The Threat полностью

At last he decided the most direct route was through the chief of staff. If he could get it past the dragon’s guardians, into the Secret Cave. He printed off a clean copy and put it in a regular file folder. Holt’s office would slip it into one of the blue leather presidential jackets.

The west wing again. The chief of staff’s space was past the vice president’s. The usual reception area, then Holt’s office off to the right. Neither was large, but the upholstery and carpet were of such luxurious-looking dark blue cloth, with small gold figures on them, that the effect was incongruous, as of infinite power compressed into a shoebox. He told the receptionist that he had an NSC report the president had requested. She held out her hand. “You can give it to me.”

“It needs a verbal introduction.”

“Mr. Holt’s in conference. I’ll get it to him.” She glanced toward a partition. Dan hesitated. A door opened, and he heard a once familiar voice.

Then he remembered whose voice it was, and caught his breath. Holding the folder like a weapon, he pushed past the staffer.

The inner office was bigger than Sebold’s or even Clayton’s. The polished glass of an enormous desk was covered with knickknacks, golf trophies, stuffed toys, union mugs, souvenirs, presentation globes. The right-hand window framed the south end of the Old Executive, but the one to the left had the long view: down the South Lawn, across the Ellipse, to the white bubble of the Jefferson Memorial against a sky just waiting for an excuse to snow.

Holt, looking startled, was leaning back in a recliner, hands behind his neck. A slim, freckled man sat across from him. Bright red suspenders peeped from beneath a dark blue pinstripe, bracketing a pale lavender silk tie like Donald Trump’s. He wasn’t as young as he’d been ten years before, but his features still had a pixieish cast. His long hair was still reddish blond, his eyes more sun-crinkled. He looked very much at home in the red leather chair, twiddling a gold fountain pen. They regarded each other for a moment before Dan said, “Tallinger.”

“You know each other?” Holt said. “Dr. Martin W. Tallinger. Dan Lenson, on our staff.”

Tallinger dropped both hands to the chair arms. The pen hit the carpet. Dan, too, could not speak. Then his astonishment was obliterated by the same red rage as when he’d spat mingled blood and saliva in the face of the man who’d sold secrets, betrayed his country, and in the end helped kill, knowingly or not, a woman who’d cared only for peace.

“What’s this asshole doing here?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This guy’s a lying influence peddler. And a spy. Still running your ring, Tallinger? Still selling the Chinese our technology?”

“Now just a minute.” Tallinger was still braced, but he was below Dan, looking up at him from the chair. He probably figured that if he got up, Dan would punch him. He glared at the chief of staff. “Tony. Call him off!”

“I’d like to know what’s going on,” Holt said.

Dan said, “What you have here’s the guy who tried to sell the Tomahawk terminal guidance to the Chinese. Check with the D.C. police. Call the FBI. Mention Operation Snapdragon.”

“Which I cooperated with, and which cleared me one hundred percent,” Tallinger said. “Tony, here’s the picture. This … officer holds me responsible for a personal loss, years ago, that I had nothing to do with. I’m surprised to see him here. Surprised to see him still in government service, actually. The last I heard, he’d resigned under a cloud.”

“The cloud’s yours, you fucking murderer.” Dan stepped forward. Tallinger shrank back and raised his hands.

Holt knocked over a whittled figurine of a New England sailing captain as he stretched for his intercom. “I want Garner Sebold in here,” he said. “Lenson — outside.”

“I have a report for the president. I’ll drop it on your desk. Then I’ll leave.” Dan looked at Tallinger again. “But you can’t trust this son of a bitch. He works for the other side. The real other side.”

“I told you, this guy’s a loose cannon. It’s well known in his own service, Tony.”

“This isn’t about me, sir. Just having him here is wrong.”

Another voice cut in. “I have a lot of confidence in Dan.”

Sebold looked put out, and out of breath. He’d probably heard the last exchange, which had been pretty loud. “But I agree he has strong opinions. And he’s seen some things lately no one should have to. Let’s go, Dan.”

“The chief of staff needs to know who he’s dealing with, General.”

“He knows that before anybody sets foot in his office, Dan. Don’t you think? One last time.”

Dan knew the next step was calling in the Secret Service. He couldn’t believe it. Tallinger, next door to the Oval Office. And he was the one being hustled out. “All right,” he said. “I’ve warned you.” He stared again at Tallinger, and followed Sebold out.

In the corridor the general said, “What the fuck was that about?”

“He’s an agent of influence.”