Hazardous Duty (Presidential Agent 8)

“Yes, of course. Where are you, Charley?”

“According to the Garmin GPS monitor on the wall, thirty-five thousand feet over Aberdeen, Scotland, making nearly seven hundred and fifty knots.”

“And when do you think you’ll be at Fort Bragg?”

“That’s what I called to talk to you about, ma’am.”

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

“What’s on your mind, Charley?”

“Well, in the car on the way to Hersfeld, I called General McNab…”

I should have known he would do that.

“. . . and he told me about You Know Who’s Commandos, and the kilts and so on. And he also said that since You Know Who’s visit is now known all over Bragg and Pope, my going there is not likely to pass unnoticed. If we land the Gulfstream at Pope, the Air Force band there will be ready to play ‘Hail to the Chief’ as I come down the door stairs.”

Why do I know this is going to get worse?

“So where do you think you should go?”

“Sweaty also picked up on what you said to Frank and the others about you doing what You Know Who wants to do himself.”

“What was that, Charley?”

“Getting somebody else who will be thinking out of the box to evaluate the problem.”

“And who would that be, Charley?”

“And, no offense, Madam Secretary, but Sweaty also picked up on what you said about you having no authority to order me to do anything.”

I am not surprised.

“All of which means what, Charley?”

“I’m not going to Fort Bragg—”

“We’re not going to Fort Bragg,” the Widow Alekseeva’s voice came over the connection.

“Sweaty had some thoughts about that, too,

Madam Secretary. She said, and I think we have to agree with her, that if you don’t know where we’ll be, you won’t have to lie to You Know Who if he asks where we are.”

“So you’re not going to tell me where you’re going or what you’re going to do when you get there?”

“That about sums it up, Madam Secretary. As soon as I have anything, I will of course let you know.”

Presuming, of course, that your beloved red-haired beauty thinks that’s the thing to do. You’re putty in her hands, Charley.

Probably not as much as Mortimer is in mine, but putty nonetheless.

Why couldn’t you, Widow Alekseeva, be ugly with stainless steel teeth?

“In that case, there’s not much point in further conversation, is there?”

“I suppose not. Wait! Sweaty wants to know if you saw Shawn Ohio glued to the CIA’s door. We saw it on Wolf World Wide News. Sweaty said it was the funniest thing she’s seen since Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin took off his shirt and showed the world his biceps.”

“I saw it,” the secretary said. “But speaking of Wolf News: May I ask if Mr. Danton is with you?”