“Do it for her,” he said. “Make her know that you’re going to be a man for her. Try to get some sleep, and in the morning… I promise. This isn’t going to look nearly as dark as it does right now.”

“I can take a pill,” Barrett said. “I can sleep some.”

Keller nodded again. He stood, and now Barrett stood as well. Barrett was much taller than Keller. The two men shook hands.

“Promise me you’ll go right now,” Keller said. “I can see myself out.”

Barrett nodded. “I will. I promise. And thank you, Lawrence. You’re my rock. I don’t know how I would ever get through any of this without you.”

“It’s my honor to serve this office,” Keller said.

* * *

It was just after 1 a.m.

Lawrence Keller sat in his car, a black BMW 325i sedan, which he had bought new last year. It was a nice car, and he was proud of it. He was proud of what it said about him, as well. A lot of people with high-level Washington jobs—and Keller had one of the highest of the high-level jobs—were driven everywhere.

But not Lawrence Keller. He wouldn’t hear of it, partly because he was self-reliant to an extreme, and partly because drivers witnessed things. They saw things, and they overheard things. Washington, DC, was not a town where you wanted people to know what you were up to. The more people who knew, the more people who could (and almost certainly would, if the price was right) take you down.

Keller was parked in the south end of Georgetown. Now and then, a car rolled slowly past on the quiet streets. Keller liked Georgetown. Disasters came and went, scandals came and went, famous men and women sparked through the sky like Roman candles and then flamed out, entire governments ruled the city and the country for years only to see everything they worked for undone by the next group in power… all of that happened, yes. But Georgetown was eternal.

In his hand, Keller held a small Radio Shack digital recorder. He had been listening to the playback for the past twenty minutes or so, fast forwarding and rewinding to certain parts he wanted to hear again and again.

He listened to the President of the United States abjectly weeping in the Oval Office.

He listened to the President speaking certain lines, lines that were gold:

“I want to kill them all.”

Keller had marked the spots that he liked best. He could go straight to them, with just the press of a button. He went to another one now.

“They’re killing me, do you know that? The press. They are killing me.”

And then another:

“All these bastards can focus on is my military record. They’re making me into a damn laughingstock. I hate them so much. I would bomb them, too.”