Pearce takes a breath. “I got a call on my private line. My contact has a connection at Nottingham Publishing in New York…”

The president’s eyes slowly harden. Pearce can feel her stare burning right through him. “What was the call about?” she asks.

“It seems they just made a book deal with two writers, Garrett Wilson and Brea Cooke.”

“Should I know them?” asks the president.

“No reason you would, though they’re also Dartmouth alums like us,” says Pearce. He, Maddy, and Cole had all been in the same graduating class, a decade ahead of Wilson and Cooke. “Cooke teaches criminal law. Wilson has written a couple of bestsellers. Investigative journalism stuff, one on the CIA, one on the military.”

The president walks out from behind her massive desk and stands in front of her chief of staff. “Burton, you’re hedging. Out with it.”

“Madam President, I’m sorry to say this, but they’re digging into Cole’s years at Dartmouth. And his Patriots career.” Pearce pauses before delivering the worst of it. “And his relationship with that cheerleader who disappeared.”

The president shakes her head and takes a moment before responding. “But there’s nothing there, Burton. Never was. What’s prompting this renewed interest? What’s behind it?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out, Madam President.”

The president walks back around the desk and eases into her leather chair. She turns away from Pearce to look out at the Rose Garden. “You know, when FDR got Congress to fund the Manhattan Project, there were few questions asked. People knew how to keep a secret. We’ve managed to keep our Grand Bargain confidential up to now, but it hasn’t been easy.”

“I know, Madam President,” says Pearce. He knows this better than anybody. He’s the one who makes the threats, dangles the favors, works the dark angles all over DC—the Gray Ghost doing what he does best.

“You know what will happen if we don’t succeed?” says the president. “We’re heading for the worst depression in a hundred years.”

Pearce listens, head down. He knows the president well enough to understand when she just needs to vent.

“Damn it!” she says, turning to face him again. “We’ve got one chance, one chance only, to make things right before everything collapses. We can’t let two no-name muckrakers sink our efforts.”

“I know, ma’am,” says Pearce.

President Wright’s eyes flash with anger and determination. “Then take care of it. Now.”

CHAPTER
5

Seabrook, New Hampshire

Garrett and I didn’t waste any time. After stashing his precious new guitar in the Connecticut house we rented, we drove his Subaru northeast to Route 495, then continued an hour to Seabrook, New Hampshire.