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  “How comforting,” I mutter.

  Ryan glances at his watch.

  “We want you back, Donna, but for all the right reasons. Putting you back in the field while you’re still numbed by your experience not only puts you at risk, but potentially your mission team as well. The office position is there for you if you want it. But if you choose to stay on temporary leave—or for that matter a permanent one—I’ll understand.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Come back to us, Donna, as soon as you can. We need you.”

  I shrug. “I’ll think about it.”

  He smiles. “That’s all I ask.”

  I’ve just gotten back to my car when Jack texts me:

  Picking up the kids now. XOXO J

  Ah, I get it. They’d prefer to carpool with him as opposed to me. Ha! I guess they’re afraid I’ll show up with a trunk filled with body armor.

  Yeah, okay: it’s on order. Amazon Prime delivers it tomorrow.

  I’ll need to ease my family into this new world order. I’ll start with a peace offering: pie. One for each of them, and their favorites: apple pies for Trisha, Jeff, and Aunt Phyllis, and cherry ones for Jack and Mary.

  Maybe by the time they’ve all graduated from high school, they’ll be talking to me again.

  Yes, baking pies is the right thing to do.

  Kneading and then rolling out the dough is as satisfying as any erotic act of love. In the kinetic process of peeling and then slicing the apples, any doubts I have about my dexterity dissolves like the sugar I sprinkle into the fruit compote.

  As the aroma of baking pies fills the air, I feel like "me" again.

  Something is scratching at the back door. It’s one of our dogs, Lassie. She dances around, excited about the offering in Rin Tin Tin’s mouth.

  I open the door, but I’m certainly not letting him in with it, especially if it’s a rodent:

  It’s not. It’s a pigeon.

  “Drop,” I command Rin Tin Tin.

  His mouth opens and the bird falls to the floor. It’s still alive, but something is off:

  Its wing is broken.

  Rin Tin Tin takes a few steps back. Crouching on all fours, he awaits my next command.

  At that moment, my precious time with his former master, Nola, comes back to me:

  There is a pigeon, flying toward us from the west, but it crash-lands in our boat. Its wing is broken.

  It caws Lee’s name.

  West…

  Wing, broken…

  Lee.

  Eric’s target is Lee. He’s going to strike the West Wing.

  I reach for my phone and hit Ryan’s number. It rolls over to voicemail, darn it!

  A car pulls into our driveway. Jack is home.

  Should I tell him what I know? Of course…

  But then it hits me: why would I? He’ll call it yet another one of my delusions.

  I hear the front door open and then footsteps climbing the stairs—

  Only to pause at the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked pies.

  I hold my breath and say a prayer that my act of contrition will bring me face to face with my family—

  Well, with one of them, anyway. Aunt Phyllis’s head pops through the kitchen door. “Yum! Something smells great!”

  I reward her with a smile. “Thanks! And here’s one hot apple pie with your name on it!” As I cut into her apple pie, I do my best to ask casually, “Where are the others? I’ve made them pies too.”

  Aunt Phyllis’s grin falters. “Jeff and Mary are still at school—in the, er, library.”

  Not good.

  My knife stops. “Oh?”

  “You know—high school homework.” She rolls her eyes.

  In other words, they’d rather be there than here.

  “What about Trisha? And since Jack picked them up, he must be done for the day at work—”

  “He said he was taking the afternoon to play golf. He took Trisha to…to drop her at a play date.”

  Aunt Phyllis is cracking her knuckles. She does that during poker games too—when she has a lousy hand.

  "At Hilldale Country Club?"

  Aunt Phyllis nods furiously.

  Now I know something is fishy. First of all, we're not members of the country club. And secondly, why would he take Trisha to a play date without first mentioning it to me?

  Unless it's to the Western White House—Lion's Lair—which is here in Hilldale.

  To meet with Lee.

  Jack is hiding the mission from me. He’s using Trisha as his beard.

  He doesn't think I can handle it anymore. But I can—and I will.

  And I know just what will get me through the door:

  Intel.

