The Oracle Year(13)
“The FBI?” Will said, lifting his wineglass. “Come on. We’re not criminals.”
Chapter 6
Jim Franklin, current holder of a hard-won and cherished position as the nation’s top cop—director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation—was thinking about crime. He was thinking about committing one.
“Gentlemen. Here we are again,” said Anthony Leuchten, current White House chief of staff, and the person against whom said crime was being considered.
Franklin stared at the thick, unhealthy-looking pouch of fat distending Leuchten’s neck. He couldn’t believe the other man managed to put on a tie every day—his shirts had to be specially tailored. He looked like a bullfrog. A bullfrog with pink skin, snowy white hair, and round glasses that made his eyes look watery and weak.
He wanted to reach deep into Leuchten’s neck pouch and strangle the man, to push his thumbs deep into the fat until he could be absolutely certain he would never have to hear the chief of staff’s condescending, sanctimonious voice ever again.
Franklin looked away, trying to shake the impulse. Another man stood nearby on the snow-covered South Lawn of the White House—a short, extremely slim, odd-looking person in the uniform of a three-star general of the U.S. Army. This was Lieutenant General Linus Halvorsson, the head of the National Security Agency. Franklin didn’t know him well, despite the frequent collaboration between their organizations. The NSA had earned itself a reputation as a home for marginally socialized math geniuses and code breakers, or Peeping Toms who got their jollies from reading the country’s mail. From the few times Franklin had dealt with Halvorsson directly, the man fit the bill on both counts.
Leuchten was holding a broken-off length of tree branch about two feet long. He tapped it against the fleshy palm of his free hand, then threw it as far as he could across the lawn.
A fluffy black-and-white Siberian husky at his heels took off after it. The men watched the dog run.
“It’s really too hot here for her in the summers, but the president was stuck. Abandoning the family pet back in Minnesota would’ve hurt him more in the polls than any three diplomatic incidents. People do love their dogs,” Leuchten said.
“I suppose so,” Franklin answered. Linus Halvorsson remained silent.
The husky returned, proudly bearing the stick in her jaws. Leuchten knelt to retrieve it, ruffling the dog’s shaggy fur.
“That’s a good job, Anouk. Good dog.”
Leuchten looked at the two men, his gaze cold.
“One of you would have called me by now if you had a name,” he said, “so I know you haven’t found the Oracle yet. You’ve had a month. What’s the goddamn problem?”
Franklin spoke.
“Tony, listen, we’ve been sending you the progress reports, you know . . .”
Leuchten held up a finger. Franklin’s jaw clenched.
“The reports are dogshit, Jim. Hell, Anouk manages that much twice a day.”
Franklin’s hands actually twitched, clenching spasmodically in his pockets.
“Time is short, gentlemen,” Leuchten continued. “It’s an election year, and the man behind both of your appointments is up for his second term. As I happen to be responsible for making sure he wins that second term, I am stunned that you aren’t doing more to make me happy.
“The wars for freedom our country is currently fighting, the economic issues facing the middle class, gun control, the health-care mess we inherited, immigration reform, blue and red state tension . . . none of it is unexpected, and none of it presents an insurmountable problem.”
Leuchten’s mouth tightened.
“But somehow I could not predict the appearance of a man who, to all indications, can foresee the future. Despite all the other issues facing this country, the American people care about the Oracle. The president’s illustrious opponent, that shitbag, has already referenced the Site in three separate speeches. His position is simple—he draws attention to the fact that we can’t locate or explain the Oracle, which makes the president, your boss, look weak.
“I’m sure you see the difficulty. Beyond the fact that we cannot actually locate or explain the Oracle, we can’t issue a position, either. We can’t act until we know whether the Oracle is just some Vegas trickster, or that the Site is some elaborate effort by a foreign power to destabilize us, or God knows what. And this is hurting us, badly. This . . . fortune-teller might actually keep President Green from a second term.”
This speech had caused Leuchten’s face to flush the shade of cotton candy. He paused, letting himself relax, and addressed the two men.
“And so now I would like you two to give me some good news.”
Halvorsson and Franklin looked at each other. The NSA head shrugged and spoke first.
“We’ve intercepted communications that suggest that the Oracle has met with high-level representatives from several large, multinational corporations, as well as a few wealthy private individuals.”
“I see. Who?”
“Barry Sternfeld, for one. We’re ninety percent certain about him. Ngombe Mutumbo is another, although he’s less sure.”
“Sternfeld? He contributed millions to the president’s first campaign. He’s a friend of this administration. You say he met with . . . the Oracle’s taking meetings? Why the fuck don’t we know his name? Why can’t we set a goddamn meeting?”