The Sniper and the Wolf

50

Chief of Staff Brooks hung up the phone and turned to where the president and General Couture sat eating a dinner of prime rib and red wine. “That was Jay Tierney.” The US ambassador to Russia. “Shannon just made his shit list.”

The president looked at Couture as he poured himself a third glass of wine. “He’s been known to have that effect on people. Where is he now?”

Brooks retook his seat at the table. “Apparently he and Dragunov parachuted into the Caucasus about fifteen minutes ago. They’re going after Kovalenko and Umarov.”

The president lifted his glass. “What business does Tierney have being pissed about that?”

“None, sir.” Brooks reached for his glass of ice water. “He’s pissed because Shannon had lunch with Putin this afternoon and then took off without bothering to call Tierney to tell him what was discussed.”

Couture kept quiet, waiting to hear what the president would say.

The president sat back and sipped calmly from his glass of Merlot. Neither Couture nor Brooks was aware of it, but Pope had phoned two hours earlier to let him know about Gil’s meeting with Putin and that Gil was en route to the Caucasus. Pope had also mentioned to the president that he no longer had anything to worry about concerning his celebrations after the Iowa caucuses.

He smiled at Brooks. “Get Tierney back on the phone.”

Brooks wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Sir?”

“Yeah, get him back on the phone.” The president gave a wink to Couture. “Tell him now he knows what it’s like to have Shannon treating you like you don’t fucking count.”

Couture chortled, and Brooks realized the president was kidding about the callback. “You don’t seem surprised that—”

“I’m not,” the president said. “It’s been Pope’s plan all along to send Gil after Umarov. The pipeline is still under threat, and Putin has saved us valuable time.” Then he chuckled, unable to deny feeling the wine. “I sure wish I could be there to see Putin’s face when Shannon finds a way to fuck him.”

Couture was caught completely off guard and laughed out loud.

“Hey, you really wanna laugh?” the president asked. “This is true: Pope told me Putin made Shannon give his word that he wouldn’t deviate from the mission.” He threw back his head with a raucous guffaw, slamming his free hand down on the table. “Goddamnit, how come we never thought of that?”

Couture choked on his wine, putting the glass down as he laughed.

Brooks, who hadn’t had a drop to drink all evening, sat gaping at them both.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” chortled the commander in chief. “Lighten the fuck up, Glen. After all, you helped train the disobedient son of a bitch.”

In truth, Brooks had had nothing at all to do with Gil Shannon’s training, but he knew there wouldn’t be any use in trying to make that point, so he smiled and reached for the bottle of wine.

“Drink up,” the president said. “We leave for the Pentagon in five minutes. We don’t want to miss the show.”