The room is filled with red banners and decorations, and plate after plate has come out, from appetizers of bean curd and jellyfish to bowls of illegal shark fin soup and slices of Peking duck and vegetables and noodles. Overseeing the entire banquet is Jiang’s boss, Li Baodong, who takes a smiling interest in Jiang’s wife, Zhen, and their daughter, Li Na, who gurgles and laughs at all the attention.
There are about two dozen mission members here, and smiles and waves come his way, and finally, when it seems as though Jiang and his family can go back to their condo, Li Baodong comes over and says to Zhen, “Sweet one, if I may, I need a few minutes alone with your hero.”
Zhen is bouncing Li Na on her lap and feeding her tiny slices of tangerine, and she nods with pleasure. Jiang gets up and follows his boss, who goes through the mission’s kitchen area and into a small, undecorated office with two chairs and a metal desk.
Li Baodong winks as he settles down heavily in the chair behind the desk, pulls a bottle and two glasses from a lower drawer, and pours into each glass a dark-colored liquid.
“A special Huangjiu,” he says. “Very expensive, very rare. Smuggled here via diplomatic pouch. Have a good swallow. You deserve it.”
Jiang does just that, and when he puts down the empty glass, Li says, “Enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“It’s uncomfortable,” Jiang says. “Considering…”
“Considering how you fucked up everything you touched?” Li demands. “Weeks ago you were given a simple task: go to those New Hampshire mountains and retrieve Mel Keating. Instead, you disobeyed my orders, went rogue on a personal mission of vengeance…and when you had a second chance to do your job, you screwed up that one as well. You damn fool: you were supposed to rescue that girl and put the Americans in our debt and thaw our relations.”
“But I—”
“But instead, you put us in debt to the Americans, by allowing yourself to be captured and treated by their intelligence agencies in Tunis before being released to us. A laughingstock you are, boy. That’s what you’ve done.”
“But I didn’t say a word to them!”
Li says, “You didn’t have to…no doubt they took high-quality photos of your facial features, not to mention gathered your fingerprints and DNA samples. Right now they are busily running all of that information through their data banks, and in a few hours, they’ll be rolling up whatever networks you’ve established here and elsewhere.”
The ache in Jiang’s rear ribs continues to throb. His stomach is roiling with nausea.
“The Americans are making demands,” Li says. “They say you interfered with the rescue of the president’s daughter. They say no talks, no movement on improving our relations until your status is settled, Jiang Lijun.”
He’s starting to sweat. His mouth has a metallic taste.
“Settled how?” he asks, surprised at how weak his voice sounds.
“Permanently,” his boss quickly replies. “Sorry to say, you will never leave the United States.”
Aghast, Jiang says, “You’re turning me over to the Americans?”
Li shakes his head. “Of course not. I would never do anything like that to one of my officers.”
Jiang’s vision is getting blurry. He looks at the desk.
Li’s drink remains untouched.
Softly, his boss says, “Not bad for a fat mushroom, eh? Think of this, my dear Lijun: when this is all settled, you will be a hero, like your father, and the party will take care of your wife and your daughter. That I promise.”
Jiang tries to speak, but his tongue, jaw, and, soon, everything else won’t work.
Chapter
136
Family quarters
The White House
President Pamela Barnes is alone in the living room area of the White House’s family quarters, bare feet up on a hassock, sipping her daily Glenlivet on ice, watching the news coverage this late afternoon on MSNBC, the sound off.
The past several hours have been grueling. Barnes refuses to watch any news coverage with the sound on because she can’t stand the joyful and congratulatory words coming from the weasel mouths of the news anchors and the military and Special Forces experts who’ve come on to discuss in awed tones the unauthorized yet successful mission by Matt Keating to rescue his daughter.
And what of the Barnes Administration?
Hell, what else can she do but issue a cheerful press release praising Matt Keating and his crew of unnamed warriors, including that dead Secret Service agent?
Who’s about to come home.
Up on the screen is live footage from Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. An Air Force jet has just landed, and six Marines in dress blues have marched up into the rear of the aircraft and are now marching down, carrying the flag-draped metal coffin of former Marine and deceased Secret Service agent David Stahl.
She takes another bracing sip.
