The 13: Fall (18 page)

“I don’t understand.”

“I realize that I was out of line. I shouldn’t have blown up at you the other day in my office. I apologize for that. The American people have spoken on the issue of our law enforcement agencies, and I’ll respect that. For now. I still disagree with the entire law. But until it is changed or removed, I will respect it. So I am sorry that I did not come to you before going to them.”

She still didn’t know where this was leading. And she absolutely didn’t trust this apology. The two of them had been political adversaries for over a decade. And she still had no idea what was going on here. Did he know something? Was this a fishing expedition?

“And what is it you asked of them?”

“Nothing that I’m not entitled to, as president. I assure you. I asked them to provide an agent, each. A computer specialist and a field operative.”

“For what purpose, may I ask?”

“Just to look into it.”

“Do you think there is a credible threat to you or this nation? If so, you are required to inform me, so I can do my job effectively.”

“Ms. Levy, you give me a threat assessment every morning. Do you not?”

“I do. Are you suggesting that perhaps it’s inaccurate?”

“That’s what I’m asking you. With all due respect, of course. Is there anything I should be worried about? Is there anything that perhaps you’ve been tracking you just haven’t felt is worth mentioning?”

Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, perhaps a little too quickly.

The secretary entered, carrying a small tray with coffee and an assortment of muffins. Levy was relieved for this interruption. It gave her a moment to gather her thoughts quickly. And she had to do it fast. The girl would only be there a few seconds. She tried to take a deep breath and calm herself, but her chest felt constricted. There was no way anyone could know what she’d been doing these last few weeks. She was in control of every intelligence agency in the country. What was going on here? She quickly decided that he must not know anything. If he did, she would’ve already been taken out of there. No, this was a fishing expedition.

The secretary smiled and closed the door on her way out.

“So is there anything I should be worried about?” President Grant said, taking a sip of his coffee.

She had to play this cool. She mustered up her best worried look—not too hard under the circumstances.

“Mr. President, you know what I know.”

President Grant pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay, then.”

“Okay, then,” she agreed.

“So you don’t have a problem with me having these agents look into this private matter. Do you?”

“I’m not sure that I would classify this as a private matter just yet. Why don’t you send me the video, and I’ll have some of my best people look into it?”

“Like you said, it’s probably just some poor, misguided soul. I already gave the video to the two agents. No need to worry yourself or your resources on this. I’ll make sure Bill and Kevin report back to you if anything they find suggests otherwise.” He stood up and grabbed his suit coat. “Thanks for the coffee.”

She waited for nearly five minutes after he was gone, a million different scenarios racing through her mind. Was this just an innocent visit? No, it couldn’t be. He was baiting her. No, that couldn’t be it. If he knew
anything
she would be in a nine-by-nine concrete cell in Gitmo right now. Then what? It couldn’t be a coincidence. She couldn’t just let it go. She had to find out. She grabbed her phone and punched in the number. It rang only once.

“I thought you weren’t going to need me.” Ms. Smith said.

“Change of plans.”

“Sorry, Marianne. I’m at home. Can’t help you right now.”

“Then get back here. Now! We have a problem.”

   CHAPTER 29   

P
resident Grant rode back to the White House in silence. He was still upset over the phone call he’d received from Boz a few days ago. An accident? Didn’t sound like an accident to him. Keene and Taylor had almost been killed. Boz assured him everyone was fine; it was more Keene’s fault than anything. They had spent that night at the hospital with Megan just to make sure. What had he done? What had he sent those kids out to do? And now it was almost a week later and still no word on who or where this man was.

His meeting with Marianne Levy hadn’t gone any better. The woman made his skin crawl. And he hated the thought that he’d just given her any information she could use against him. But this Prophet wasn’t going away. Grant tried to close his eyes and pray that God would give him discernment in this, but there were too many distractions. He hadn’t had a moment of focused prayer in days. And other than a building blowing up in Chicago, he had no substantial evidence this Prophet was real. That, however, was about to be questioned once again.

