Lawrence Keller thought one thing was for certain: he was NOT going to work for Mike Donovan at Legislative Affairs. If David Barrett wanted to push Keller out because he made a tape of an Oval Office conversation, so be it. But he’d better watch his back. Keller hadn’t gotten where he was by nepotism—he’d clawed his way there. And he would claw David Barrett’s eyes out.

“What do I think? I think your daughter Elizabeth is a very irresponsible young woman, who caused the needless deaths of dozens of people, and who almost sparked a world war.”

* * *

Beautiful.

David Barrett was feeling such a surge of joy that even his early meeting with Lawrence Keller couldn’t drag him down. Keller was a problem, that was true. He was untrustworthy. Apparently, he’d had an outburst during deliberations in the Situation Room, and had yelled at a general.

Lawrence Keller did not fit the suit. Short, angry, uncultured, that was Keller in a nutshell. He was banished to Legislative Affairs for now, but he would almost certainly try to claw his way back into relevance. David would have to keep an eye on him.

No matter. Elizabeth was alive, the birds were singing, and David was President of the United States. All was right with the world.

Forget about Keller.

This next meeting was the one he was really looking forward to. He sat in the rustic, sun-dappled great room of the main house. When he was a child, he would stare at photographs in magazines of Dwight Eisenhower and Jack Kennedy entertaining foreign heads of state in this very room, and he would think:

“That’s going to be me one day.”

Amazing. He shook his head at the wonder of it.

His guest walked in and David rose to meet him. David was a bit taller than the man, but it didn’t matter. The guest was so impressive physically, that David almost felt diminished in his presence. The man was broad and muscular. His eyes were sharp and intelligent and aware, in a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. His body seemed to radiate electricity. He looked like a man who never slept and who never needed to sleep. The only concessions he’d made to age were the gray in his flattop haircut, and the crow’s feet around his eyes.

He was Don Morris, decorated combat veteran of many wars, pioneer of the very concept of military special operations, and the Director of the brand new FBI Special Response Team. His agents had saved Elizabeth’s life.

He wore dress pants and a dark blazer. His light blue dress shirt was open at the collar. He was meeting the President of the United States, and he dressed down! It was perfect. The man was a legend.

“Mr. President,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”