His shirt and tie were from London, also specially made for him. His shoes, Spanish, constructed by a master cobbler in Barcelona.
A light, double tap on his bedroom door.
“Yes?” he said, his eyes still on the mirror.
The door opened.
“Sorry to disturb, Mr. Clark,” his butler William said. The man was English, naturally. It wouldn’t do to have a butler from anywhere else. “A phone call, sir.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Morse, sir.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Very good, sir,” William said and left.
Clark spotted a tiny bit of lint on his left sleeve and plucked it off.
Now he was ready.
He took the call in the study of his twenty-second-floor Manhattan apartment.
“Good morning, Mr. Morse,” he said, looking out his window at Central Park. “I assume this is important.”
“I have news,” Morse said. As always, the man’s voice sounded strained, his long damaged vocal cords doing their best to get his words out.
“Concerning?”
“The Hayes matter.”
Clark turned away from the window, the outside world no longer of interest. “What about it?”
“The girl’s been found.”
Clark did his best to hold back the wave of excitement building in his chest. “Is that so?”
“She was discovered during an unrelated operation.”
“By us?”
“No. Helen Cho’s agency.”
Another government intelligence organization. That could complicate things.
“What has she done with the girl?” Clark asked.
“That’s unclear at the moment. What I know is that an operation in Seattle turned up more than expected. While it was still ongoing, Cho initiated a search on several names. One was Danielle Chad.”
One on a list of possible aliases. “Are we sure it’s our Danielle Chad?”
“Cho had a copy of the girl’s ID on her computer. It’s definitely the one we’re looking for.”
“There must be something you can use to pressure Cho to hand the girl over.”
“Cho is missing.”
A pause. “Missing as in presumed dead?”
“Kidnapped.”
“By who?”
“Also unclear. She was ambushed on her way to the office not long after she got the copy of the ID.”
“Someone else interested in the girl.”
“Yes, sir. That would be my assumption, too.”
“Can I assume you’re doing something to find Danielle?”
“I’ve sent a group of my best men to the area where she was last seen. Unfortunately the safe house Cho’s people were supposed to be using turned out to be a dead end. My team continues to look, though. What I need to know is if we run into resistance, how far do we take this?”
“If Danielle Chad is really Danielle Hayes and they have her, all the way,” Clark said without hesitation. “Just remember, we need her unharmed. Anyone who gets in the way is expendable.”
WASHINGTON, DC
I T WAS ONE of those political breakfasts where everyone was smiling and glad-handing and saying nothing of real importance.
Scott Bennett did at least three of them every week. Add on the even more frequent cocktail parties in the evenings, the multiple getting-to-know-you lunch meetings, and the inevitable weekend special events and he almost never saw his office or his home anymore. Such was the life of a top-tier lobbyist.
“Senator, it would be my pleasure,” Bennett was saying. “Have him call me and I’ll take care of it.”
Often it was the little things that served Bennett’s needs the best, such as obtaining box seats to a Washington Nationals baseball game for a senator’s friend. The senator would receive nothing on paper, but in the invisible ledger called What Have You Done For Me, another entry would appear in Bennett’s column.
“I appreciate that, Scott. I really do,” the senator said. “Harry can’t wait to take his son to a game when they’re out here.”
“I’ll personally see to everything. Don’t give it another thought.” By everything, Bennett meant flying the senator’s friend and son to the district, putting them up
A light, double tap on his bedroom door.
“Yes?” he said, his eyes still on the mirror.
The door opened.
“Sorry to disturb, Mr. Clark,” his butler William said. The man was English, naturally. It wouldn’t do to have a butler from anywhere else. “A phone call, sir.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Morse, sir.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Very good, sir,” William said and left.
Clark spotted a tiny bit of lint on his left sleeve and plucked it off.
Now he was ready.
He took the call in the study of his twenty-second-floor Manhattan apartment.
“Good morning, Mr. Morse,” he said, looking out his window at Central Park. “I assume this is important.”
“I have news,” Morse said. As always, the man’s voice sounded strained, his long damaged vocal cords doing their best to get his words out.
“Concerning?”
“The Hayes matter.”
Clark turned away from the window, the outside world no longer of interest. “What about it?”
“The girl’s been found.”
Clark did his best to hold back the wave of excitement building in his chest. “Is that so?”
“She was discovered during an unrelated operation.”
“By us?”
“No. Helen Cho’s agency.”
Another government intelligence organization. That could complicate things.
“What has she done with the girl?” Clark asked.
“That’s unclear at the moment. What I know is that an operation in Seattle turned up more than expected. While it was still ongoing, Cho initiated a search on several names. One was Danielle Chad.”
One on a list of possible aliases. “Are we sure it’s our Danielle Chad?”
“Cho had a copy of the girl’s ID on her computer. It’s definitely the one we’re looking for.”
“There must be something you can use to pressure Cho to hand the girl over.”
“Cho is missing.”
A pause. “Missing as in presumed dead?”
“Kidnapped.”
“By who?”
“Also unclear. She was ambushed on her way to the office not long after she got the copy of the ID.”
“Someone else interested in the girl.”
“Yes, sir. That would be my assumption, too.”
“Can I assume you’re doing something to find Danielle?”
“I’ve sent a group of my best men to the area where she was last seen. Unfortunately the safe house Cho’s people were supposed to be using turned out to be a dead end. My team continues to look, though. What I need to know is if we run into resistance, how far do we take this?”
“If Danielle Chad is really Danielle Hayes and they have her, all the way,” Clark said without hesitation. “Just remember, we need her unharmed. Anyone who gets in the way is expendable.”
WASHINGTON, DC
I T WAS ONE of those political breakfasts where everyone was smiling and glad-handing and saying nothing of real importance.
Scott Bennett did at least three of them every week. Add on the even more frequent cocktail parties in the evenings, the multiple getting-to-know-you lunch meetings, and the inevitable weekend special events and he almost never saw his office or his home anymore. Such was the life of a top-tier lobbyist.
“Senator, it would be my pleasure,” Bennett was saying. “Have him call me and I’ll take care of it.”
Often it was the little things that served Bennett’s needs the best, such as obtaining box seats to a Washington Nationals baseball game for a senator’s friend. The senator would receive nothing on paper, but in the invisible ledger called What Have You Done For Me, another entry would appear in Bennett’s column.
“I appreciate that, Scott. I really do,” the senator said. “Harry can’t wait to take his son to a game when they’re out here.”
“I’ll personally see to everything. Don’t give it another thought.” By everything, Bennett meant flying the senator’s friend and son to the district, putting them up
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