  And pie.

  17

  Believe

  Performed by the pop artist Cher on the 1998 album by the same name. The song was written by Brian Higgins, Stuart McLennen, Paul Barry, Steven Torch, Matthew Gray, and Timothy Powell. As a matter of fact, Cher also claimed to have a hand in writing it.

  The song was ranked as the #1 song of 1999 both on Billboard's “Hot 100” and “Hot Dance Club Play” charts. It was also Britain's biggest-selling single of 1998.

  The song turned out to be the biggest single in Cher’s entire career. She was the oldest female artist (at the age of 52) to perform this feat.

  Unbelievable!

  This expression is overused, for one obvious reason: it’s easier to exaggerate than to be exacting. In fact, here are a few of the many things that may be described as unbelievable but aren’t necessarily so—except under these circumstances:

  Catching a ball in sports. They’ve been caught in the air, against a wall, and from behind. However, if someone were to catch one in their teeth, then yes, “unbelievable” would be a great way to describe it.

  A horse race. Horses win races all the time—some at great lengths or at record speeds. But only if the horse is riding the jockey when they cross the finish line could the event earn the adjective “unbelievable.”

  Lovemaking. Birds do it, yes, and so do bees. According to another legendary song, even educated fleas (albeit this last one is a stretch) do it. Watching two contortionists go at it may also open eyes to some feats never seen performed before, but let’s face it: for it to be unbelievable, it’s got to take place under pretty special circumstances. Certainly, skydiving would qualify. But one would hope that the climax would in no way be anticlimactic—say, after the lovers hit the ground.

  It’s such a beautiful day that I decide to walk through Hilldale and up the gentle hill crowned by Lion’s Lair.

  I’ve been there enough times—both as a guest and as part of POTUS’s governmental entourage—that the Secret Service detail’s check of me is cursory at best.

  Lee’s secretary, Eve, is summoned to meet me at the front door in order to escort me to the elevator that will take us to Lee’s private office, on the mega-mansion’s second floor. She is one of the few people in Lee’s life whose loyalty goes unquestioned, at least by me. She proved it when she discovered her predecessor’s iPad held the key to the Quorum’s covert surveillance, both in the West Wing and Lion’s Lair.

  She is surprised to see me, but gives me a welcoming hug nonetheless. “I’m so glad to see with my own eyes that you’re up and about.”

  “Thank you. And it’s great to be back to work.” Here’s hoping I’m right.

  On the way to Lee’s office, we pass the library. Babette’s biographer, Scarlett, sits at a desk facing a window that affords her a view of all of Hilldale. She is perusing what looks like a photo album.

  Before she has a chance to turn around, I zip past the door.

  Eve arches a brow.

  “I’m, um, late enough as it is,” I explain. “If I run into Babette—”

  Eve grins. “No worries there. Ms. Packard is the only one here from FLOTUS’s staff. She flew in with us in order to do historical research necessary for the biography.”

  Noting my relief, Eve whispers, “S
he’ll never even know you were here.”

  I blush at the realization that Eve knows my true feelings about Babette. I would imagine she already knows Babette’s about me as well.

  The ping of the elevator alerts the president’s second-floor security detail.

  Seeing me with Eve, U.S. Marine Corps Major Gordy Collins looks up and smiles. “Talk about a sight for sore eyes,” he exclaims playfully. Noting the pie in my hands, he adds, “Not to mention empty stomachs.”

  As one of the three rotating military attaches assigned the task of carrying and guarding the satchel holding the nuclear codes with his life, Gordy has the privilege of sitting in a chair right outside the door, unlike the two Secret Service agents who stand on either side of Lee’s office. However, he gets up when he sees me.

  “We’ll save a piece for you,” I promise.

  He laughs. “I doubt it. POTUS is in bachelor mode. He’s got the chef here making all the dishes FLOTUS wouldn’t let him eat during her pregnancy. But not even the chef can match your cherry pie.”

  “The First Lady…she delivered her child already?”

