September 8th, 2027

John Walker sat in the same uncomfortable chair he had been sitting in since the president ushered him to it, staring at his childhood friend with an odd sense of respect for the man. Though Frank had his share of faults, as he would be the first to admit, he was dealing with the current situation admirably. He wasn’t panicking, like some men would do, and he wasn’t completely ignoring the possibility simply because of the unorthodox means his information had come from. Instead he was treating the entire ordeal with the regard it deserved.

John respected Frank because the man would do whatever it took to protect his country and people. Unlike the past two presidents, whose primary concerns had been being popular in the eyes of America’s youth, Frank didn’t care who liked him and who didn’t, so long as he was keeping them safe from any threats.

Foreign and domestic. That was the saying.

Despite the rather unusual warning, John fully believed that Mark Darrow posed a threat to national security. Whether he simply had a weapon and didn’t know it, John couldn’t say for sure. All he truly knew was that whatever Darrow had over there in Missouri could certainly be used as such.

His faith was what defined him. Not the faith that he was right about Darrow, but the faith in all the things before this that he’d had to simply believe in. His wife, for example, who hadn’t had anything resembling romantic feelings toward him when he’d fallen in love with her. Four years later, after trusting that she was the one, as they called it, they were married. Faith and hope. Without them, the world would be a much darker place.

After calling someone on the phone, Frank had switched to the headset and waited for a response. He wasn’t getting any. Finally the phone stopped ringing and he got the voicemail of Secretary of Defense Arthur Slogan. John hadn’t known people like him could be called up like any average citizen.

“He always picks up,” Frank said, staring at the phone. He punched the redial button with his thumb.

“Who might that be?” John asked. He knew the answer, of course, but he was still holding out on the idea that Frank might send him to help David. In that case, he had to get him talking.

“Arthur Slogan,” Frank continued. “You met at the national address, I believe.”

John nodded. “Too serious. Him, I mean. He was.”

Frank chuckled. “Look who’s talking.”

A good joke. John joined him in the laugh.

The phone in Frank’s hands continued ringing and for a moment they sat in silence. It was obvious that whatever Frank had hatching in his mind was more important than throwing around gentle insults at John.

Seven rings later he got voicemail again.

Frank tore the earpiece from his ear and threw it on his desk.

“No luck?” John asked.

Frank took his seat across from John and leaned on one shoulder, putting a hand to his head. “Nothing. I sincerely hope that this . . . vision of yours ends up just being a case of misinformation.”

John laughed without making a sound. “Were it so easy.”

Despite the seriousness with which Frank was dealing with the matter at hand, it was plain as day that it upset him more than usual. He’d been through the Israeli assassinations, the Chinese cold war, and the Venezuelan Liberators, but nothing could prepare for an attack on the home front from the home front.

No matter what happened, Darrow would go down in history for something.

“I have an idea,” Frank finally said, removing his hand from his head and looking John in the eye.

“Good. One that involves me being productive, I hope.”

Frank forced a smile. “I’ll need your help in this, old friend. But we leave the dangerous tasks to younger people, the ones who almost enjoy that kind of thing.”

“You’re sending someone to David, then?”

“If I could ever get a hold of Art, yes.” Frank checked his phone one more time, then decided it was useless. “We have a group that we like to call the Right Hand. They’re not involved with any military organization, don’t have any political ties, and don’t listen to anyone but Arthur and I.”

John couldn’t resist a smirk. He’d suspected that the government had to have some kind of clean-up agency; people who do the dirty work politicians aren’t necessarily able to. He’d just never expected anyone to admit it, let alone Frank.

“And these people, they help you out when you have a problem you’re technically not supposed to fix?” The question was followed by a sly grin on John’s part.

Frank found humor in his enthusiasm and cracked a smile. “In a way, yes. There are only a handful of them and we only enlist their services in times of emergency. You remember how we caught the Slayer of Men over in Israel? Well we didn’t. They found him, trapped him, and allowed our guys to take the glory.”

“So you’re going to send a member of this Right Hand to Missouri to help David.”

“I believe that goes without saying. As soon as Arthur answers his cell, we’ll mobilize one of our agents and get Mister Penner set up to meet him.”

Finally they had a good plan. David wouldn’t be out on his own, Frank and Slogan could involve some more people in the . . . well, all it could be considered was a theory, but that was beside the point. They could involve a few more people and begin working on a smooth takedown plan which would be ready by the time David returned with evidence.

John was again taking it on faith that there would be evidence. He knew there would be.

Frank was about to say something when the door behind John burst open. They both turned to see a tall, portly man with a neat black suit and red tie standing in the doorway. His face, caught at a rare moment when politicians show their true emotions, gave way to a deep concern. Not fear, because politicians were never afraid. Just concern.

“Arthur?” Frank asked. So this was the Arthur Slogan upon whom the entire new plan rested. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur caught his breath after a moment and collected himself. This was a new experience for John; seeing a prominent political figure out of the normal diplomat façade they always wore was a definite rarity.

