“Spare me,” says Maddy. “You know perfectly well that if this plan stalls, it dies. And if we start nibbling away at the edges, it loses its power. Most Americans already think you guys on the Hill just run your mouths and get nothing done. Congress now has an approval rating of nineteen percent. Are you seriously shooting for single digits?”

“No, ma’am, it’s just—”

“Listen to me, Aaron. I like you. You’re smart. I don’t like Bragg. He’s a pain-in-the-ass bomb thrower, and he’s been nipping at your heels for the past year.”

Trent says nothing.

“Have you met Bragg’s wife, Celine?” asks Maddy.

“Celine? Of course I have.”

“You know she’s from France, right? Do you know how desperately she wants to go back there?”

“She’s never said anything about that.”

“She wouldn’t. Not in front of her husband. But I know for a fact that she hates DC. She’s threatening to leave Bragg if he runs for reelection.”

“I don’t believe that—”

“You should. Because it’s going to work in your favor—and mine.”

Trent looks puzzled. “How’s that?”

“In two days, I’m going to announce that I’ve asked Congressman Bragg to accept the position of US ambassador to France. He’ll spare himself a messy separation and he’ll be out of your hair. No longer a threat to your leadership.”

“But the ambassadorship is filled,” says Trent nervously. “We confirmed Arthur Carew six months ago.”

“Let me worry about Arthur. When we announce the legislation, I expect you to be standing beside me, leading the applause. Now get back to your scones.”

Trent nods. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You want to know a secret?”

“Ma’am?”

Maddy makes a kneading motion in the air. “Make sure the butter is cold when you mix it into the dough.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I will.”

Trent opens the door, and Pearce is there to help him out. “Have a nice night, Congressman.”

Pearce doesn’t wait for Trent to reply; he slides into the still-warm seat. The agent shuts the door after him. Pearce looks at Maddy. “So?”

“I need you to find a prestigious, high-paying position for Arthur Carew. Something that doesn’t require congressional approval. Do it fast. Make it juicy.”

“Arthur Carew? Isn’t he in Paris?”

Maddy nods. “For the moment.”

CHAPTER
109

Number One Observatory Circle

It’s just after eight a.m. when Burton Pearce walks into the nineteenth-century house at Number One Observatory Circle, the home of Vice President Ransom Faulkner.

He nods to the Secret Service detail guarding the VP.

For the past six months, Faulkner’s colon cancer has been in remission, and he’s been well enough to work from home. He moves like molasses, but his eyes are bright, and his mind is as sharp as ever.