Page 52 of Edge of Honor

Plenty of voters, out of slavish devotion and an inability to believethat he had turned his back on them, had stayed faithful. No matter how many examples they were presented with his showing infidelity to the movement, they refused to give up on him. In their eyes, the young, charismatic president could do no wrong and his detractors were simply “jealous” or incapable of realizing his brilliance. They were convinced that Mitchell was playing a sophisticated long game, intent on driving his enemies mad, and which would, inevitably, deliver for all Americans—especially his most devoted supporters. Bill Blackwood and his junto knew better.

After the last of the guests had left the penthouse, Blackwood removed his coat and tie, poured himself a Double Eagle Very Rare twenty-year-old bourbon, and stepped out on the terrace.

The air was still humid, but with the sun having set, the temperature had fallen a few degrees and a slight breeze had picked up. It was almost agreeable.

Sitting down on one of the outdoor couches, he kicked off his shoes, put his feet up on the table in front of him, and closed his eyes.

Like Paris or New York, D.C. was a city that didn’t sleep. It had a heartbeat, a thrum, that could be felt all night long.

He was taking it all in when he heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle being slid from a half-melted bucket of ice inside.

Without opening his eyes, he knew that she had joined him on the terrace. The breeze had shifted slightly and it carried with it the faint scent of her perfume—refined with just a touch of mystery. It was calledBlack Orchidand even its name suited her so perfectly, simple yet elegant, with a hint of something deeper beneath the surface. Claire Bennet was the most intoxicating woman he had ever met.

She was a partner at a successful D.C. lobbying firm, and her confidence was unmistakable. It was one of the things that had instantly intrigued him about her. Her looks were another.

All of his wives had been blondes. Claire, however, was different—her long, chestnut-colored hair a striking contrast. But it wasn’t just her hair that set her apart. Her long, thin neck, sharp cheekbones, full lips, and doe-like eyes, which seemed to see right through him, added a level of allure he had never experienced. And then there was the factthat she was thirty-six, and on their second evening out, she’d casually admitted that she found him incredibly sexy—and to his delight, utterly irresistible.

She had been in the back bedroom, listening to, and recording, everything that had been said. It was their “insurance” in case any of Blackwood’s guests had second thoughts and attempted to go rogue. Her commitment to the cause all but rivaled his own.

“You did well tonight,” she said, sitting down next to him, a glass of Krug, Clos du Mesnil in her hand. “Very well.”

Blackwood opened his eyes and looked at her. She had gotten rid of her jacket, as well as her heels, and was wearing just a tight black pencil skirt and a white blouse, unbuttoned far enough that he could see the tops of her breasts. She was well aware of the power she had over him and always seemed to enjoy wielding it. On the outdoor speakers, he could hear that she had queued up some Etta James.

As the slow, sultry notes of “I’d Rather Go Blind” began to play, she took a sip of her champagne and set the glass on the table. Hiking up her skirt, she crawled onto his lap and started moving her hips to the music.

“Tonight wasn’t the hard part,” he replied, enjoying her effort to seduce him. “It’s what comes next that I’m concerned about.”

Leaning in, she gave him an even better view of her breasts as she unbuttoned the third and fourth buttons of his shirt.

“Is the Vice President going to be where we need him to be tomorrow?”

Blackwood looked up at her—that swanlike neck, those beautiful lips, those eyes—and nodded.

“Good,” she responded. “Then there’s nothing else that you can do.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, she leaned the rest of the way in and kissed him. And with the taste of champagne still fresh in her mouth, she took his hand and guided it to the zipper on her skirt.

CHAPTER 25

McLEAN, VIRGINIA

WEDNESDAY

With a few minutes left on Haney’s shift, Harvath had appeared in the den and they conducted a quick debrief. Other than the fact that the Ambassador’s cameras were dirty and in need of an upgrade, there was nothing significant to report. Haney handed him the security tablet and went to close his eyes for a few hours.

Harvath set his latest mug of coffee on the end table to his left and, unslinging his Rattler, set it next to him on the couch.

Via the home’s automation system, all of the main lights had been turned off at 10 p.m., while certain accent lights had been dimmed, providing just enough illumination to see by. Had anyone been watching from outside, it would have appeared that Rogers had turned in for the night.

“Now the fun starts,” McGee had stated as the lights had gone out.

Harvath knew it was more gallows humor, but he didn’t find any of this fun. He felt like they were all sitting ducks. If they’d only had more manpower, he would have gladly spent the night in the woods, heat and mosquitos be damned, waiting for his chance to come up behind anyone dumb enough to approach the house. Unfortunately, it was just the three of them and Ambassador Rogers. Posting men outside was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

He took a few moments to get himself familiar with the tablet, which was connected to the home automation system. The lighting, audio, video, and security systems could all be controlled via a simple interface. The tablet also had full access to the web, which felt to Harvath likeanother Achilles’ heel. He thought about shutting off the Wi-Fi but worried that might compromise his ability to access the features he needed, so he didn’t mess with anything.

In addition to trimming the trees back and not allowing the security system to touch the web, had Harvath been in charge, he would have also covered all the windows with ballistic film. Though it would have been expensive to do the entire house, and it wouldn’t stop higher-caliber rounds like .308 or .50 BMG, it would have provided an extra layer of protection, and it was the layers that often made the difference between life and death. Regardless of how long they were going to be with the Ambassador, he was going to recommend that Rogers do all of them.

Watching the camera feeds was mind-numbingly boring, and despite the strength of the coffee, Harvath had to stand up every fifteen or twenty minutes just to keep himself from falling asleep.

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