The thought turned Kirk’s stomach. A mixture of nerves at what was to come, and the knowledge that this could damage her country’s reputation. But what was the alternative? To keep a corrupt killer in the Oval Office? Kirk had returned to that question repeatedly in the last few minutes. The answer was clear.

The long-term damage of not taking Knowles down was worse. Far worse.

Dempsey’s plan was the best way to save America from the evil that had hijacked its highest office. Kirk was sure of that. And as a patriot, she had no choice but to play her part.

Kirk stood up and moved towards the chairs by the TV screen, her arm outstretched and Sam Cooke’s phone in her hand.

‘Thank you, Father.’

Cooke rose to his feet as Kirk approached.

‘I appreciate your help with this. And your friendship to Agent Dempsey.’

Cooke took the offered handset from Kirk’s hand.

‘No need to thank me, Director,’ Cooke replied. ‘They came after Joe. As far as I’m concerned, whatever happens now they’ve brought on themselves. I just want to see my side safe.’

‘That’s good to know.’ Kirk enjoyed the thought. ‘And much appreciated. Can’t hurt to have God in our corner on this.’

‘Now I didn’t promise that,’ Cooke replied, his eyes betraying a smile. ‘But I wouldn’t worry about that. He’s never been that hands on with the help, has he?’

‘No, I guess he hasn’t.’ Kirk laughed, grateful for a moment of levity. ‘But again, thank you for this.’

‘You’re welcome. Now I’ll leave you to it. Sounds to me like you have some arrangements you need to make.’

‘I do.’ Kirk nodded her head. ‘Bye, Father.’

Cooke responded with a wave of his hand, before turning and leaving the office. Kirk watched him go. She had appreciated the brief distraction, but the priest was right. She had work to do.

She returned to her desk and glanced at her wall clock.

5.24 p.m.

Dempsey and Eden Grace would be boarding the plane at LaGuardia in forty minutes. That would have them in Montreal by 7 p.m. EST. Assuming a one-hour change over to the Airbus and then fourteen hours to Kabul, they would land in Afghanistan around 10 a.m. tomorrow morning.

Which would make it 7.30 p.m. over there, Kirk calculated. A night operation.

Happy with the timings, she mentally ran through the phone conversation. Kirk remembered it exactly. Every detail. A talent necessary in a world where even a notebook scribble could undermine an entire nation’s security.

The sound of her office telephone interrupted her thoughts. Kirk answered it on the second ring.

‘Henry.’

‘Ma’am. I have Assistant Director Jack Meyer of the United States Secret Service on the line.’

‘Meyer?’

‘Ma’am. He says it’s essential he speaks to you now.’

Kirk hesitated. She had expected this. Maybe not so soon, but it had been coming.

‘Put him through,’ she instructed, a feeling of dread growing in her gut.

‘Ma’am.’

There was a single second of delay, as the lines switched.