  “Yes! It was all over the media—” Suddenly, Gordy’s grin fades. “Gee, I’m sorry, Donna! I forgot that you were…” His voice trails off. But of course, he would have been standing right outside my hospital room door while Lee visited me.

  Gordy continues, “Harrison’s birth was almost a week ago now. It was a big thing for her to give birth to the little guy there in the West Wing. FLOTUS barely made it back to the White House, though. Sadly, we hit turbulence on the ride back to D.C. Everyone felt a bit queasy. As far along as she was, I’m sure it helped to speed things up.”

  “What day was the blessed event?”

  He thinks for a moment. “Wednesday.”

  It was the same day my family chose to be my last.

  I’m sure that the child’s real father, Salem would have found irony in that.

  As for Lee, the day would have been a bittersweet one.

  One of the other agents knocks on the door for me.

  “Enter,” Lee’s deep voice is heard plainly through the thick double doors.

  The agent opens it but then steps aside for me to do as Lee commands.

  I smile supremely, but I’m not surprised that POTUS is the only one smiling back at me.

  Ryan’s eyes open wide, but he wears his usual poker face.

  Jack’s frown makes his feelings all too obvious: he’s upset that I am here.

  Well, too bad. I’ve got the best reason possible: I have something they need. And I want something in return.

  “Donna? Wow! So glad to see you up and about!” Lee’s kind words are proffered with a warm hug. He looks down at the pie. “And you come bearing gifts.”

  “Like the Trojans,” Jack murmurs.

  Ryan's way of ignoring him is to say, “Thank you, Donna. But you didn’t need to—”

  “Bring homemade pie? Why, it’s my pleasure. It’s great to be back on my feet.” I take the chair next to Lee, which is opposite of the couch on which Jack and Ryan are seated. “What did I miss?”

  “Well…” Ryan frowns. My appearance has thrown him off his stride. “We’re bringing Lee up to date on the reconnaissance we’ve gotten thus far.”

  “I see! So, you’ve already mentioned that there was the correlation between the ransomware used in attacking the hospitals and utilities and what was used to attack the governmental security systems?”

  Ryan’s eyes open in surprise. “Yes…”

  I add, “But that one of the terrorists’ real goals was to cover Eric Weber’s escape from Magic Mountain.”

  “We were just discussing that,” Jack declares dryly.

  Until now, I don’t think he realizes how much I heard while I was unconscious. I guess now he’s afraid I’ll blurt out how I know it because he shakes his head as a subtle warning to shut up.

  No way, guy. That was only the entr’acte.

  “Good,” I smile benignly at him. “And, of course, the leaks of government data to the dark web was just another way for Eric and his patchwork of Quorum contacts to point us in the wrong direction.”

  Lee grimaces. “We were discussing it now. As you can imagine, it’s a sore spot with me—and with the intelligence community. Congress has been slow to release funding for our cyber security infrastructure.”

  “Lee, Acme has also deduced that the security systems in those outlying government buildings were soft targets used to test the NSA’s response,” I reply. “Our latest intel bears out the theory that Eric Weber’s mission is much bigger—with greater consequences.”

  Jack and Ryan stare at me as if I’ve lost my mind. But before they can rebut anything I say, I give Lee the punch line: “Mr. President, you are the real target. And the Quorum wants to take you down inside the White House.”

  Lee is as stunned as Ryan and Jack. Finally, he murmurs, “Do we know when? Or how?”

  “We’re still…”—Gee, how do I put this?—“deciphering those pieces of the riddle.”

  “You mean intel, don’t you?” Jack retorts.

  “Babette is in the West Wing now, alone…with Harrison.” Lee paces the floor. “I’d planned to stay here for a few days to take the spotlight off of her for a while. I arranged a series of diplomatic meetings and photo ops to happen here at Lion’s Lair. But if the terrorists have broken through the White House security platform, I should head back as quickly as possible.”

  “Understandable,” Ryan murmurs. “While our ciphering team works around the clock with the clues we have”—he glares at me—“perhaps we should shadow the White House security detail for any anomalies that don’t fit the usual pattern.”

