Page 95 of Dead Fall

When she answeredyes, he offered her his arm, helped her up, and began to lead her back to the vintner’s residence.

“What’s going on?” Jacks asked. “Did she come up with something?”

Harvath nodded. “It turns out, she’s got access to a very special and very valuable piece of technology.”

“What kind of technology?”

“A bush telegraph.”

CHAPTER 27

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The Speaker of the House was hard enough to get on a weekday. On the weekends, it was practically impossible, which was why Greg Wilson had to put an incredible piece of bait on the hook. Actually,twopieces.

To get the Speaker to cancel his Saturday evening plans, Wilson had needed to offer him something better. That something was dinner at D.C.’s hottest and most difficult to get into restaurant—Minibar. And Wilson hadn’t just gotten thematable at the two-Michelin-starred avant-garde eatery, he had gottenthetable.

The private dining room just off the kitchen would allow them to speak freely while also enjoying a one-of-a-kind, experimental tasting menu that was renowned for fusing art and science.

The fact that they would be eating kitty-corner to the FBI’s headquarters and only a couple of doors down from Ford’s Theatre—where Abraham Lincoln had been shot—amused Wilson.

At one point, he had held both Lincoln and the Bureau in the highest regard. But that was the old Greg. The new Greg Wilson was post-American.

He had severed all emotional and psychological ties with the United States. It was just another country to him now; a means to a ten-million-dollar nest egg and a new passport.

To that end, his handler had offered him a sweetener—a bonus of sorts, to help get him to his goal even faster.

Before parting ways in Boston, Nistal had given him a new set of instructions. It was coming from the top and his bosses wanted to see results quickly. If Wilson could make things happen, he’d receive an additional $500,000, deposited into the bank account of his choice, anywhere in the world.

It was a generous incentive and one that Wilson intended to collect on as quickly as possible. He had no intention of spending another winter in D.C., or America for that matter. When he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the frothy blender drinks, smell the tanning oil, and see all the lithe female bodies along the beach. There had only been one hitch.

The Speaker wanted to bring his second-in-command, the House Majority Leader, who was responsible for helping set the legislative agenda and implementing policy. The man was an equally craven politician, so Wilson hadn’t been averse to it. Then, because of how hot the restaurant was, the men had insisted on bringing their wives. It put Wilson in a tough spot.

Ever the negotiator, he amiably encouraged the women’s attendance, with the caveat that after dinner they would retire next door to the restaurant’s cocktail lounge, at which point the men could be left to talk business.

With the terms agreed to, the attendees met and had a fabulous meal. From the caviar-infused wagyu tartare to the steamed mussels, complete with shells made from frozen squid ink, which were designed to be eaten whole, the experience not only lived up to the restaurant’s reputation but exceeded their expectations.

Once the wives had adjourned for their nightcaps, the men ordered digestifs and the conversation shifted.

“I’ve got to be honest,” said the Majority Leader, taking in the expensive restaurant and glasses of Hennessy Paradis cognac that had been placed on the table in front of them, “I really felt for you when you lost your primary, Greg. But you totally landed on your feet. This is not a bad way to be living.”

The Speaker agreed. “Yup. You got hit by a bus, but it was a twenty-four-karat-gold bus.”

Wilson forced a smile. “I’m doing all right. But don’t fool yourselves.You guys, up on the Hill, are where the action is. That’s the center of the universe.”

“Six more months would have changed everything for you,” the Majority Leader stated. “Hell, three months and the voters’ opinions would have changed. Nobody cares about sex scandals anymore. You were the last casualty of that war.”

“Now,” the Speaker said with a laugh, “all that matters is how hard you pound the other side. All our constituents care about is that we’re fighting. They want it nonstop, twenty-four/seven.”

“And if we don’t have anything to fight about, then we need to create something,” the Majority Leader added. “We expanded our entire communications department to bring on savvier, more aggressive social media warriors. As we like to say, ‘If you can’t meme, there’s no space on the team.’?”

Wilson wasn’t surprised to hear that Congress had devolved into an even worse form of theater since he had lost his seat.

“There is one thing that has really surprised me,” the Speaker stated. “You have no idea how much the small-dollar donations have exploded. I mean, they’ve gone absolutelystratospheric.

“It used to be that you could really only count on small donations from voters in your district. But now, if you have a good fight with a witness during a hearing, or a good fight with an opposing member on your committee, and it goes viral, the donations pour in from across the country.

“We actually bring in media trainers to teach our freshman members how to ID these moments and maximize them. It’s a license to print the easiest money you have ever seen in your life.”

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