A Secret Service agent opened the rear door. Duncan paused before entering. He looked back over at the press who were being held at bay by a line of military security. It all seemed a ridiculous circus to him. He met Boucher’s eyes. “I know, Dom. I’m just starting to see things a little differently.”

Duncan climbed into the dark interior of the car and slid into the shadows. Before the Secret Service agent could close the door, Boucher climbed in next to him.

Duncan sighed. “What?”

As The Beast pulled away, Boucher smoothed his mustache and said, “Tom, this will all blow over.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“He’s a hot-air bag. People are going to realize that when the dust clears. They always do.”

“You’re assuming the dust will clear.” Duncan looked out the tinted, bulletproof window. The ruins of Fort Bragg passed by as they headed for Pope Air Force Base. “We don’t even know what we’re up against.”

“We will,” Boucher said, filling his voice with confidence. “You’ve got the best team—”

“An incomplete team.”

Boucher nodded. When Deep Blue was unavailable it took a team of CIA analysts and strategists to replace him. But the team could never operate at full efficiency without Deep Blue directly involved. When the CIA team handled ops they still needed executive approval on the big calls—decisions that could not be made from a press conference podium—the delay could cost lives. Having Deep Blue in the game gave the team real-time executive power. Fleets could be diverted, air support called in, or political pressure applied with a phone call.

“Even without you, they’re still the best. They’ll get the job done.”

“And if they don’t? If Marrs continues to control the airwaves?”

“He won’t.”

“You going to make him disappear?” Duncan said, a grin showing on his face.

“Don’t need to,” Boucher said before switching on the TV. It wasn’t Marrs on the screen. It was Duncan. “Senator Marrs is a self-serving vulture.”

“You came out swinging. The American people will remember you’re a fighter. And so will Marrs. He’s not going to want a second round.”

“I hope you’re right, Dom.”

“I’m a spook. I’m always right.”

TWENTY-THREE

Rome, Italy

“THE TEMPLE OF Saturn,” Pierce said as they rounded the ruins of an ancient temple that had been reduced to a foundation and eight columns supporting a worn but still impressive pediment. “The Senate and people of Rome restored what fire had consumed.”

“What?” King asked as he looked up at the impressive columns.

“The inscription,” Pierce said, panning his flashlight beam across the text etched into the pediment. “The original temple, which was the oldest structure in Rome, built in 498 B.C., was dear to the city. And when it burned down they rushed to rebuild it. In fact, they were in such a rush that one of the columns was placed upside down.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“For the builders more than the temple,” Pierce said. “It’s rumored those responsible were killed in the Coliseum.”