Rapp could see why Kennedy was unsure about the man. Like all politicians, he was slick, but unlike his predecessor, Cook didn’t let that façade slip in private meetings. He was as much the politician in the Oval Office as he was on the campaign trail. And while the imagery of lost magic played well on TV, it wouldn’t impress a woman who preferred to work in specifics.

“Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done,” Cook continued, examining Rapp from across the coffee table. “And that’s one of the reasons I wanted to meet you. You’re an anomaly in the government. A person who actually seems to be able to get things done. That makes you worth your weight in gold. To me. To the country. Even to the world.”

Now he was laying it on a bit thick. What Rapp had said earlier about having a narrow skill set was true. It was something he himself had recognized a long time ago but that still tricked others. In a way, killing terrorists was easy. The problem was about as straightforward as problems got and the solution was simple and permanent. The search for America’s mojo, on the other hand, wasn’t necessarily improved by a guy with a Glock.

“So, the question is this,” the president continued. “Are you still in? I know that transitions in administrations aren’t easy for someone in your position, but can I count on you like President Alexander did?”

It was a question that Rapp had been unsuccessfully working on for a while.

“If you have a problem and I’m the right man for the job, sir.”

A hedge for sure, but not one that was too obvious.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Cook said before turning toward Nash. “And now I know that Mike’s anxious to get on with my intelligence briefing. Do you want to sit in?”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m getting on a plane tonight and I haven’t even started packing.”

“I understand.” The president stood and held a hand out. “I’ll look forward to the next time. Enjoy your trip.”

Rapp started down the hallway thinking that his meeting had gone pretty well. No specific demands, loyalty pledges, or over-the-top power plays. Maybe Cook really had just wanted to meet and thank him for getting the lights back on.

“Mr. Rapp! Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

The voice behind him was immediately recognizable from television and he turned reluctantly toward Catherine Cook. A warm smile was framed by hair worn a little looser than it had been during her stint as the First Lady of California. Her tailor had the same formfitting aesthetic as her husband’s and the effect was to highlight what an attractive woman she was. No one disputed her brains and determination, but good looks could open doors, too.