Drone Threat

7

“The president will see you now.”

Pearce was ushered into the Oval Office by the young Secret Service agent. She was as tall as Pearce and broad in the shoulders like a volleyball player, only armed. Cool and professional, she wore her suit more comfortably than he wore his, his new uniform of the day. He preferred his blue jeans and ranch coat and the cold, crisp Wyoming air to the stiff suits and stultified swamp gas of Washington.

“Troy, it’s great to see you again.” President David Lane stood from behind his desk and crossed over, meeting him in the center of the famous room with his wide boyish grin and a firm handshake. There was genuine affection in his commanding voice. The former air force pilot was the third-youngest president in history and looked it. They hadn’t laid eyes on each other since the East China Sea incident the previous May.

Pearce nodded. “You, too, sir.”

Lane gestured toward the two others standing next to him.

“I don’t know if you’ve met Vice President Chandler.” Pearce and Chandler shook. Pearce squeezed Chandler’s soft hand a little more firmly than usual and held it.

“Mr. Pearce and I met several years ago, back in Iraq,” Chandler said.

“Good memory,” Pearce said. “You were kind of a big deal. I was just a grunt.”

“I was just a lowly congressman. But you made quite an impression. On all of us,” Chandler said. He was four inches shorter than Pearce and narrow shouldered, with neatly groomed silvery hair and a tailored Brooks Brothers suit that fit him like a glove. He wore his signature blue silk tie that perfectly matched the color of his eyes. His voice was soft and slightly southern. A casual observer could have easily mistaken him for a genial bank manager or a solicitous funeral director.

But Pearce knew better. Besides his own brief but personal encounter with the man years before, Myers had filled him in on the particulars of his ambitious political career. Chandler was an Atlanta lawyer in private practice before he was elected to Congress in 1998, serving four terms. He was a skilled campaigner, receiving at least 60 percent of the vote each time. Chandler ran for the U.S. Senate after the eight-term senior incumbent announced his retirement. Chandler was reelected to a second term in 2012. Always the opportunist, he resigned from his Senate seat only after he and Lane won the 2016 election.

Despite his personal misgivings about the man, Pearce knew that Chandler was the right person to help shepherd him through the process. Not only had Chandler served on the Senate Appropriations Committee, one of the most powerful positions in the legislative branch, he had been both chair and ranking minority leader on the Appropriations subcommittee on Defense — the largest component of discretionary federal spending. Defense appropriations would be one of the primary oversight committees for Drone Command, and Chandler knew all the players. Pearce would just have to grin and bear it. He doubted this would be the last unpleasant relationship he would have to endure in the next few years.

Chandler gestured toward the woman on his left. She was a stunning redhead with shoulder-length hair. Her slim figure was perfectly complimented by a form-fitting pale yellow designer dress. Pearce guessed she was in her mid-thirties.

“This is my chief of staff, Ms. Vicki Grafton.”

Pearce extended his hand. Grafton took it. Her dark green eyes sparkled with an intense curiosity and intelligence.

“A pleasure, Mr. Pearce. I’ve heard so much about you from the president. He’s your biggest fan around here. I look forward to working with you.”

“Same.”

Lane gestured to the couch and chairs. “Something to drink, Troy?”

“No, thanks.”

Lane checked his watch. “Then let’s get to it. Troy, first of all, I want to thank you again for accepting my offer. I know it probably sounds like a real step down to head up a new, small federal agency, but Drone Command is going to have a profound impact on the future of all things drone-related.”

“I’m still not quite sure why you picked me, Mr. President, but I’ll do my best.”

“I picked you because you’re the perfect person for the job and you have my utmost confidence, which is why you’ll run it with complete autonomy.”

Chandler shifted in his seat. “Well, sir, that’s something we’re still negotiating with the Senate.”

“It’s nonnegotiable,” Lane said. “I expect you and Vicki to make that happen.”

“Mr. Pearce’s hearing tomorrow will go a long way to bolster the committee’s confidence in that regard,” Grafton said. “After that, we lobby like it’s 1999. But I’m sure we can make it happen.”

“Good.” Lane turned to Pearce. “I know you’re a man who knows how to take orders, but I also know you prefer to give them. Your independence is as important to me as it is to you if Drone Command is going to do what we hope it will do.”

“No arguments here.”

“And as I promised, if at any point in this confirmation process you don’t feel comfortable or you think this thing is going the wrong way, you can bail out with my blessing.”

“I appreciate that,” Pearce said. He glanced at Grafton and Chandler, both smiling. “But I’m not big on quitting something I’ve started.”

“Excellent.” Lane stood, ending the meeting. The others rose as well. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with the DNI in two minutes.” Lane extended his hand to Pearce again. “If there’s any problem, you know how to reach me. Otherwise, Clay will be the point man on this.”

“Understood,” Pearce said.

The vice president ushered Pearce toward the door. “Let’s go to my office. You’ll meet with Vicki a little later. In the meantime, I’d like to catch you up on a few things.”

Pearce nodded and stepped into the hallway. He could already feel the noose tightening around his neck.