and one was currently unmarried and looking for number two. Rielly needed to get home and see them. It had been almost three months. That was too long. Maybe when Mitch came out of his debriefing or whatever it was that he was doing, they could book a trip. The family had met Mitch the previous summer, and they had all gotten along wonderfully.

Rielly didn't even notice the two men at first. She was a thousand miles away, skinny-dipping in the water of Lake Poygan with her future husband, reliving the pleasant memories of last summer's trip. She stopped abruptly and looked up at the two serious-looking individuals.

«Ms. Rielly, I'm Special Agent Pelachuk with the FBI.»

The man gestured to his right. «And this is Special Agent Salem. We need to ask you a few questions.»

Rielly took half a step back and glanced over her shoulder. The White House was only a block away. She was not nervous; rather, she was checking to make sure none of her fellow reporters was witnessing the exchange. «May I see your badges, please?»

Without hesitation, both men produced their identification. Rielly studied them, not really knowing what an FBI badge looked like, other than what she'd seen on TV. The pictures matched, and they looked fancy enough. Rielly handed them back and asked, «What is it that you would like to talk to me about?»

«I'd rather not say, right here.» The man looked uncomfortable as he glanced over his shoulder and then across the street at the Old Executive Office Building.

«I'd rather you did.» Rielly folded her arms across her chest as if to say she wasn't moving until she got some answers.

The man slowly leaned forward and whispered, «This has something to do with your boyfriend.»

Rielly took half a step back. «Excuse me?»

The man waved his hands back and forth in an attempt to rid Rielly of her fears. «It's not what you think. It's a good thing.» He smiled.

«What?»

«I can't really talk about it out here on the street.» Rielly still looked concerned, so the man again leaned in and whispered, «He wants to see you.»

«Where is he?»

«I can't say. All I can tell you is that he is safe, and he would like to see you.»

«And if I say no?»

«If you say no, we will walk away and report back that we tried and you rejected us. It's not a big deal. He should be done in about two weeks, and you can see him then.»

Two weeks was out of the question. Rielly didn't know if she could wait two days. «All right. I'll come with you, but I need to make a phone call. Someone is expecting me.»

«That’s fine, but we'd ask that you not mention his name on a nonsecure line.»

«That's not a problem.»

«Good. Our car is right here.»

Rielly walked with them to a sedan that was parked only a few feet away. Always the reporter, Rielly checked the plates and was relieved to see they were government issue. She got into the back seat and pulled out her cell phone. After a few rings, Liz O'Rourke answered.

«Hello.»

«Liz, it's me. I think everything is back to normal.»

«Are you sure?»

«Yeah. Don’t worry.»

«So you talked to him again.»

Rielly watched through the front window as the car pulled out into traffic. «No… not really.» She wasn't sure how much she could say. «I'm on my way to meet him right now.»

«Is that good?» Liz asked.

«Yes. I'll call you in the morning.»

«All right. Let me know if you need anything.»

«I will, Liz, and thanks for everything. Apologize to Michael for me, please.»

«Don't worry about him. You don't need to apologize for anything. He'll just be happy he gets to sleep in our bed again.»

Anna laughed. «Liz, you're the best. I love you.»

He'd taken his last shot of morphine somewhere between five and six P.M. Now, some three hours later, the pain was hitting him in waves – deep, stabbing discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Thomas Stansfield wanted to be lucid for this meeting. It was probably the last time he would see the president. He did not want to be remembered as a glassy-eyed morphine addict, and, more importantly, he needed to have a firm grip on his faculties.

Many would think Stansfield's way of thinking was antiquated, but it had served him well during his years in Washington. His duty was to his country and then his president, in that order. Not all of those presidents had been good, and Stansfield had worked hard to limit the damage the bad ones could do to his beloved Agency through their whimsical or ill-conceived proposals. President Hayes was different in this regard. The man was about as whimsical as a CPA. Hayes was not the brightest president to occupy the Oval Office, but in Stansfield's mind he was one of the best. Unlike some of his predecessors, Hayes disdained polls. He instead chose to surround himself with talented individuals. He would heed their counsel, and when the time was right, he would act decisively:

Stansfield allowed his bodyguard to help him from the back of the limo. It would take all of the strength he could muster to make it to the Situation Room under his own power. He was, as always, in a suit and tie. He had never gone to the White House in anything other than business or formal attire. There were no casual days for Thomas Stansfield.

It was approaching nine P.M., and the West Wing of the White House was relatively calm. The president was still on-site, working late in the Oval Office and waiting for his guest to arrive. That meant the Secret Service was there in full force, but most of the support staff was gone. Stansfield used a cane for balance as he walked to the door. The man looked as if he had aged ten years in the last month. They entered the building through the ground-floor entrance on West Executive Avenue, and Stansfield was escorted to the secure conference room within the Situation Room.

Stansfield was a little surprised to find President Hayes waiting for him. Hayes was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table reading a report. His suit coat was draped over the back of the chair, and his tie was loosened several inches.

Hayes stood and snatched his reading glasses from his face. The first thing he noticed about Stansfield was how thin he looked. The president took his hand and said, «Thank you for coming, Thomas. I wish you would have let me come to you.»

«Nonsense, sir. I needed to get out of the house. Besides, it is I who serve you.»

Hayes laughed softly. «Sometimes I'm not so sure about that.» The president pulled out a chair for Stansfield. «Here, Thomas. Have a seat.» Stansfield sank into the plush leather chair, and the president asked, «Can I get you anything?»

«No thank you, sir.»

As the president took his seat, Stansfield's bodyguard retreated and closed the door. In the still silence of the room, the president studied Stansfield, and after a long reflective moment, he asked, «How are you doing?»