“Excuse me, Mister President,” Arthur said, breathing as if he’d run through all of D.C. to get into the White House. “I wasn’t aware you had company.”

Frank stood and began walking to Arthur, clearly surprised to see one of his closest allies so distraught. “Come in, Arthur. This is John Walker, the man who tipped us off.”

Arthur nodded to John. John returned the gesture.

“What’s going on?” Frank pressed.

“I assume I’m able to speak freely.”

“Of course. John’s as much a part of this as we are.”

“Good. Sir, I believe the White House has been compromised. Beyond that, I fear our entire communications grid may be compromised. Not the vital systems, just our federal information satellite.”

The same almost-fear-but-not-quite look settled into Frank’s face and he stared into space for a moment. “You’re sure?”

Arthur glanced to the side briefly. “Of course not. This is all wild speculation and reckless guesswork. But, like you said, better to be safe. If this is real, we’re definitely being tapped. Penner’s sister told him¾”

“He has a sister? That didn’t show on the report.”

“Exactly. His sister told him about Darrow before I got a hold of him. The FBI and CIA know, Frank, along with God only knows who else.”

The full extent of Arthur’s statement sunk in for both John and Frank. Darrow had gotten into the federal communications and information satellite and was, at this moment, listening to everything that left or entered the White House.

Including John’s e-mail to Frank.

But that was beyond the point at the moment. If they were playing it safe, they had to assume Darrow had already known. The job now was to keep him from finding anything else out, which meant finding whatever eavesdropping device Darrow’s people had planted.

“You can’t be serious,” Frank said.

“I’m afraid I am. I talked to Mister Penner and it seems that¾”

“Just a second, gentlemen.” John held his hand up to stop them, then stood from his chair and surveyed the room.

According the Frank, there were about five people that had access to this room at all times: Frank; his Vice President, Ted Barson; his secretary, Miss Evans; the cleaning crew; and Misses Thomas. Since John doubted that Frank or his wife had planted the bug themselves, that left three alternatives.

Barson was a noble young man. A bit idealistic, but he had a good spirit. John didn’t think he would betray his government. The cleaning crew would be far too obvious.

Come to think of it, Miss Evans was the perfect choice. She was a hard worker, either trying to compensate for being a spy or so that Frank would trust her. His first suspicions would never include her. She was perfect.

That only left the question of where she would hide the bug. It had to be somewhere only a secretary would think to hide something.

John crossed the room on the plush blue carpet and walked right by Arthur and Frank, past the door Arthur had left opened. He came out into the reception area of the White House once again where, to his left, Miss Evans sat applying her tenacity to yet another call.

John walked over to her, hung up the phone, and took Amelia by the wrist, yanking her up from her chair with many screaming protests. He led her back into the room with Frank and Arthur and let her settle.

“John?” Frank asked with a raised brow. “What’s this about?”

John ignored the question momentarily and faced Miss Evans. “There’s something in this room you don’t want me to find, isn’t there?”

Amelia shook free of John’s grasp and huffed in disgust. She then turned to Frank. “Mister President, I don’t know what kind of game this is, but it’s not funny.”

Frank merely looked at John.

“It’s her, Frank. I’m sure of it.”

“You can’t know that.” Arthur stood, hands on hips, appalled at the spectacle before him.

“Give me two minutes and I’ll give you proof.”

“Like you’ve given us proof about Darrow?”

Amelia shifted away from John, and if he hadn’t been absolutely sure before, he was now. He took her by the wrist once more and found her pulse. It was elevated due to her anger, of course, but there was another level of elevation that John had become too familiar with. The kind of elevation that came from fear of being caught in a lie.

“Oh, please,” Arthur mocked. “I’ve seen this done on TV hundreds of times. It’s never conclusive.”

Instead of being offended by the man’s sarcasm and doubt John simply looked Miss Evans in the eyes.

“There’s something in this room you don’t want me to find, isn’t there?”

For the longest of moments she simply looked at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

John smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

He began leading Amelia around the room, starting with the chaise lounge immediately to their left. Her hand was leading and John had a firm grip on her pulse, so whatever she had hidden was about to be found. Frank and Arthur gawked at the sight.

One corner of the room was inconclusive, so John headed to the next, passing paintings of Washington and Lincoln on the walls. John led Miss Evans to the safest parts of the room so she would be lured into a false sense of security. Her heart rate was already dropping. When he did go near the bug, it would begin to pulse violently.

The next section of the room was Frank’s desk, and if the device wasn’t around there, John would have to give up.

But it was, because Miss Evans’ pulse began to throb slightly. John opened each drawer of the desk to see if the pulse would pick up, but it didn’t. He then went for the computer.

“Best tell me now,” he warned gently. “I think you know I’ll find it. If you confess before I do I’m sure we can work out a deal.”

Amelia looked as if she wanted to spit in his eye.

