The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(66)

“I believe someone in that administration was,” Dr. Clark countered. “Marquette was killed by the president’s doctor and a Secret Service agent on the president’s detail. That doesn’t strike me as a coincidence.” She paused. “It shouldn’t strike you as one, either.”

I imagined Henry, listening to these words. “You told Henry—”

“I told him that we could help him fight back, that we could help him get justice, that no one should be above reproach. Four men died. Were we not supposed to notice? Justice Marquette. His doctor. The front-runner to replace him. And a Secret Service agent, shot down by a SWAT team?” She lowered her voice. “The White House kept a lid on the agent’s identity, but we found out. We always find out. There was a reason the Nolan administration wanted this buried, Tess. Who do you think ordered the SWAT team to shoot Damien Kostas? Who do you think ordered that a man be executed, with no due process, no law?”

The fourth conspirator.

“So why not expose the truth?” I asked Dr. Clark. “If you really care about corruption and cover-ups, why not—”

“When someone takes office, we develop a contingency plan. If they’re worthy of the office, it need not be activated. If they are not . . .” Dr. Clark executed an elegant shrug.

A contingency plan, I thought. Like Walker Nolan. That had to be a plan years in the making. They’d already infiltrated Walker’s life before President Nolan was elected. They’d already sent Daniela to him. So when they developed suspicions about the Nolan administration, they didn’t have to try to dig up incriminating information.

They already had damaging information of their own.

They’d staged the bombing, revealed the relationship between Walker and the bomber, for the sole purpose of taking the president down.

My brain spun. “So shooting the president, that was what? Another contingency plan?”

“That shooting,” a voice said from the doorway, “was the one contingency we hadn’t planned for.”

I whipped my head in the direction of the voice.

“I need a minute,” Dr. Clark told Mrs. Perkins.

“You’ve had a minute,” Mrs. Perkins responded. “And you’re wasting your time. This one won’t flip.”

Dr. Clark stood up. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the muscles in her face taut. “These things take time.”

“Unfortunately, Moira, time is one thing we do not have in any abundance.” Mrs. Perkins turned her attention from Dr. Clark to me. The gleam in her eyes was darker and harder than anything I’d seen in Dr. Clark’s.

Some people do horrible things because of their beliefs, I thought, a chill settling over my body. And some people choose beliefs that let them do horrible things.

“You killed John Thomas,” I said, unable to look away from a woman I’d always considered welcoming and warm.

“When the president was shot and it seemed likely the vice president would be taking office, I put a new plan into motion. We needed to kill a student in order to get the headmaster to agree to bring in extra security. Armed security.” Mrs. Perkins shrugged. “The fact that Mr. Wilcox had been poking around in his father’s files made him an obvious choice. We would have had to deal with him eventually. Two birds, one stone. I saw an opportunity.” There was a gleam in Mrs. Perkins’s eyes when she said those words. “And I took it.”

“His father was working with Senza Nome,” I said. “He was one of you.”

“He was never one of us,” Mrs. Perkins replied. “Never trusted. He was a viper whose goals aligned temporarily with ours. Why overlook an opportunity like this for someone like that?”

An opportunity to orchestrate a takeover of Hardwicke while the vice president was in charge.

“So that’s it?” I said. “You saw an opportunity, and you took it? And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the president being shot in the first place? That was just a happy coincidence?” I asked. “Senza Nome claimed responsibility for the attack!”

“Did we?” Mrs. Perkins returned, an edge creeping into her voice. “Did we really?” Her eyes bore into me.

Daniela Nicolae had told interrogators that Senza Nome hadn’t been behind the attempt on the president’s life.

“No matter,” Mrs. Perkins said, shrugging. “The attack on President Nolan might have disturbed one plan, but it gave us an opening for another.”

One plan. Daniela Nicolae, Walker Nolan, and a PR attack that would have crippled the current administration during midterm elections.

An opening for another. The seizing of Hardwicke.

“Now,” Mrs. Perkins declared, “I have a problem, and you, my dear, are going to solve it.”

That isn’t going to happen.

“Certain parties remain unconvinced that this is a battle they cannot win,” Mrs. Perkins continued. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists, et cetera, et cetera.” She gave a roll of her eyes. “And the people who are more amenable to negotiating have asked for a show of good faith.”

Good faith wasn’t a phrase anyone should apply to these people. Ever.

“We need your help,” Dr. Clark told me. “I need your help to get all of your classmates out of here alive.”