Some hours earlier today, word came to her deputy chief of staff, Felicia Taft, from Stahl’s parents and his congressman from California that no member of the Barnes Administration would be welcome at the Dover Air Force Base ceremony.
Instead, standing with the head of the Secret Service—and not the secretary of Homeland Security—are Matthew Keating, Samantha Keating, and Mel Keating, sitting calmly in a wheelchair. Beside them are various members of the Secret Service and the Stahl family.
What an image, what a sight, as the casket is solemnly taken out.
Richard, she thinks, I sure could use your advice today.
But Richard is out in Iowa, trying to make nice with some dairy farmers who are upset with her administration’s latest trade policy. The Iowa caucuses are coming up sooner than anyone thinks, and she needs to get ready for the challenges of running for a second term.
Barnes gets up and goes to a small desk. She looks back at the television screen. There’s a graphic of northwestern Libya depicting a raid by Army Rangers on the compound where Asim Al-Asheed lived, and the news is that a number of important documents, blueprints, and computer drives have been seized.
Good news, all right.
But not particularly for her.
She opens the center desk drawer and takes out the buff-colored envelope she found in the Resolute desk on Inauguration Day, more than eighteen months ago. She slips out the handwritten note on White House stationery and rereads once more the words from her predecessor, following an Inauguration Day tradition nearly forty years old.
Dear Pamela,
My sincere congratulations on your victory following a historic political battle, well fought in the tough arena of today’s heavily partisan environment.
Today you become the president of a proud and good people who are truly decent in their hearts and actions. They long for an America at peace, that knows prosperity, and that is a leader in the world.
You have my prayers, support, and good wishes for the challenging months ahead. You are starting an incredible journey experienced by very few over the years, and you should feel honored that the American people have chosen you.
God bless you and your family.
Sincerely,
Matt Keating
Barnes pauses.
Oh, if that damn SEAL had just stopped there.
But he didn’t.
P.S.
Notwithstanding the above, Pamela, I plan to see you again, face-to-face, in four years.
Barnes takes the historic note, crumples it into a ball, and drops it on the floor.
She finishes off her drink.
Decides it’s time for another.
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Acknowledgments
For their invaluable assistance and expertise, the authors wish to thank First Sergeant Matt Eversmann (Ret.), 75th Army Ranger Regiment; Captain Joe Roy, KC-135 pilot, U
S Air Force; former White House Chief of Staff John Podesta; and Richard Clarke, national coordinator for security and counterterrorism in the Clinton and Bush (43) White Houses.
Special thanks as well to Tina Flournoy, chief of staff for the office of Bill Clinton; Steve Rinehart; Oscar Flores; Deneen Howell; Michael O’Connor; and Mary Jordan.
About the Authors
BILL CLINTON was elected president of the United States in 1992, and he served until 2001. After leaving the White House, he established the Clinton Foundation, which helps improve global health, increase opportunity for girls and women, reduce childhood obesity and preventable diseases, create economic opportunity and growth, and address the effects of climate change. He is the author of a number of nonfiction works, including My Life, which was a #1 international bestseller. With James Patterson, he is coauthor of the #1 international bestselling novel The President Is Missing.
JAMES PATTERSON is the world’s bestselling author and most trusted storyteller. He has created many enduring fictional characters and series, including Alex Cross, the Women’s Murder Club, Michael Bennett, Maximum Ride, Middle School, and I Funny. Among his notable literary collaborations are The President Is Missing, with President Bill Clinton, and the Max Einstein series, produced in partnership with the Albert Einstein Estate. Patterson’s writing career is characterized by a single mission: to prove that there is no such thing as a person who “doesn’t like to read,” only people who haven’t found the right book. He’s given over three million books to schoolkids and the military, donated more than seventy million dollars to support education, and endowed over five thousand college scholarships for teachers. For his prodigious imagination and championship of literacy in America, Patterson was awarded the 2019 National Humanities Medal. The National Book Foundation presented him with the Literarian Award for Outstanding Service to the American Literary Community, and he is also the recipient of an Edgar Award and nine Emmy Awards. He lives in Florida with his family.
Also by the Authors
The President Is Missing
The President's Daughter Page 44