1
THE OLD WOOD CABIN SAT ALONE, SURROUNDED by trees and darkness. The shades were drawn, and a dog lay motionless on the front porch. A thin stream of smoke flowed out of the chimney and headed west, across the rural Maryland countryside toward Washington, D.C. Inside, a man sat silently in front of the fireplace, shoving stacks of paper into the hot flames.
The papers were the product of months of
tedious and meticulous work. Each sheet represented hour upon hour
of surveillance notes, in-depth subject profiles, and maps of
neighborhoods throughout the D.C. metropolitan area. He knew when
the police patrolled, when the newspapers were delivered, who
jogged and at what time, and most importantly, where his targets
slept and what time they awoke.
He and his men had stalked them for
months, watching and waiting, patiently discerning which part of
their daily routine could be exploited—and when they would be most
vulnerable. His strong hands reached for the fire and stopped
short. Letting them hang near the flames, he flexed
them straight, then pulled them into tight fists. The men he
had been stalking had sent him to some of the most obscure places
on the face of the planet to kill people who were deemed a threat
to the national security of the United States of
America.
He had lost track of the number of people
he had killed in the service of his country. He had not
intentionally blocked the tally from his mind, it was just
something he had never bothered to calculate. Whatever the number
was, he held no regrets for the men he had killed. They were
honorless, evil psychopaths—killers of innocent
civilians.
The solitary figure sitting in front of
the fire was an assassin of assassins, an exporter of death,
trained and funded by the United States government. His short blond
hair glowed as he stared deeper and deeper into the flames, the
crisp fire eventually turning into a hypnotic blur. Tomorrow he
would kill for the first time on American soil. The times, places,
and targets had all been chosen. In less than twenty-four hours the
course of American politics would be changed forever.
The sun rose over Washington, D.C., marking the start of
what would be a long and busy day. With the president’s annual
budget twenty-four hours away from a full House vote, the town was
in a frenzy. Congressmen, senators, bureaucrats, and lobbyists were
making a last-minute push to amend or strike certain elements of
the budget. The count was too close to call, and the leaders of
both parties were exerting great pressure on their members to vote
along partisan lines.
No one was exerting more pressure than Stu
Garret, the president’s chief of staff. It was nearing
9 A.M., and Garret was ready to explode. He was standing in the
Blue Room of the White House watching the president read
“Humpty-Dumpty” to a group of kindergartners, and his anger was
increasing by the second. Garret had told the president that the
photo op with the kids was out of the question, but the White House
press secretary, Ann Moncur, had convinced the president otherwise.
It was rare for Garret to lose to anyone; even on the smallest
point. But Moncur had sold the president on the idea that, in the
throes of a cutthroat budget battle, it would be good PR for him to
look as if he were above the dirty political horse-trading of
Washington.
Garret had been working around the clock
for the last month trying to get the votes needed to pass the
budget. If the budget was defeated, their chances for reelection
would be severely hampered. The count would be close, but there was
a plan to make a last-minute charge. The only problem was that
Garret needed the president back in his office making phone calls,
not sitting in the Blue Room reading nursery
rhymes.
As was typical of everything at the White
House, the event had started late and was now running over its
original half-hour slot. Garret looked down at his watch for the
tenth time in the last five minutes and decided enough was enough.
Looking to his left, he glared at Ann Moncur, who was standing
several feet away. Garret slid between the wall and several other
White House staffers and worked his way toward Moncur. When he
reached her, he pulled her back and cupped his hand over her ear. “This
is the dumbest stunt you’ve ever pulled. If the budget gets
torpedoed tomorrow, you’re history. This circus has gone fifteen
minutes over schedule. I’m going to the Oval Office, and if he
isn’t there in five minutes, I’m going to come back in here and
personally throw your ass out on the
street.”
Moncur strained to smile and look relaxed.
She glanced around the room and noticed that some of the other
staffers and several members of the press were watching. She nodded
her head several times and was relieved when Garret stepped away
and headed for the door. For obvious reasons, Moncur didn’t care
for the older, crass chief of staff. Simply put, he was a pain in
the ass to work for.