John shrugged it off and searched the computer, using Miss Evans’ pulse as a compass. His hand hovered over the monitor, which would be the most obvious place, so he knew it wasn’t there. He moved it left, then right.

Her heartbeat picked up. John stared her in the eyes and continued to move his hand to the right, though he wasn’t sure where it was going.

Then Amelia’s arm was pounding. John looked where his hand was and found one of the speaker’s to Frank’s computer.

“It’s here,” he told them, letting go of Miss Evans.

Arthur was first to cross the room and grab the speaker, cracking it open against the desk and rummaging around inside. After a good ten seconds he pulled out a small red box that looked no more harmful than a bunny rabbit.

Arthur glanced at John, then directed his focus back to the box. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it, Art?” Frank began pacing toward them.

“It’s a system tap,” the Secretary told him. “Russian-made, I think. As long as it‘s within range of a device linked to our system, it hacks in and monitors communications.”

“Can you turn it off?”

Arthur smashed the red box against Frank’s desk, sending small electronic shrapnel across half the length of the wood. “Yes sir.”

Frank walked out the door and yelled something down the hall while Arthur stared at John.

“How did you know?”

The obvious question with an obscure answer for anyone but John. “It was simple profiling, really,” he explained. “There are five people with access to this room. Miss Evans made the most sense.”

“You’re a profiler?”

Two men in suits emerged from the far door and took Amelia by the arms much to her disagreement.

“Escort Miss Evans to detention at the Pentagon,” Frank told one of the suits. “Maximum security. I want guards watching her at all times.”

“Yes, sir.” Then the three disappeared through the door.

Frank let out a deep breath and sighed. “John, you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

John stared at the broken remnants of the listening device on Frank’s desk. “All I did was find it. A sweeping team would’ve gotten it just as easily.”

“But they didn’t, and if you hadn’t caught Amelia in that trap of yours she would probably be running back to Darrow with all our information in hand.”

Arthur must have felt the need to take a seat, because he fell into the same chair Frank had ushered John to. “There’s still the possibility that the device was connected wirelessly to a receiver, in which case Darrow already knows.”

“We’ll have to assume so,” Frank agreed. He walked over to Arthur’s left and turned to face him. “We’ll cut all our basic communications and go to the priority server. But for now, we need to talk about a plan John and I devised. I want to send one of the Right Hand out to Missouri. God knows David will need all the help he can get.”

“I agree, and before I came here I stopped at the Library. They’ve sent Io. She’s their fastest driver, apparently.”

Frank had to force himself to enjoy the little things, because if he didn’t, he may very well lose it in the next few days.

But John had other concerns in mind. The situation in Saint Louis was now wrapped up to the best of their ability; they couldn’t worry about that anymore. What they could worry about was the woman flying in a chopper to a holding cell in the Pentagon. Regardless of if she was merely a pawn in Darrow’s scheme or his number two, she knew a lot more than they did.

“If you don’t mind,” John said. “I’d like to talk to Miss Evans a bit more in-depth. I have the feeling she could be one of our greatest assets.”

Arthur turned to Frank, who was looking John dead in the eyes. He was thinking very seriously about it.

“No offense, Mister Walker,” Arthur said. “But finding a bug in Frank’s computer and getting a low-level spy to confess are two very different things. I know you’ve been one of Frank’s top advisors and you were the one to present this threat to us, but I don’t see how that qualifies you to conduct an interrogation.”

John could see that Arthur was coming around. Frank had said he’d been skeptical before, but talking to David in person and Miss Evans found out had punched a few holes in his doubts.

Furthermore, he believed that because Amelia had merely planted the bug, she was only a low-level associate in Darrow’s system. He could be right, but either way, John needed to find out what she knew.

“It qualifies me because I’m good at reading people,” John said, almost eager to show off his skills. “For example, you’re a profound believer in our nation’s supremacy and, until now, you’ve believed that nothing could ever touch us. When Frank came to you with this information about Darrow, you scoffed at the entire notion and labeled it fantasy. Now that you’ve seen everything we’ve seen, you’re deeply concerned.” He paused to look at Frank. “Need I go on?”

Neither of the men said anything, so John took that as a yes.

“Your suit is just a tad too small for you, but the rest of your appearance shows that you don’t neglect fashion, so you’ve been putting on a little weight recently. The wedding ring and fact that your tie is nice and straight tells me you have a wife who cares about you, so the problems aren’t marital. A job like this takes up most of your free time, but you generally enjoy it except recently, even before this entire ordeal with Darrow. Far be it for me to say, but I think the stress from your job has caused you to regress into your childhood eating disorder.”

Both men sat in silence for a moment. John couldn’t tell if Arthur wanted to hit him or tell him he was the smartest person to have ever walked the earth.

“You got all that just by watching me?” It came out as more of a statement.

“This is my job,” John replied. “I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it.”

Frank smiled at Arthur’s sudden inability to come up with the right words. “John, I’m sold. If you want to get under Miss Evans’ skin and find out what she knows, you have my full permission.”

John nodded. He was officially an interrogator.