King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

“Once. I watched the king of Jordan do some putting on the one hole they have here. It would make you wish for milk curdling as a distraction.”

“I’m sure it would,” said the man.

Both Sean and Michelle instinctively sprang to their feet when the man entered the room. Old habits died hard.

President John Cole was a bit under six feet and obviously fighting the battle of the waistline at age fifty-five. Still, his shoulders were broad, his face ruggedly good looking, his smile infectious, and he radiated impressive health and confidence.

“Mr. President,” Sean said while Michelle respectfully nodded.

“Please, sit,” said Cole.

Sean and Michelle eyed the two Secret Service agents who were escorting Cole. They had obviously been told of Sean and Michelle’s Secret Service past; Michelle even recognized one of them as a former colleague. But they also knew that both agents would regard them with suspicion and would have no problem firing bullets into each of their brains if the conditions warranted such extreme force.

The president was dressed informally in slacks, a polo shirt, and a blue blazer. His guards were similarly outfitted; you followed the president’s fashion lead. Cole sat behind a desk while Sean and Michelle sat across from him.

Cole eyed them intently. “I know you had dealings with my predecessor.”

Sean nodded and said, “Unfortunately, yes, we did.”

“The truth is the truth,” stated Cole. “And the public, at the end of the day, demands that. And well they should.”

“Is that why we’re here?” asked Michelle.

“I think you both know that it is.” Cole eyed one of his bodyguards. “Billy, you know Ms. Maxwell, I take it?”

Billy eyed Michelle, gave a curt smile and a nod.

Michelle skipped the smile and just returned the curt nod.

Sean said, “How can we help?”

“Sam Wingo?”

“We know about his disappearance.”

“With over a billion dollars of this country’s treasure.”

“We’ve been working with his son.”

“I’m sure the young man is terribly worried about his father.”

“And you’re worried that his father is a traitor, a killer, a thief, all of the above?” said Sean.

Cole put his feet up on his desk and steepled his hands. “This is not how I envisioned my first year going. I have a lot I want to do. I have some political capital with which to do it. This sort of potential scandal takes all the wind out of one’s sails. Media has already started speculating. My friends on the other side of the aisle smell blood and are circling. I’m not saying anything. Want to see how it shakes out. At some point I have to make a public statement. But before I do I’d like to have something to say, something positive, that is. Right now I have nothing.”

“Where was the money supposed to go?” asked Sean. “We understand that a bunch of Muslim insurgents from an unknown country were found dead at the rendezvous spot.”

“We prefer to call them freedom fighters,” said Cole. “Although over there your ally at breakfast is your enemy before dinner, so I’m not sure how valid that description of them is. Nonetheless I made the bed, now I have to sleep in it.”

Sean said, “So the money was meant for them. To help in the fight against an Islamic government? Which one?”

“I can’t disclose to you the name of the country. I’m sorry. Neither of you would be privy to any of this but for your relationship with Tyler Wingo.”

“And you need him?” said Michelle.

“I need his father. I need his father to tell me where the hell the money is and what the hell happened over there. If he’s turned against us, we have to track him and the money down. If he’s innocent we still need him to come in and explain what happened.”

“Do you think he’s innocent?” asked Sean.