“President Salaam asked to speak with me,” Thom went on. “She wants to normalize relations with the United States, both for herself and the Muslim Brotherhood. She hinted that she’s going to step down as leader of the Muslim Brotherhood—she’s nominated King Idris the Second to be its leader. She also said she’s going to step down as president of Egypt.” Patrick looked at Thom in surprise. “She’s going to name General Ahmad Baris as acting president until new elections are held; I think he’ll be elected. What do you think?” Patrick made no response. “I wonder what Susan Bailey Salaam is going to do?” Still, Patrick said nothing.

“I think most of official Washington wants to interview you,” Thom went on. “I think you’re going to get grilled for a few days. At least you picked a nice hotel for Bradley to hang out in . .. until you’re done.” He studied his hands for a moment. “But from where I sit, there’s only one thing I have to know.”

“I’m not going to join your administration,” Patrick said. “I can’t be your national security adviser.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we both feel strongly that we’re right.”

Thom nodded. “I agree.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Thomas Jefferson once said that a Council of War is at the same time the most valuable thing and the worst thing for a democracy. But he did have one—and the office was right next to his, not because he consulted them frequently, but so he could keep an eye on them. I think that’s what I need to do with you, General McLanahan—put you somewhere so I can keep an eye on you.”

“I can’t support you as part of your administration,” Patrick repeated. “I’d be a serious liability.”

“But you would be in a suit and tie, not in a flight suit— or in Tin Man battle armor,” Thom said. “You’d be in Washington, where the bureaucrats can stifle a thought or an action more swiftly and more surely than an entire Marine division. More importantly, I can keep an eye on you. With all due respect, General, I like that idea.”

Patrick looked warily at the President. He was being trapped—he knew it. It was going to be a choice between prison or some office position, locked away amid classified briefings, mountains of paperwork, and nameless, faceless bureaucrats looking for a strong back on which to step on their way up the ladder of power.