partner, Matt McColm, waved at him to get in the helicopter.
After a few seconds, Nick said, “I need you to meet me in Miami. I’ll have a Department of Justice plane waiting for you at Dulles Airport. Go to gate 1C and ask for Martin. He’ll take you to the plane. Call me once you’re airborne.”
“Got it.” Tommy stood up to gather his money. “Hey, how’s Julie?”
“Not happy.”
“I can’t say I blame her. I mean, for crying out loud, Colombia?”
“Yeah, well . . . this is different.”
“All right,” Tommy said, stuffing cash into his pocket. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Hey,” Nick said, a little too loud. “Don’t take any chances. Okay?”
Although Nick couldn’t see him, Tommy smiled at his cousin’s concern. “All right, chief. Will do.”
Chapter 10
The Executive Residence in the White House is located between the East and West Wings. There were three floors to the complex and the second floor contained the private living quarters for the current president and the First Family. In order to gain entrance to this section of the building one must secure a name on the qualified visitor list, which includes FBI background checks, a fingerprint match, and a verbal approval from either the president or the First Lady, or First Man, depending on the residing president’s gender.
The only exception to this rule was Samuel Fisk, who simply strolled past the security check without ever exchanging even a greeting with the four person crew of Secret Service agents who manned the entrance. He was more family than the president’s own in-laws.
Fisk was clutching a memo e-mailed from the chief of staff to the department heads about the president’s upcoming schedule. He strode through the halls of the president’s residence with a purpose and didn’t stop until he found Ann Merrick in the master bedroom suite. The room was renovated by President Truman and included closets which were wallpapered and disguised as the rest of the wall.
A Secret Service agent was guarding the doorway to the bedroom when Fisk zoomed past him. On the oversized master bed sat an open suitcase. Ann Merrick was standing over the suitcase with a handful of clothes in her hand mumbling something to herself when Fisk entered the bedroom and held up the memo.
“Where is he?” Fisk said in a short burst.
The First Lady turned and Fisk saw the trembling lips. The best she could do was shrug.
Fisk let out a breath and realized she was more upset about the agenda than he was. She turned and headed to the master bathroom, dropping a trail of clothes on the carpeted floor along the way. Once inside, she slammed the door shut.
Fisk shook his head and returned to the corridor, looking up and down for a sign of Merrick. Finally, he said to the Secret Service agent standing guard, “Where is he?”
The agent nodded toward a sitting room across the hallway. In the far corner of the room, on an antique sofa, sat President Merrick and his young daughter, Emily. He was reading a book to her with his legs crossed. The wall TV was turned to CNN, but muted.
Fisk came halfway across the room, then cleared his throat to gain Merrick’s attention. The president turned. Fisk held up the memo. Merrick lowered his head and said something to Emily. He handed her the book and she offered a little resistance, but a small kiss on her forehead seemed to calm her down.
Merrick got up and appeared ready for Fisk’s assault.
“I’m well aware of the risks,” Merrick said in a low tone.
“Really?” Fisk said, holding out the memo as if it were a poisonous snake. “Because there aren’t enough Secret Service agents to keep you alive in this environment.”
Merrick pulled Fisk away from Emily and opened the side door to the Lincoln bedroom. A larger chandelier hung above Victorian-style furniture centered by a ten foot by eight foot rosewood bed against the south wall.
Once inside, Merrick shut the door behind them. “What’s
After a few seconds, Nick said, “I need you to meet me in Miami. I’ll have a Department of Justice plane waiting for you at Dulles Airport. Go to gate 1C and ask for Martin. He’ll take you to the plane. Call me once you’re airborne.”
“Got it.” Tommy stood up to gather his money. “Hey, how’s Julie?”
“Not happy.”
“I can’t say I blame her. I mean, for crying out loud, Colombia?”
“Yeah, well . . . this is different.”
“All right,” Tommy said, stuffing cash into his pocket. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Hey,” Nick said, a little too loud. “Don’t take any chances. Okay?”
Although Nick couldn’t see him, Tommy smiled at his cousin’s concern. “All right, chief. Will do.”
Chapter 10
The Executive Residence in the White House is located between the East and West Wings. There were three floors to the complex and the second floor contained the private living quarters for the current president and the First Family. In order to gain entrance to this section of the building one must secure a name on the qualified visitor list, which includes FBI background checks, a fingerprint match, and a verbal approval from either the president or the First Lady, or First Man, depending on the residing president’s gender.
The only exception to this rule was Samuel Fisk, who simply strolled past the security check without ever exchanging even a greeting with the four person crew of Secret Service agents who manned the entrance. He was more family than the president’s own in-laws.
Fisk was clutching a memo e-mailed from the chief of staff to the department heads about the president’s upcoming schedule. He strode through the halls of the president’s residence with a purpose and didn’t stop until he found Ann Merrick in the master bedroom suite. The room was renovated by President Truman and included closets which were wallpapered and disguised as the rest of the wall.
A Secret Service agent was guarding the doorway to the bedroom when Fisk zoomed past him. On the oversized master bed sat an open suitcase. Ann Merrick was standing over the suitcase with a handful of clothes in her hand mumbling something to herself when Fisk entered the bedroom and held up the memo.
“Where is he?” Fisk said in a short burst.
The First Lady turned and Fisk saw the trembling lips. The best she could do was shrug.
Fisk let out a breath and realized she was more upset about the agenda than he was. She turned and headed to the master bathroom, dropping a trail of clothes on the carpeted floor along the way. Once inside, she slammed the door shut.
Fisk shook his head and returned to the corridor, looking up and down for a sign of Merrick. Finally, he said to the Secret Service agent standing guard, “Where is he?”
The agent nodded toward a sitting room across the hallway. In the far corner of the room, on an antique sofa, sat President Merrick and his young daughter, Emily. He was reading a book to her with his legs crossed. The wall TV was turned to CNN, but muted.
Fisk came halfway across the room, then cleared his throat to gain Merrick’s attention. The president turned. Fisk held up the memo. Merrick lowered his head and said something to Emily. He handed her the book and she offered a little resistance, but a small kiss on her forehead seemed to calm her down.
Merrick got up and appeared ready for Fisk’s assault.
“I’m well aware of the risks,” Merrick said in a low tone.
“Really?” Fisk said, holding out the memo as if it were a poisonous snake. “Because there aren’t enough Secret Service agents to keep you alive in this environment.”
Merrick pulled Fisk away from Emily and opened the side door to the Lincoln bedroom. A larger chandelier hung above Victorian-style furniture centered by a ten foot by eight foot rosewood bed against the south wall.
Once inside, Merrick shut the door behind them. “What’s
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