“Except the mention of HARBINGER,” she said.

Jameson’s head twitched the tiniest bit. His eyes widened fractionally. Then it passed.

He recognized the code word. Pryce was sure of it. And she’d surprised him.

Jameson opened his mouth to say something.

Pryce cut him off. “And CALVINIST.”

Jameson blinked, the word on his lips stalling for just half a second, at most.

It was enough. He recognized both of them.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carolyn,” Jameson went on with a smile. “I don’t think I recall either of those terms…”

The man in the suit tapped Jameson on the shoulder.

“Oh…” Pryce made a show of looking disappointed. “President Stockton was hoping you could fill him in on those.”

Jameson sighed and shook his head, slowly. “I’m afraid I can’t help you or John there, Carolyn.”

The man in the suit tapped Jameson on the shoulder again. This time he spoke.

“Mr President,” he said. “I’m very sorry to interrupt. I’ve just realized that we’re overdue for a dose of your medication.”

The doctor looked up apologetically at Pryce. “I’m sorry, Dr. We’re going through a formulation change, you see.”

Pryce spread her arms wide. “Of course.”

Miles Jameson gave her an apologetic shrug, a smile on his face. “It was so nice to see you, Carolyn. Please give my best to John and Cindy for me.”

She nodded. “I’ll let myself out,” she said, her heart pounding.

Pryce walked as fast as she could without appearing alarmed. She collected her things from Noora, slipped her shoes on, gave her thanks.

“Agent Taggart will be here shortly take you back to the gate, Dr Pryce,” the Secret Service agent told her.

“Thank you,” Pryce said. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She needed to go. Needed to get to her car, get to some place she could be alone. Needed to get the hell away from here.

Suddenly everything about how perfect her plan was seemed irrelevant. She was out in the field. Exposed. With a murderer. And his people.

Noora stepped back to her post, giving Pryce space as she looked out the windows of the front door, waiting for Taggart and his SUV to arrive.

“The President would like to speak to you further.”

She heard the voice from behind her. Then a hand like a vice closed around her bicep. She turned her head and Jameson’s “assistant” was there, the dark-haired young man looming over her. He was huge at this distance, well over six feet. Muscles bulged at his throat, at his exposed wrist and forearm.

Her heart pounded harder.

“I’m leaving,” She said, tugging her arm back.

It didn’t budge a millimeter. His grip might as well have been steel.

Jameson’s assistant smiled down at her. “The President insists.”