President Elect (A Luke Stone Thriller-Book 5)

CHAPTER ONE

"Death is softer by far than tyranny."

- Aeschylus

Two years later...

November 2

2:35 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

Near the Tidal Basin—WashingtonDC

"Okay," the man said, his breath drifting away in plumes of white. "What are we doing here?"

It was late, and the night was chilly with a light rain falling.

The man's name was Patrick Norman, and he was talking to himself. He was an investigator, a man accustomed to spending long periods of time alone. Talking to himself was part of the job.

He stood on the concrete path along the water's edge. There was no one else around. A moment ago, what looked like a homeless man had been sprawled under some newspapers on a bench about fifty yards away. Now that man was gone, and the newspapers were all over the wet ground.

From where Norman was, he could see the Lincoln Memorial far to his right. Directly in front of him and across the tidal basin was the dome of the Jefferson Memorial, lit up in shimmering blue and green. Lights glinted on the water.

Norman had been in this line of work a long time, and these were the kinds of meetings he relished. Late at night, in a secluded place, with someone who was hiding their identity—risky, but this exact type of thing had paid off for him in the past. If it hadn't, he wouldn't be here now.

A man slowly walked along the path toward him. The man was tall, wearing a long raincoat and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his face. Norman watched the man approach.

Suddenly, there was movement behind him. Norman turned, and two more men were there. One of them was the homeless man from before. He was black, in ripped workpants and a heavy winter parka. The parka was wet and stained and dirty. The man's hair stood up in odd tufts and curls on the very top of his head. The second man was just another nondescript nobody in a raincoat and hat. He had a bushy black mustache—if Norman had to describe him later that was the best he was going to do. He was too startled at the moment to absorb a lot of details.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Norman said.

"Mr. Norman," the tall man said from behind him. The man had a very deep voice. "I think I'm the one you want to speak with."

Norman felt his shoulders sag. They were playing a game. If these men wanted to hurt him, they probably would have already done so. That relieved him a little—these were government people. Spooks. Spies. Intelligence operatives, they would probably call themselves. That also annoyed him a little. There was no mysterious source with information for him. These guys had dragged him out here in the middle of a rainy night to tell him... what?

They were wasting his time.

Norman turned around again to face the man. "And you are?"

The man shrugged. A smile showed just below the shadow from his hat. "It doesn't matter who I am. It matters who I work for. And I can tell you my bosses are not pleased with the caliber of your work."

"I'm the best there is," Norman said. He said it without hesitating. He said it because he believed it. Much was open for debate. But one thing that was never called into question was the quality of the job he did.