Free The Mark of the Assassin by Daniel Silva Page A

sensing Elliott's discomfort, allowed a smile to flicker
    across his face. Beckwith glared, first at his chief of staff, then at
    Elliott. "All right, gentlemen," he said. "Suppose you tell me what this
    is all about."
    Elliott said, "Mr. President, I want to help you win reelection-for the
    good of this marvelous country of ours and for the good of the American
    people. And I believe I know how to do it."
    The President raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Let's hear it,
    Mitchell."
    "In a moment, Mr. President," Elliott said. "First, I think a brief
    prayer to the Almighty is in order."
    Mitchell Elliott rose from his seat, dropped to his knees in the Oval
    Office, and began to pray.
    "DO YOU THINK he'll go through with it, Paul?"
    "Hard to say. He wants to sleep on it. That's a good sign."
    During the short trip from the White House they had chatted briefly or
    said nothing at all. Neither man liked to talk in enclosed places,
    including moving government cars. Now they walked side by side up the
    gentle grade of California Street past the grand, brightly lit mansions
    of Kalorama. A wet wind moved in the trees. Leaves of ruby and gold
    tumbled gently through the pale yellow lamplight. The night was quiet
    except for the wind and the soggy grumble of traffic along Massachusetts
    Avenue. The car pulled ahead and parked outside Elliott's house, engine
    dead, lights off. Elliott's bodyguard drifted a few paces behind them,
    out of earshot. Elliott said, "His mood is worse than I've ever seen
    it."
    "He's tired."
    "Even if he decides to go forward, I hope he has the energy and passion
    to make the case to the voters and the Congress."
    "He's the best performer to sit in that office since Ronald Reagan. If
    we give him a good script, he'll deliver his lines and hit his toe
    marks."
    "Just make damned sure you give him a good script."
    "I've already commissioned the speech."
    "Jesus Christ. Then I'm sure we'll be reading about it in the Post in
    the morning."
    "I've got my best speechwriter working on the drafts. She's doing it at
    home. Nothing on the White House computer system, where snoopers and
    leakers might get their hands on it."
    "Very good, Paul. I'm relieved to know your tradecraft is as sharp as
    ever."
    Vandenberg made no reply. A car passed them, a small Toyota. It turned
    left on 23rd Street. The taillights vanished into the darkness. The wind
    gusted. Vandenberg turned up the collar of his raincoat. "That was quite
    a presentation you made, Mitchell. The President was clearly moved.
    He'll wake up in the morning and see the wisdom of your approach, I'm
    sure. I'll contact the networks and arrange live coverage of a
    presidential address from the Oval Office."
    "Will the networks go for it?"
    "Of course. They've grumbled in the past, when they think we're using
    the privilege of an Oval Office speech for overtly political purposes.
    But no one can reasonably make that case at a time like this. Besides,
    your little initiative is going to be the second item of business. The
    first item will be an announcement that the United States military has
    just carried out a devastating attack on the Sword of Gaza and its
    sponsors. I doubt even the network presidents would be arrogant enough
    to deny Beckwith live coverage at a time like this."
    "I would have thought someone with your track record would never
    underestimate the arrogance of the media, Paul."
    "They say I'm the power behind the throne. I get blamed when things go
    wrong, but I get the credit when they go right."
    "I suggest you make damned sure that this one goes right."
    "I will. Don't worry."
    "What can I do to help?"
    "Leave town as quickly and as quietly as possible."
    "I'm afraid I can't."
    "Jesus Christ, I asked you to keep a low profile."
    "Just a small dinner party tomorrow night. Braxton, a few of his senior
    partners, and a senator whose ass I need to kiss."
    "Add me to the list."
    "I would have thought you'd be busy, Paul."
    "The speech will run