Power Play

Secretary of State’s office

Tuesday noon

Theodore Reynolds, chief staffer to the secretary of state and guardian of the inner sanctum, watched the six people march up to his desk. He recognized all of them, but it was the sight of a grave-looking Eric Hainny, the president’s chief of staff, that brought it all together for him. He looked over at Ambassador Black’s face for confirmation, but her expression was set, giving no clue to her thoughts. Still, Theo knew this had to do with that photo of her fiancé’s son, the one sent up through State from the NSA that had ended up on Mrs. Abbott’s desk, and then front and center in the English papers. He knew something bad was going to happen. He tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was too dry.

Special Agent Savich stopped in front of his desk and showed him his creds. “Agent Savich, FBI.”

Theo said, “Yes, sir, I know who you are.” His eyes flickered to Hainny, who looked grim. Still, he had to try. He cleared his throat, hoped his voice stayed smooth. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said to Hainny, “but the secretary of state is with her son at the moment. This has thrown off her schedule, and—”

Eric Hainny said, “Listen, you shite, we’re here at the request of the president. Hold her calls. No, don’t buzz her, I know the way in.”

Theodore Reynolds shut up. He watched Hainny lead Ambassador Black; her daughter, Perry; and the three FBI agents toward his boss’s office. The ambassador wore a sad expression now, and her daughter was obviously angry. Mrs. Abbott should have buried that photo, she should have alerted Mrs. Black and the president about the diplomatic problem it posed if it ever got out. He’d advised her so himself. Now the silly thing was blowing up on her. He wondered if it would mean the end of her career, and his with it. There was little he could do for her, but he had to have time to confer with Mrs. Abbott before he was questioned, evaluate their options, come up with a strategy. He pulled his recent files out of his drawers and put the contents and his laptop into his briefcase. He was waiting for an elevator to the lobby of the Truman Building, then he felt a hand on his sleeve and turned to see a serious-faced young man holding out an FBI shield. “You need to come with me to the Hoover Building, Mr. Reynolds. We have some questions for you about a criminal matter.”

Arliss Abbott felt a surge of impatience when the door opened with no warning and without her permission. When she saw Agent Savich, her impatience morphed into rage and a dollop of fear she refused to acknowledge. She saw Eric Hainny, and stilled. He looked grimmer than he’d been when the president seemed to be losing Florida in the last election. Her heart kettle-drummed in her chest when she saw Natalie and Perry, as well as Davis Sullivan and Savich’s wife, Agent Sherlock, behind them.

She quickly regained control. She was the secretary of state, she never panicked, and she wouldn’t start now in front of these bureaucrats and glorified policemen. She would deal with anything this group had to say. Why was Hainny here?

She felt Day lightly lay his fingers on her arm. She saw he was staring at Perry, such hunger in his eyes it made her want to weep. Day, her son, her precious son. She took his hand, squeezed it, said low, “Listen to me, Day. This is important. Don’t say anything, all right? I’ll handle this.”

She stepped forward, effectively blocking him. She said to Hainny, her voice brusque, “Eric, please tell me what you’re doing here. What do these people want?”

Hainny said, “We’re all here at the behest of the president, Mrs. Abbott. As of this moment, I am here as an observer of the FBI, to be sure you hear them out.”

Day didn’t understand. He stared at Perry, willing her to look at him, but she didn’t. She was standing with her mother, holding her hand. She looked pale and resolute, and Mrs. Black looked immensely sad. What was this all about? He looked at Sullivan, felt a leap of anger that Sullivan knew but he didn’t.

“Very well, Eric. What is it you want, then, Agent Savich?” Arliss asked him.

“Madame Secretary, we can begin with that photo of William Charles McCallum taken by a United States intelligence operative in northern Syria over a month ago. We knew it was forwarded to the NSA and it was they who identified that apparent jihadist as the son of Mrs. Black’s fiancé, George McCallum. They recognized the possible repercussions of that photo to Mrs. Black and to the State Department, and so they forwarded the encrypted photo and its particulars directly to your office.

“It seemed obvious to them that you would inform Mrs. Black and the president of the photo discreetly. Instead, you arranged to leak it to the British press.”