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that was his nuclear option. Good statesmanship required a different type of persuasion, one that appealed to the best nature in someone. Sandford just didn’t know if that nature even still dwelled in the President’s mind. He determined to think of something. And if he didn’t, he would hope that cryptic message he received would ring true any day now.
    Sandford didn’t hear his wife until she realized he wasn’t engaged in her story about the congressman from North Dakota who got a D.U.I. and was also charged with possession of moonshine.
    “Gerald? Gerald?” Sarah asked. “Are you listening to me?”
    He snapped out of his stupor.
    “Oh, no, I’m sorry, honey. I’ve got a lot on my mind these days. What were you saying?”
    “Never mind. Just finish up so I can get us dessert.”
    Sandford stared at his plate. He’d hardly eaten a bite of his wife’s baked chicken, one of his favorites.
    Then his phone rang, prompting him to get up from the table to take the call. The number was blocked. He went into his office and shut the door.
    “This is Sandford.”
    “Is this Vice President Gerald Sandford?”
    Sandford struggled to place the accent. It sounded Eastern European, but he couldn’t be certain.
    “Yes, it is. With whom am I speaking?”
    “That’s not important. What’s important is that I tell you something about your daughter. I know who took her—and so does the Russian government.”
    “What do you mean ‘took her’? She was killed sixteen years ago.”
    “Is that what they told you? Well, don’t believe everything you hear from the Russian government. They take their time and strike when you least expect it.”
    “Who is this?” Sandford demanded, his voice rising.
    “Just remember what I told you: When you become President...”
    “Hey. Who are you —-”
    The caller hung up, leaving Sandford alone to decipher what it all meant. If anything, it picked at an old wound, the wound that became the driving force for Sandford’s political ambition. He wanted justice for his daughter’s death. But if the caller was to be believed, Sydney wasn’t dead after all. All his buttons were being pushed and he couldn’t handle it.
    Sarah knocked on the door and poked her head in.
    “Is everything OK, Gerald? Who was that?”
    “I don’t know. Somebody’s messing with me. It’s nothing.” Sandford slumped into the chair behind his desk.
    “OK, I’m about to bring out dessert.”
    “Honey, I’ve got to be honest—I’m not really hungry right now. Can you save me some for later?”
    “Sure thing,” she said as she closed the door behind him, leaving him alone in the office.
    Sandford buried his head in his hands and let out an exasperated sigh. He didn’t know what to believe. He especially didn’t like being toyed with. But getting worked up was no way to govern.   You rule with your head, not your heart   , Sandford’s father told him when he first got elected to represent his home state of Tennessee as a representative. At the moment neither seemed sufficient.
    He placed a call to his office and asked a staffer to get the NSA to track the most recent call placed to his cell phone. He waited in silence before a quick response came back: they couldn’t trace it—neither the phone’s owner nor the location.
    Sandford decided he needed a drink, a strong drink. Vodka would suffice.   At least there’s one thing good to come out of that godforsaken country.   Sandford slammed the drink down and poured himself another. He needed to think about what his first move would be as President.

CHAPTER 11
    FLYNN STILL FELT LIKE he was groping in the dark, trying desperately to make sense of the shards of evidence he had collected. It was one thing to identify the shooter—the real shooter in the JFK assassination plot. It was another to figure out who he was working for. By his estimation, Flynn solved the easy part. The question everybody wanted answered still clung to his back like a