Oath of Loyalty (Mitch Rapp #21)(90)

She felt shame at that last one, but she’d been angry. Enough so that she’d let it overwhelm her judgment. Not a common occurrence in her life and because of that a difficult one to analyze. Maybe some things weren’t meant to be studied. They were just meant to be felt.

There was no question that her old friend had started the timer on a bomb that could destroy everything in its considerable range. A successful attempt on the president—even if it didn’t look like an assassination—had the potential to send America spinning out of control. Even worse would be an unsuccessful attempt. Cook could use it to reinforce his narrative of an America beset by enemies that only he can vanquish. It would be another massive step toward gathering the power necessary to collapse America’s democracy. History was full of men like him and the sad lesson was that they often succeeded.

But the source of her anger went deeper than that. As appealing as it was to lay all this at Cook’s and Rapp’s feet, it was also a deflection. She had been in a leadership position for much of her adult life and had been so focused on external threats that she’d blinded herself to what was happening to her own countrymen. The purposelessness. The amorphous rage. The desperate search for identity and an enemy to battle. For something to believe in. And the Cooks had taken advantage of that blindness.

She thought back on her life honing the Central Intelligence Agency into perhaps the most advanced weapon in the history of the world. Aimed outward, it had great power to defend the country she loved. Turned inward by Darren Hargrave, though, it had the potential to bring down the delicate experiment that the country’s founding fathers had started so long ago.

The sun finally dipped below distant mountains, painting the horizon a deep orange. She wrapped her arms around her torso against the sudden cold and started back down the steps.



“Where’ve you been?” Nicholas Ward was standing at the edge of his deck watching her approach.

“Enjoying the sunset.”

“Really?” he said, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

“No.”

“Do you know if they’re okay?”

Kennedy shook her head and followed him to a sectional sofa bathed in the glow of the pool. “Mitch will have all their electronics disabled. He needs to disappear.”

“Even from you?”

“Especially from me. I’ll be the first stop for anyone trying to find him.”

She accepted a glass of wine before sitting. It all seemed so civilized. So calm. As though nothing beyond the walls surrounding them existed. The seductiveness of that illusion was so strong, she found herself having to actively fight it.

“Are you going to try again?” he asked, grabbing some cheese from a silver tray and taking a seat next to her. She could feel the heat of his body, adding to the things she had to fight.

“You mean to reach Catherine Cook? Yes.”

He clicked a remote control and a line of gas flames sprang from the coffee table in front of them. “Why don’t I try? The Cooks and I have our differences but a trillion dollars makes me hard to ignore.”

It was tempting. She’d already left the first lady three increasingly urgent messages. The assumption was that they were being received but it was impossible to know for sure.

“Thank you, but no. This isn’t something I want to get you involved in.”

“What isn’t something you want me to get involved in?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure? I might not be as squeamish as you think.”

She smiled and took a sip of what turned out to be a spectacular chardonnay. “There’s a war brewing, Nick. And there’s no reason for you to be part of it. It could only weaken you and I don’t think that’s in anyone’s best interest right now.”

He nodded slowly. “This is your world, not mine. I’m here if you or Mitch need me.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. We both do.”

He stood and pointed to her glass. “I’m going to go check on dinner. Can I freshen that up first?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

She watched him retreat into the house, admiring his trim physique and the way the light picked up the gray in his hair. Even the dull snap of his ubiquitous flip-flops was becoming increasingly endearing.

One disaster at a time, she reminded herself.

A personal relationship between her and the world’s wealthiest man would push her back into a limelight that she very much needed to avoid. And worse, it would increase the size of the already expansive target on his back.

She let out a long sigh and set down her glass in favor of a satellite phone. The number in question was at the top of her history and she dialed it, listening to the now-familiar ring before the voice of Catherine Cook’s assistant came on.

“Hello, Dr. Kennedy.”

“Hello, Susan. I still haven’t heard back from Mrs. Cook. Is she available?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. It’s been a little chaotic around here over the past few days. Can I put you into her voice mail?”

Kennedy watched Ward pull something out of the oven. In addition to being unimaginably wealthy, brilliant, and good-looking, he was an excellent cook. If her mother were still alive, she’d undoubtedly be hinting that this probably wasn’t the time to play hard to get.