When he got back he went upstairs to check on Tess. She had been to the doctor this morning already. He’d tried to have her stay home. Being the First Lady had its benefits: she was fully entitled to receive any treatment she needed at home. But Tess argued that the drive and being outside were good for her spirit. She insisted on going there. But that had its drawbacks, too. It made her even weaker after the treatment, because she had to be transported back, a trip that took most of thirty minutes.

Tess assured him that she was fine, just tired, and that he should get back to running the country. He kissed her forehead and told her he would check in on her again around lunchtime. Because he still had a little time before having to be downstairs, he went to his private desk and took out his Bible. He read a few passages and said a quick prayer for his day. He promised that he would spend the night alone, in the Word, and in quality, focused prayer time.

Before he left, he had the notion to turn on the computer on his desk.

He had five more minutes. He opened the mail server and watched the spinning wheel of death, as he liked to call it, twirl around as it searched for any new messages. The thing chimed, notifying him he had one new message. There was no subject line, nor was there a return address. Before he even clicked the mouse, he knew what was coming.

A window appeared on the screen with a video player. He clicked the P
LAY
button and held his breath as it began to play. The Prophet appeared on the screen and began to speak.

The screen went blank.

President Grant cradled his head in his hands and began to weep. He had no idea what to do. How could this be real? Could this Prophet be a true messenger of God? Or was this some deep conspiracy to destroy his administration and ruin everything he had worked for? He
was
a man of God. He
did
try to do what he believed God would have him do, concerning matters of state. He had been open about his faith. He hadn’t compromised his integrity in any way. How could this be happening?

He had to collect himself. He was needed downstairs in just a minute. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. He would go and honor his appointments for the day. But something had to be done about this. And it had to be done quickly. He reached for the phone and dialed the number.

“It’s me,” he said when the line was answered. “Tell the networks I would like thirty minutes tonight at seven o’clock.”

   CHAPTER 30   

B
radley Forester III was already into his fourth meeting of the day. As CEO of one of the nation’s two largest banks, his day was already in full swing. The meeting that he was about to enter wasn’t really a meeting, more a social gathering.

Every other week, he had coffee with the CEOs of the five largest banks and investment firms on Wall Street. They made small talk, going through the gambit of family: kids, wives, mothers-in-law—just for levity’s sake—and then they would talk about the important stuff. Many of the men were members of the same social and sporting clubs, so they would take ten minutes to gossip about their golf games and the like. After that, they finally got to business. All together, they’d usually spend about an hour with each other.

He was looking forward to today’s gathering. Just yesterday, he had shot a sixty-eight on the course, breaking Tim Crandle’s club record of sixty-nine. Crandle, who was his direct competitor as CEO of the nation’s largest bank, was his friendly nemesis in all things. Especially golf.

The perfunctory, familial conversation was coming to a close, and it was time to make his friends jealous. He cleared his throat and called for everyone’s attention.

“Everyone! If you please, I have an announcement to make.”

There were smiles all around, as everyone, even Crandle, knew what was coming.

“As you know, yesterday, I had my usual ten o’clock tee time, and—” He felt the buzz in his pocket. This was unusual. His secretary knew not to disturb him during this time. And since he had all of his phone calls forwarded to her during business hours, even personal calls, there was no reason for this to be happening. He slid the touch screen bar across the screen to unlock the phone, revealing a text message: 911.

Slightly bewildered, he said, “I’m sorry. Please excuse me.”

The others shrugged it off and returned to their chatter. But as Forester was dialing the office to call in, one by one the others’ jackets and pockets began to buzz as well. Everyone had received the same message: C
ALL IN
. I
MMEDIATELY
!

Forester was first to make his call, so he got the information first. But it only took seconds for the information to spread across the room. It seemed everyone there was aware of the same thing. Forester hung up the phone and looked at the other men with genuine fear in his eyes.