Three Jack McClure Missions Box Set Read Free

attacks, tined and vibrating like tuning forks.”
    While the squad of Secret Service personnel was being debriefed—perhaps criticized was a better word for the severe dressing-down—by its chief instructor, the president and Secretary Paull, followed by their contingent of Secret Service personnel handpicked by Paull himself, moved off down the driveway. They were in Beltsville, Maryland, at the main Secret Service sanctuary, far away from everything and everyone—especially prying eyes and ears.
    “I was afraid of this response, which is why I insisted on seeing the scenario myself,” the president said. “When I meet with the Russian president, I want to be absolutely certain our people are prepared for anything, including whatever E-Two might throw in our faces.”
    “The latest manifesto we received from E-Two was a laundry list of the administration’s so-called sins: lies, distortions, coercions, and extortions,” Secretary Paull said. “They’ve also trotted out evidence of our ties to big oil and certain private defense contractors. Our counter has been to whip our usual mass media outlets and individual pundits into discrediting that laundry list as the ravings of a lunatic left-wing fringe.”
    “Don’t make the mistake of taking this organization lightly,” the president said. “They’re terrorists—damnably clever ones.”
    “The relevant point as far as this discussion is concerned is that the manifesto didn’t even hint at assassination.”
    The POTUS snorted. “Would you if you were planning to assassinate the President of the United States?”
    “Sir, let me point out that terrorists thrive on taking credit for their disruptions of normal life. So I would think, yes, at the very least they’d hint at the violence to come.”
    The hubbub from the Secret Service debriefing had dispersed. Behind them, the elaborate state set was deserted, awaiting its next scenario. Their shoes crunched cleanly against the gravel. They kept to the wanly lit center, a narrow aisle between the massive bare-branched oaks and horse chestnuts that lined the driveway.
    “The Service can do better,” Paull said decisively, knowing what the president expected of him. “It will do better.”
    “I take that promise extremely seriously,” the president said.
    A bird twittered happily on a branch above their heads. Higher still, a parchment cloud floated away without a care. The early morning was free of mist, waxy as a spit-polished shoe. They navigated a turning and now, save for the Secret Service bodyguards, were absolutely alone.
    “Dennis, on a personal note, how is Louise?”
    “About as well as can be expected,” Paull said stoically.
    “Will she recognize me if I come to see her?”
    Paull looked up at the bird and it flew off. “Truthfully, sir, I can’t say. Sometimes, she thinks I’m her father, not her husband.”
    The president reached out, squeezed the secretary’s arm. “Still, I want to visit her, Dennis. Today.”
    “Your calendar’s full, sir. You have to prep for your meeting with President Yukin.”
    “I’ll make time, Dennis. She’s a good woman. I know inside she’s fighting the good fight. We must strive to be inspired by her courage.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Paull’s head bent. “Your concern means the world to both of us.”
    “Martha and I say a prayer for her every night, Dennis. She’s always in our thoughts, and our hearts. God has her in his hands.”
    They moved toward an old stone cottage, the gravel clicking under the soles of their shoes. The Secret Service detail, discreetly out of earshot, moved with them. The two men were like lightning bolts within a passing cloud.
    “About Yukin.”
    The president shook his head, and they continued on in silence. At the president’s behest, Paull unlocked the door of the stone cottage and they went inside. The praetorian guard took up station outside, backs toward the stone walls.
    The president turned on lamps in the