Free Vatican Knights by Rick Jones

should this blow up in your face.”
    President Burroughs raked the vice
president with a fierce eye. “She stays, Jonas.”
    The vice president was becoming
ill-tempered, his face becoming ruddy. He was not used to losing ground in an
argument. “Jim, we’re never going to find him. And do you want to know why? It
would be like looking for a needle in a haystack the size of Manhattan.”
    He then stood back, found his
calm, and spoke in a much gentler tone.
    “Look, Jim, this is politics. And
we both know that we need to cover our bases on this one. As much as I feel
sorry for the pope, and as much as I would love to find him, we can’t let our
emotions cloud our judgment. The reality is that the probability of finding him
is zero to none.”
    The president’s eyes settled on
Bohlmer, his demeanor stern and unrelenting, but his voice remaining calm. “I
know this is politics,” he said. “But it’s better politics if we put in the
best there is and make a concerted effort to find him.”
    The vice president looked
incredulous. “I don’t get it,” he said. “The picture is right in front of you,
yet you continue to put us and the rest of this administration in jeopardy
because of her.”
    The president remained silent.
    “If I didn’t know better, Jim, I
would swear you want this to happen. That you want the media to know—”
    “That’s enough, Jonas.” The
president held up his hand, knowing what Bohlmer was about to say. “I’m not
going to argue this point with you any longer. I have based my decision on our
government’s potential to find the pope and bring him back alive. If you’re
afraid that my decision will determine what the Soldiers of Islam will do to
undermine this administration, then deal with it. Once again, your input is
appreciated and duly noted.”
    Bohlmer took a step back, his jaw
tight. “All right,” he said. “But you’ll have to live with your decision, Jim.
When they kill him, and they will, I hope you can stand on your own two feet. I
tried to reason with you.”
    “I’ll stand alone on this if I
have to.”
    “I just wanted to let you know
where I stood.”
    The president nodded his head.
“Noted.”
    After Bohlmer left, the president
wondered how much of a gamble he was taking by leaving Cohen in the lineup. He
hated to admit it, but there was merit in what the vice president said.
    With the ache in his temples
sharpening into a stabbing bout of pain, the president leaned forward in his
chair and placed his face within his cupped hands, wondering how the game of
politics was going to play out.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Washington, D.C.
    September 23, Early Afternoon
     
    Shari
Cohen’s greatest achievement in life was graduating cum laude from
Georgetown University; a strong second was being selected as class speaker and
representative for the highly touted group of scholars making their way into
the real world. Although many graduated as physicians, attorneys, and business
prodigies, Shari’s proficiency was in International Studies and Strategic
Counterterrorism. Upon graduation, she was actively recruited by the NSA, the CIA and the FBI.
    She started in the FBI, like most
agents, tarrying around the bottom rung until she was able to prove herself.
But with perseverance and determination, she rose steadily through the ranks
until 9/11, when her knowledge and skills immediately triggered a meteoric
rise. Now, as head of the Bureau’s Hostage Rescue Team, she had served as lead
in dozens of scenarios in which her tactical negotiations and innovative
thinking had saved numerous lives. In time, her strategic methods would become
departmental protocol, helping the Bureau keep pace with evolving ideologies,
especially when dealing with the Middle East.
    In the living room of her
brownstone, as Shari picked up her daughter’s books that were scattered across
the living room floor, CNN was reporting on the death of Maryland’s First Lady,
Darlene