Piranha (Oregon Files 10)

“That’s my house in Miami! When did you get this video?”

“It’s not a recording. This is a real-time feed. Let’s see if anyone’s home.” He rolled a trackball and it was as if a camera were moving up the winding stairs until he was looking down from the balcony. He wandered down one hall until he reached a closed door. He pushed right through and a woman in lingerie was putting on a skirt.

Washburn lunged toward the screen. “That’s my wife!” He wheeled around with balled-up fists. “You—”

“No, no, Governor. Remember, I have guards right outside this door. We can do this just as well with you tied up.”

“This is a trick. You’ve planted a camera in my house.”

Kensit nodded appreciatively. “Good for you. That would be a logical assumption. It is, of course, wrong.”

“Prove it.”

“I will. Tell me someplace where you are absolutely positive I could not have planted a camera.”

Washburn shrugged, and said sarcastically, “The Oval Office.”

“I was hoping you’d choose something more unusual, but that will do.”

The White House was one of the easiest places on earth to locate. He typed the name in and a satellite view of the familiar white structure was displayed on-screen.

“Is that all?” Washburn scoffed. “I could do that with Google maps and an iPhone.”

“Really?” Kensit said. “Can you also do this?”

He zoomed down, the roof of the West Wing racing toward them until the view plunged through. Kensit stopped it when it reached the most recognizable office in the world.

If the room had been empty, Washburn might not have been so flabbergasted. But Kensit had anticipated his choice and knew that the president was meeting with his senior advisers that morning.

“This farm bill is causing us all kinds of problems in the polls, Mr. President,” his chief of staff said. “We can’t cut subsidies as much as the Senate wants or our party will get killed in the next election.”

“Let Sandecker handle it,” the president replied. He looked as relaxed as ever, lounging in his chair with a mug of coffee in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other, reading glasses perched on his nose. “He’ll be back from Brazil in a couple of days.”

“Do you think the vice president can talk them down?”

“Sandecker’s a clever guy. If he can’t convince them, they’re certainly not going to listen to me. Now, what’s on the agenda for the military briefing today?”

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs sat forward. “There was another terrorist bombing in northern Pakistan this morning. Six dead, twenty wounded. North Korea is moving a thousand troops to the demilitarized zone, but we think it’s just a planned division reinforcement. And the UNITAS exercise has begun in the Bahamas. Seventeen nations are participating. The Cubans and Venezuelans are sending ships to observe, but we don’t anticipate any problems.”

“Good. What about the trip to California next week that . . .”

Kensit turned down the volume. “Satisfied?”

If Washburn’s jaw were any lower, he could have swallowed an ostrich egg.

“They have no clue we’re watching them?”

“No.”

“And you can see anywhere you want?”

Kensit grinned. “I’ve already explored the inside of some of the most secure facilities on earth: NORAD, Area 51, the Kremlin, the Vatican’s secret archives, NATO headquarters, Fort Knox. Do you want to know the secret formula to Coca-Cola?”

“How . . . How are you doing this?”

Kensit paused as he thought about how much he would have to dumb down his explanation. “It’s called a neutrino telescope. I had been calling it a quantum receiver, but I like Eric Stone’s name for it better. My code name for it is Sentinel, for obvious reasons. Do you know what a neutrino is?”

Washburn shook his head slowly, still gaping like a simpleton at the continuing video feed from the Oval Office.