Read Online Divide and Conquer by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik, Jeff Rovin - Free Book Online Page B
Tags: United States, Fiction, thriller, Suspense, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Men's Adventure, Fiction - Espionage, General & Literary Fiction, Adventure fiction, Intrigue, Traitors, Crisis Management in Government - United States, Executive Power, Crisis Management in Government
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crowd or advocating greater education spending on TV talk shows or discussing the White House with an old friend. But there was something in her expression he had never seen before. The old enthusiasm stopped short of her eyes. When he looked in them, they seemed frightened. Confused.
Hood picked up his cup, took a sip of coffee, then turned to Megan.
“I appreciate your coming,” the First Lady said. Her cup and saucer were on her lap, and she was looking down. “I know you’re busy and that you have problems of your own. But this isn’t just about me or the president, Paul.” She looked up. “It’s about the nation.”
“What’s wrong?” Hood asked.
Megan breathed deeply. “My husband has been behaving strangely over the last few days.”
Megan fell silent. Hood didn’t push her. He waited while she drank some of her coffee.
“Over the past week or so, he’s been more and more distracted,” she said. “He hasn’t asked about our grandson, which is very unusual. He says that it’s work, and maybe it is. But things got very strange yesterday.” She regarded Hood intently. “This remains between us.”
“Of course.”
Megan took a short, reinforcing breath. “Before the dinner last night, I found him sitting at his dressing table. He was running late. He wasn’t showered or dressed. He was just staring at the mirror, flushed and looking as though he’d been crying. When I asked him about it, he said he’d been exercising. He told me that his eyes were bloodshot because he hadn’t been sleeping. I didn’t believe him, but I let it be. Then, at the predinner reception, he was flat. He smiled and was pleasant, but there was no enthusiasm in him at all. Until he received a phone call. He took it in his office and returned about two minutes later. When he came back, his manner was entirely different. He was outgoing and confident.”
“That’s certainly how he seemed at dinner,” Hood said. “When you say the president was flat, what exactly do you mean?”
Megan thought for a moment. “Do you know how someone gets when they’re really jet-lagged?” she asked. “There’s a glassiness in their eyes and a kind of delayed reaction to whatever is said?”
Hood nodded.
“That’s exactly how he was until the call,” Megan said.
“Do you know who called?” Hood asked.
“He told me it was Jack Fenwick.”
Fenwick was a quiet, efficient man who had been the president’s budget director in his first administration. Fenwick had joined Lawrence’s American Sense think tank, where he added intelligence issues to his repertoire. When the president was reelected, Fenwick was named the head of the National Security Agency, which was a separate intelligence division of the Department of Defense. Unlike other divisions of military intelligence, the NSA was also chartered to provide support for nondefense activities of the Executive Branch.
“What did Fenwick tell the president?” Hood asked.
“That everything had come together,” she told Hood. “That was all he would say.”
“You have no idea who or what that is?”
Megan shook her head. “Mr. Fenwick left for New York this morning, and when I asked his assistant what the phone call was about, she said something very strange. She asked me, ‘What call?’ ”
“Did you check the log?”
Megan nodded. “The only call that came into that line at that time was from the Hay-Adams Hotel.”
The elegant old hotel was located on the other side of Lafayette Park, literally across the street from the White House.
“I had a staff member visit the hotel this morning,” Megan went on. “He got the names of the night staff, went to their homes, and showed them pictures of Fenwick. They never saw him.”
“He could have come in a back entrance,” Hood said. “Did you run a check of the registry?”
“Yes,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. There could have been any number of aliases. Congressmen often use the
Hood picked up his cup, took a sip of coffee, then turned to Megan.
“I appreciate your coming,” the First Lady said. Her cup and saucer were on her lap, and she was looking down. “I know you’re busy and that you have problems of your own. But this isn’t just about me or the president, Paul.” She looked up. “It’s about the nation.”
“What’s wrong?” Hood asked.
Megan breathed deeply. “My husband has been behaving strangely over the last few days.”
Megan fell silent. Hood didn’t push her. He waited while she drank some of her coffee.
“Over the past week or so, he’s been more and more distracted,” she said. “He hasn’t asked about our grandson, which is very unusual. He says that it’s work, and maybe it is. But things got very strange yesterday.” She regarded Hood intently. “This remains between us.”
“Of course.”
Megan took a short, reinforcing breath. “Before the dinner last night, I found him sitting at his dressing table. He was running late. He wasn’t showered or dressed. He was just staring at the mirror, flushed and looking as though he’d been crying. When I asked him about it, he said he’d been exercising. He told me that his eyes were bloodshot because he hadn’t been sleeping. I didn’t believe him, but I let it be. Then, at the predinner reception, he was flat. He smiled and was pleasant, but there was no enthusiasm in him at all. Until he received a phone call. He took it in his office and returned about two minutes later. When he came back, his manner was entirely different. He was outgoing and confident.”
“That’s certainly how he seemed at dinner,” Hood said. “When you say the president was flat, what exactly do you mean?”
Megan thought for a moment. “Do you know how someone gets when they’re really jet-lagged?” she asked. “There’s a glassiness in their eyes and a kind of delayed reaction to whatever is said?”
Hood nodded.
“That’s exactly how he was until the call,” Megan said.
“Do you know who called?” Hood asked.
“He told me it was Jack Fenwick.”
Fenwick was a quiet, efficient man who had been the president’s budget director in his first administration. Fenwick had joined Lawrence’s American Sense think tank, where he added intelligence issues to his repertoire. When the president was reelected, Fenwick was named the head of the National Security Agency, which was a separate intelligence division of the Department of Defense. Unlike other divisions of military intelligence, the NSA was also chartered to provide support for nondefense activities of the Executive Branch.
“What did Fenwick tell the president?” Hood asked.
“That everything had come together,” she told Hood. “That was all he would say.”
“You have no idea who or what that is?”
Megan shook her head. “Mr. Fenwick left for New York this morning, and when I asked his assistant what the phone call was about, she said something very strange. She asked me, ‘What call?’ ”
“Did you check the log?”
Megan nodded. “The only call that came into that line at that time was from the Hay-Adams Hotel.”
The elegant old hotel was located on the other side of Lafayette Park, literally across the street from the White House.
“I had a staff member visit the hotel this morning,” Megan went on. “He got the names of the night staff, went to their homes, and showed them pictures of Fenwick. They never saw him.”
“He could have come in a back entrance,” Hood said. “Did you run a check of the registry?”
“Yes,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. There could have been any number of aliases. Congressmen often use the
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