“It’s complicated. There are a lot of avenues to go down. We’ve had some SIGINT on a private club out in Virginia. Very discreet place for meetings. It’s a sex club, sir. It’s possible that Zeus has been there. It’s likely he has. The White House, actually the Cabinet, keeps coming up, but that might be because of the code name, Zeus. I hope it’s no more than that.”

Tillman’s expression darkened as he leaned in toward the Secret Service man. “And that’s it? That’s all you have?”

“This is a murder investigation. They usually don’t solve themselves. The club is called Blacksmith Farms. We have the names of several clients. The owners are mob.”

Tillman snapped. “Why can’t we find out who Zeus is?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t turn over too many rocks without attracting more attention than we want. We’re not even sure if Zeus actually used the club in question. There are all these swirling rumors but nothing solid.”

Reese didn’t like Cormorant’s tone with the vice president any more than he did with himself. “Swirling rumors. Who else knows about this?” he asked.

“Two senior agents in the Joint Operations Center, one intelligence officer, but it’s all being contained. No links to the OVP at all.”

Cormorant gave Reese another one of his squints. “You need to calm down. It’s not helping. We’re moving as fast as we can and there’s lots to check. The circumstances couldn’t be worse.”

The words fuck you ran through Reese’s mind, but he was too savvy to lose it in front of Tillman. Still, this situation had the makings of one of the biggest bombshells to hit Washington in years. A serial killer involved with the Cabinet—or attached to the White House?

“Sir, I’m going to recommend you designate all Secret Service logs from your detail as sensitive compartmented information—until further notice.”

“Sir, any SCI order puts your thumbprint right where you don’t want it,” Cormorant interjected.

“But simultaneously puts that information completely out of reach,” Reese answered back. Tillman had the authority to bypass not just the White House Security Office on this one, but the Freedom of Information Act.

“Okay.” Tillman nodded agreement with the chief of staff. It was done. Then he asked, “What about this detective, Cross? How worried do we need to be about him?”

Cormorant thought for a moment. “It’s hard to know until he turns something up. If he does. I’m keeping my eye on it, and if anything changes at all, I’ll update you—”

“Not me,” Tillman said firmly. “Go through Gabe. Everything goes through Gabe from now on.”

“Of course.”

Reese found he was repeatedly running a hand through his hair without even realizing it. They were just arriving at the Convention Center; the pressure was on to wrap this discussion up somehow.

Quickly he said, “Anything else I should know? Anything else that you’ve been keeping to yourself? Like who the hell Zeus is?”

Cormorant’s face reddened, but all he said was “We’re here, sir.”