Kennedy glanced at Mike Nash, who had been working directly with the Bureau on this.

“This is a complicated situation for Auma,” he said, taking over the briefing. “Obviously, it can’t be done in cash. It’d be multiple transport planes full of it. That means wire transfers. And since Auma isn’t stupid, he’s going to want them laundered through banks we have no penetration into. Places like Syria, Iran, North Kor—”

“All of whom will take a cut,” Cook pointed out.

“Yes, sir.”

“So not only will Ward’s organization be funding one of the most brutal terrorists in Africa, but they’ll also be funneling money into virtually every one of our worst enemies. It seems to me that we need to come up with some way to get him back without actually paying the ransom.”

“Agreed. But that’s easier said than done.”

Cook took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “David Chism is dead, which is probably going to set back the development of his vaccines twenty-five years. And Ward…” His voice faded for a moment. “I consider Nicholas Ward critical to America’s future and the health of our economy. It’s strange to say that about a single man, but he’s probably responsible for sixty percent of the advances going on in tech right now. And those are the industries that are going to keep us on top for the next century.”

“Yes, sir,” Kennedy and Nash said, almost in unison.

“Find something. Find a way to get him back.”

“And if there’s no way to do that without paying?” Kennedy asked.

“Unacceptable.”

“But also potentially unavoidable.”

“I’m confident that you can do better,” Cook said.

They both mumbled their understanding and stood, knowing that the meeting was over. Kennedy nodded respectfully in the man’s direction and started for the door with Nash close behind. The president didn’t bother to stand.

“I guess that fortune really does favor the bold,” Catherine Cook said, appearing from the door leading to a private space connected to the Oval Office.

“You heard?”

She took the seat Irene Kennedy had abandoned moments ago. “Chism’s dead and one way or another, Nicholas Ward’s done.”

“Not just Ward and Chism, Catherine. Mitch Rapp. That could make us a lot of friends in the Arab world. Friends that no American president has ever had before.”

She nodded. “I have to admit that I’m not unhappy to see him go. I think he could have been a useful tool, but maybe a harder one to control than I initially thought. He wasn’t as blunt an instrument as he appeared.”