Michael O’Rourke walked purposefully down the hallway of
the Cannon House Office Building. It was just after 9
A.M.,
and the building was
crowded with people. O’Rourke avoided making eye contact with
anyone for fear of being stopped. He was not in a good mood.
O’Rourke didn’t like Washington; in fact, it was safe to say he
hated Washington. Midway down the hall, he turned into an office
and closed the door behind him.
Inside were five men wearing dark suits
and drinking coffee. O’Rourke shot his secretary a quick glance,
but before she could respond, all five men closed in on
him.
“Congressman O’Rourke, could I please have
a moment of your time? I just need five minutes,” pleaded the man
closest to the door.
A short, pudgy man pushed his way to the
front. “Congressman, I would like to speak to you about how the
farmers in your district will be affected if you don’t vote for the
president’s budget.”
The thirty-two-year-old freshman
congressman held up his hands. “Gentlemen, you’re wasting your
time. I’ve already made up my mind, and I will not be voting for
the president’s budget. Now if you will kindly vacate my office, I
have work to do.” The group started to protest, but O’Rourke opened
the door and waved them into the hallway. All five men stumbled to
grab their briefcases and then headed off dejectedly, in search of
another congressman to cajole.
The portly lobbyist hung back and tried to
give it another shot. “Congressman, I’ve talked to my people in
your district, and they’ve told me you have a lot of farmers
waiting for the crop-failure money the president has in his
budget.” The lobbyist waited for a reaction from O’Rourke but got
none. “If this budget doesn’t pass, I wouldn’t want to be in your
shoes come next election.”
O’Rourke looked at the man and pointed
toward the door with his thumb. “I have work to
do.”
With the vote so close the lobbyist was
not willing to give up easily. “Mr. O’Rourke, if you vote no on the
president’s budget, the American Farmers Association will be left
with no other choice than to support your opponent next
year.”
O’Rourke shook his head and said, “Nice
try, but I’m not running for a second term.” Waving goodbye, the
young congressman grabbed the door and closed it in the lobbyist’s
face. O’Rourke turned to face his secretary, Susan
Chambers.
Susan smiled and said, “I’m sorry,
Michael. I told them you had a full calendar, but they insisted on
waiting around to see if you would fit them
in.”
“No apologies needed, Susan.” Michael left
the main reception area and walked into his office. He set his
briefcase on the chair beside his desk and picked up a stack of
pink messages. Yelling toward the door, he asked, “Has Tim come in
yet?”
“No.”
“Has he
called?”
“Yes. He said that since there isn’t a
snowball’s chance in hell of the president taking the funding for
the Rural Electrification Administration out of the budget, he’s
going to get some errands done and be in around one.” Tim O’Rourke
was Michael’s younger brother by two years and his chief of
staff.
“I’m glad everyone is so positive around
here.”
Susan stood up from behind her desk and
walked to the doorway of O’Rourke’s office. “Michael, we’re only
being realists. I admire that you’re trying to do what’s right, but
the problem is, guys like you don’t win in
Washington.”
“Well, thank you for your vote of
confidence, Susan.”
Susan looked up into O’Rourke’s bloodshot
eyes. “Michael, were you out again last night?” O’Rourke nodded his
head yes. “This bachelor life is going to kill you. Why don’t you
make an honest woman out of that adorable girlfriend of
yours?”
O’Rourke had been hearing it from everyone
lately, but he was in no position to get married. Maybe in another
year . . . after he got out of Washington. He looked down and
sighed, “Susan, I’m Irish, we tend to get married late in life.
Besides, I’m not so sure she’ll have
me.”
“That’s a lie and you know it. She adores
you. Take it from a woman: I’ve seen the way she looks at you with
those big brown eyes. You’re the one, so don’t screw it up. There
aren’t too many like her out there.” Chambers slapped him in the
stomach. “I hope being crowned the most eligible bachelor in
Washington hasn’t gone to your head!”
O’Rourke frowned and shook his head. “Very
funny, Susan.”
Chambers turned and walked away,
laughing.
“I’m glad you’re getting such a kick out
of this, Susan. Hold all of my calls. I have an appointment at
noon, and until then I don’t want to be
disturbed.”
“What if your grandfather or Liz
calls?”
“No one, I don’t want to be disturbed.”
O’Rourke shut the door and sat down behind his
desk.