The Sniper and the Wolf

34

Head Chef Jacques Bonfils was in the dry goods storage room at the back of the White House kitchen, sorting through a case of caviar, when he heard the door open and close. He stood up and turned around to see a very angry looking General William J. Couture standing there in his chief of staff uniform, his scarred face menacing and cruel.

“Mon général,” Bonfils said in French, a confused smile on his face. “What seems to be the matter?”

Couture stalked across the room and slugged the chef in the stomach so hard that Bonfils nearly coughed up a kidney on his way to the deck. A jar of caviar fell from the chef’s hand and broke against the tile. “You’ve got one chance to tell me who you’ve been talking to!”

Bonfils was on his knees and holding his belly, unable even to breathe, much less talk.

“NSA just overheard an interesting conversation,” Couture went on. “Seems there’s a leak here in the White House.” He kicked Bonfils over onto his side and reached down to grab his wrist, twisting it until Bonfils cried out in pain. “Talk!”

“Grieves!”

Couture reduced some of the tension on the wrist. “Who Grieves?”

“Senator Grieves,” Bonfils groaned.

“Bullshit, Jacques. Grieves isn’t stupid enough to talk to you.”

“His aide. I talk to his aide.”

Couture released Bonfils’s arm and let it drop, kneeling down beside him. “Okay. Here’s how this is going to go, you Frog traitor. You’re going to tell the Secret Service everything you know. Otherwise I’m personally going to have you rubbed out! Got it?”

Bonfils retched, still holding his belly in pain. “Oui, mon général.” Tears rolled from his eyes.

Couture stood up and jerked Bonfils to his feet, shoving him toward the door.

Bonfils opened the door and was immediately taken into custody by four Secret Service agents.

“He slipped on some caviar.” Couture then made eye contact with the assistant chef standing across the kitchen, saying, “Better get somebody in there with a mop. There’s caviar and puke on the floor. Though how anybody can tell the damn difference…”

Couture stood before the president’s desk a short time later. “It’s my fault, Mr. President. I mentioned Operation Falcon in front of Bonfils. Glen is a witness. I’m prepared to offer my resignation forthwith.”

“Have a seat, General.” The president turned to Brooks, who was already seated. “Is that true? You were present?”

Brooks nodded. “I’m prepared to offer my resignation as well, Mr. President. Strictly speaking, I should have reported the general myself.”

Couture looked at Brooks. “Glen, that wasn’t my point.”

“I know it wasn’t, Bill, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

The president held up his hand. “Stop. Before the two of you rush to fall on your swords before the emperor… you should know that I’m equally guilty.” He pushed back from the desk, allowing his gaze to drift around the room for a moment. “Hell, we’ve grown decadent from the top down, haven’t we?”

Couture exchanged uncomfortable glances with Brooks.

“The other day…” the president said. “Out there in the hall… I told Maddy about my upcoming meeting with Pope. I said to make sure it didn’t appear on my official schedule. I was distracted, and I wasn’t paying attention to who was around. Bonfils was standing just a few feet away, waiting to ask me what I wanted for dinner. The first lady usually handles that, but as you know, she’s in Missouri visiting her family.” He got up from the chair and turned to look out the window overlooking the lawn below.

“So, gentlemen, in all likelihood, I’m the leak that nearly got Pope assassinated.” He turned around. “Regardless, the people who work in this building all have top secret clearances, and every goddamn one of them knows they’re not to repeat what they hear within these walls. Christ Almighty! If it’s not safe to talk in the White House, where the hell is it safe?”

He sat back down, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Is Falcon going forward?”

“As we speak, sir,” Brook replied. “The Ohio is in contact with Shannon, and the SDV team is preparing to launch.”

“What about this maniac Kovalenko? Where’s he?”

“We’ve lost him,” Couture said. “The satellite couldn’t track him and Shannon both.”

“So the possibility remains that he will attempt to interfere with Shannon’s extraction — despite what he said to Walton?”

“Affirmative,” Brooks said.

“Should we postpone Falcon? Change the extraction point?”

“At this point, sir, the dangers of having Shannon and Dragunov on that island far outweigh any threat posed by Kovalenko. Sicilian and Italian authorities realize that elements of the CIA and the GRU have both violated their sovereignty, and they’re extremely determined to obtain proof to that effect. At least four Sicilian police officers are dead, and a number of civilians as well.”

“How many of those killings are Shannon’s doing?”

“According to Shannon, none.”

The president looked at Couture. “Do you buy that?”

Couture nodded. “I do, sir.”

The president drew a breath and sighed. “Okay. So what about the mysterious Agent Walton? Is he really off the grid?”

“It appears so,” Brooks answered. “But I’ve spoken with Pope about him, and I’m confident that situation will work itself out.”

An ironic grin spread across the president’s face. “Work itself out, Glen?”

“Those are Pope’s words, Mr. President. I asked him what he thought we should do about Walton’s betrayal, and he said to me, ‘Glen, I wouldn’t worry too much about Ben Walton. These things have a way of working themselves out.’ ”

Maybe it was the tension, but Couture couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. Forgive my levity. It’s just that Pope — oh, hell, I don’t know.”

The president sat nodding. “I think I understand, Bill. No one has any business being so valuable and so dangerous all at the same damn time.”