  “Of course, Acme will be the onsite point team. After all, you detected this problem. I’ll let the White House’s Director of Security, Dirk Rappaport, know he can expect you there within the next thirty-six hours.” Lee rises. Turning to me, he adds, “Babette was concerned enough about your plight that she visited you in the hospital. I’m sure that she’ll be grateful to see how well you’re doing—and enjoy showing off little Harrison to you.”

  Jack says, “But Donna shouldn’t—”

  “Intrude? Nonsense! It’s a direct order.” Lee’s tone dares him to push the matter. “So far as Babette and I are concerned, you’re both family. You know us better than anyone. We can’t keep secrets from the Craigs.” To make his point, Lee pulls me in for a good-bye hug.

  His lips linger on my cheek.

  By the time I’ve pulled away, Jack has stalked out.

  “Lee is so full of shit!” At least Jack has waited until Ryan’s car is beyond the ornate gates of Lion’s Lair before declaring this out loud.

  I took the passenger seat so that I didn’t have to look him in the eye. But even from the back seat, I imagine the anger I’d find there is just as bitter as I hear in his voice when he says, “And by the way, despite President Chiffray’s personal invitation for you to join us in DC, you’re staying put right here until you’re completely healed.”

  “It wasn’t a ‘personal invitation,’” I counter. “It was a direct order from our Commander in Chief.”

  “No—you’re wrong,” Jack retorts. “It was yet another one of his flirtatious come-ons to you—”

  “Children, please!” Ryan slams on the brakes so hard that we’re all jerked forward. I bite my lip to keep from yelping when my seatbelt presses against my wound.

  When Ryan is assured that he has our silence, he declares, “Donna, you don’t get to decide who goes on this mission.” Realizing I’m about to protest, he adds, “I’m not through, Agent Craig.” He shifts the rearview mirror so that he can look Jack in the eye. “And you, Agent Craig, have no say in it either.”

  Leaning forward, Jack sputters, “In other words, you’re going to kowtow to POTUS’s whim to get a little eye candy while we’re saving his ass yet again?”

  “I’m certainly going to take it into consideration,” Ryan pro
claims. “But first and foremost comes Donna’s health and wellbeing—”

  “Oh. Well, good then.” Jack grins as he eases back into his seat. “Sorry, Donna, but you heard the Man.”

  Ryan growls, “‘The Man’ hasn’t finished speaking.”

  Jack grimaces, but he keeps his mouth shut.

  “I’ll get an update from Jonah on Donna’s stamina, and from Dr. Friedman on her physical wellbeing,” Ryan continues, “as well as a report from Dr. Bellows on whether he feels Donna has demonstrated PTSD or lapses in her mental capability.”

  Jack shifts his gaze to me. Softly, he says, “Donna, are you going to say anything to Ryan, or should I?”

  I feel myself blushing.

  But before I can tell him myself, Ryan responds, “Jack, if you’re referring to Donna’s visions while she was in a coma, she has already made me aware of them.” He sighs. “Frankly, as spot on as the first one was, I pray she’ll remember more of them.”

  Jack turns to Ryan. “But…that thing about Varick singing her some sort of clue—”

  “Turned out to be true,” Ryan reminds him. “Eric is our suspect.” His eyes shift in my direction. “Right before you walked in, we’d mentioned to POTUS that we have evidence that ties Eric to the hacker who initiated the ransomware: a Bitcoin payment made from a still-active Quorum account.”

  “Ryan, that still doesn’t justify sending Acme on a wild goose chase because of some riddles in Donna’s dream state.”

  “We’d be remiss if something did happen to POTUS and we did nothing to stop it,” I point out.

  “Exactly what ‘vision’ sent you traipsing into Lion’s Lair?” Jack asks.

  “Nola was in it. Her clues were odd, but they do make sense,” I insist.

  “Tell us,” Ryan replies.

  “Okay but…hear me out before you say anything.”