Read Online The Ascendant: A Thriller by Drew Chapman - Free Book Online
Authors: Drew Chapman
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pretty. They crossed the Frederick Douglass Bridge into Washington, D.C., proper. It was the first time Garrett had ever been in the nation’s capital. He stared out the window, and it seemed to him, even though he didn’t know the geography of the city, that the driver was taking them past every patriotic sight he could find. They circled the Capitol, lit up by spotlights, crossed the Mall, where he eyed the Smithsonian and the National Archives, then took a series of roundabout turns that brought them directly past the White House. It may have been a ploy, but Garrett enjoyed it nonetheless.
They drove past Foggy Bottom and the State Department, then crossed into Georgetown and maneuvered down a series of narrow, tree-lined streets filled with upscale town houses. They double-parked in front of a three-story brick brownstone on Dumbarton Street. Pairs of uniformed D.C. policemen stood guard halfway down the block on both sides, and a pair of dark-suited men that Garrett assumed were Secret Service agents blocked the door to the building. The agents stepped aside for Alexis, and Garrett trailed in her path.
The foyer of the town house was bathed in soft yellow light. Colonial-era furniture lined the hallway, and a pair of lush Hudson River School oil paintings hung opposite each other on the walls. The floors were veined slats of polished wood, topped with intricately woven rugs. To Garrett, the place reeked of money. And power.
“Nice,” Garrett laughed, examining an antique pewter teapot on a mahogany table.
A young, well-dressed African-American woman entered the hallway and smiled pleasantly at Alexis. “Captain Truffant. Good to see you.” The young woman turned to Garrett and took him in for a moment. “And you must be Garrett Reilly.”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“A pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Mackenzie Fox. Assistant to the secretary. Come this way. Everyone’s here. They’re all waiting for you.” She opened a door at the end of the hallway and held it for them. Alexis entered,disappearing from Garrett’s view, but Garrett paused a moment by Ms. Fox.
“Secretary of what?” he whispered to her.
“Defense.”
“Holy fuck,” Garrett gasped, before he could stop himself.
“Yes, holy fuck,” she said with a smile.
13
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C., MARCH 25, 8:02 PM
S ecretary of Defense Duke Frye, Jr., spoke first, and Garrett recognized him immediately. He was a large man, with a head of thick, bright-white hair, broad shoulders, and blue eyes. His Texas accent was barely noticeable; he’d clearly worked to rid himself of it and now spoke more like the polished global businessman that he had been before being named secretary.
“Something to drink, Mr. Reilly? We’re pouring scotch tonight. Eighteen-year-old Highland Park. You know it?”
“Sure,” Garrett answered, tongue-tied, leaving his host uncertain as to whether he meant “sure” he knew the scotch or “sure” he’d have some.
Secretary Frye poured him a glass anyway. He handed it to Garrett, then shook his hand. “Duke Frye. I am the secretary of defense.” He fixed his eyes on Garrett, and Garrett felt a rare flash of fear and anxiety race through him. Frye was the first truly powerful man Garrett had ever met in person, and he scared Garrett. Not a lot, but just enough to throw him slightly off balance.
“Pleased to meet you,” Garrett said, and then quickly added “sir,” but hated himself immediately for doing it. He glanced at the dozen or so other people gathered in the large, sumptuous living room. A few were standing, two of them in front of a dark, windswept oil painting of George Washington on horseback that Garrett swore he’d seen before in an art history book. The rest of the guests were seated. Garrett quickly made out five or six men and women in uniform—generals by the looks of them. He thought he saw four actual stars on the lapel of the oldest of them, a lean, wiry
They drove past Foggy Bottom and the State Department, then crossed into Georgetown and maneuvered down a series of narrow, tree-lined streets filled with upscale town houses. They double-parked in front of a three-story brick brownstone on Dumbarton Street. Pairs of uniformed D.C. policemen stood guard halfway down the block on both sides, and a pair of dark-suited men that Garrett assumed were Secret Service agents blocked the door to the building. The agents stepped aside for Alexis, and Garrett trailed in her path.
The foyer of the town house was bathed in soft yellow light. Colonial-era furniture lined the hallway, and a pair of lush Hudson River School oil paintings hung opposite each other on the walls. The floors were veined slats of polished wood, topped with intricately woven rugs. To Garrett, the place reeked of money. And power.
“Nice,” Garrett laughed, examining an antique pewter teapot on a mahogany table.
A young, well-dressed African-American woman entered the hallway and smiled pleasantly at Alexis. “Captain Truffant. Good to see you.” The young woman turned to Garrett and took him in for a moment. “And you must be Garrett Reilly.”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“A pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Mackenzie Fox. Assistant to the secretary. Come this way. Everyone’s here. They’re all waiting for you.” She opened a door at the end of the hallway and held it for them. Alexis entered,disappearing from Garrett’s view, but Garrett paused a moment by Ms. Fox.
“Secretary of what?” he whispered to her.
“Defense.”
“Holy fuck,” Garrett gasped, before he could stop himself.
“Yes, holy fuck,” she said with a smile.
13
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C., MARCH 25, 8:02 PM
S ecretary of Defense Duke Frye, Jr., spoke first, and Garrett recognized him immediately. He was a large man, with a head of thick, bright-white hair, broad shoulders, and blue eyes. His Texas accent was barely noticeable; he’d clearly worked to rid himself of it and now spoke more like the polished global businessman that he had been before being named secretary.
“Something to drink, Mr. Reilly? We’re pouring scotch tonight. Eighteen-year-old Highland Park. You know it?”
“Sure,” Garrett answered, tongue-tied, leaving his host uncertain as to whether he meant “sure” he knew the scotch or “sure” he’d have some.
Secretary Frye poured him a glass anyway. He handed it to Garrett, then shook his hand. “Duke Frye. I am the secretary of defense.” He fixed his eyes on Garrett, and Garrett felt a rare flash of fear and anxiety race through him. Frye was the first truly powerful man Garrett had ever met in person, and he scared Garrett. Not a lot, but just enough to throw him slightly off balance.
“Pleased to meet you,” Garrett said, and then quickly added “sir,” but hated himself immediately for doing it. He glanced at the dozen or so other people gathered in the large, sumptuous living room. A few were standing, two of them in front of a dark, windswept oil painting of George Washington on horseback that Garrett swore he’d seen before in an art history book. The rest of the guests were seated. Garrett quickly made out five or six men and women in uniform—generals by the looks of them. He thought he saw four actual stars on the lapel of the oldest of them, a lean, wiry
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