Read Online Soul of the Assassin by Jim DeFelice, Larry Bond - Free Book Online Page A

Jonathon McCarthy finished up a phone call with a congressman who was opposing McCarthy’s health-care reform package. The chief of staff, Fred Green-berg, stood near the desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his nervous energy a sharp contrast to the President’s laid-back country-boy expression.
     
    “Well,” said the President finally, drawing out the word in the over-pronounced Southern style he liked to use when making a point. “I do hope you will consider my points, Congressman, just as seriously as I am going to consider yours. And you know I take them very seriously. .. . You have a good day yourself.”
     
    The President put the phone back on the hook.
     
    “I’ve owned mules that weren’t half as stubborn,” he said.
     
    “We’re sunk,” said Greenberg.
     
    “Now don’t go giving up the ship when we have only just spotted the iceberg,” said McCarthy. “We still have a few moments to steer the rudder and close the compartment doors. Wouldn’t you say so, Miss Alston?”
     
    “On a difficult issue like this, it may take some time to win over votes,” said Corrine. “Perhaps you should delay the vote.”
     
    “Spoken like a true lawyer, used to billing by the hour.” McCarthy laughed. “You have something you need me to address?”
     
    “Yes.” Corrine glanced at Greenberg.
     
    “I have to go answer a couple of e-mails,” said the chief of staff. “I’ll be right back.”
     
    When McCarthy and Corrine were alone, he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
     
    “We are going to lose this one, I’m afraid,” he told Corrine. “We just do not have the votes. But sometimes it’s important to keep the horse in the race.”
     
    “Sometimes.”
     
    “What would you think of talking to Senator Segriff for me about this? He might be persuaded to come around. He is not an unreasonable man.”
     
    “Wouldn’t it be better coming from you?”
     
    “Sometimes a young filly can succeed where an old craggy nag will fail.”
     
    “So I’m a filly now, am I?”
     
    McCarthy laughed and sat upright in his chair. “Deah, if I offended you, well then, I am just going to have to apologize. I assure you that I do not think you are a horse, young or otherwise.”
     
    “I hope not.”
     
    “Now what is so important that my chief of staff has to answer his e-mail personally, which I believe he has not done in six or seven months.”
     
    “Italy and Special Demands.” Corrine gave him a brief summary of the phone conference.
     
    “If the assassin is planning an attack in a public square, we have to notify the Italians,” she told him. “We can’t let an attack like that go off without warning them to take steps. If the situation were reversed, we’d want blood.”
     
    McCarthy tore off the top page of the notepad he had on his desk and rose. “I don’t suppose Tom Parnelles likes the idea very much.”
     
    “He didn’t voice his opinion.”
     
    “That would be the answer right there, I suspect.” McCarthy crumpled the paper and tossed it into the basket.
     
    “Ferguson—the lead op on the First Team—is worried that if we bring the Italians in on it, we’ll tip off the assassin he’s supposed to capture,” said Corrine. “He argued against it.”
     
    “I’m sure Mr. Parnelles and Mr. Ferguson are on the same page on this,” said McCarthy. “There is an argument to be made there.”
     
    “It’s overweighed. Think of a hundred people dying in Minnesota or Omaha because the Italians wanted to capture a person they thought killed one of their intelligence officers. We wouldn’t stand for it.”
     
    “No. We wouldn’t. This would make the rendition flap look like a Sunday school debate over the devil’s favorite lie.”
     
    Corrine nodded.
     
    “The Director feels personally responsible for his officer’s murder,” continued the President. “Do you remember the incident, Corrine? No, actually you wouldn’t, as it was just before