Free Political Suicide by Michael Palmer

Taliban fighter was able to toss a grenade at the fallen U.S. soldiers. Mark immediately fell on the grenade, saving the lives of five men, while sacrificing his own. He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for bravery above and beyond the call of duty.
    “I’m sure things will work out with your children,” Lou said. “Nine years ago, my wife divorced me while I was in rehab from an amphetamine and alcohol addiction. My daughter, Emily, was young then, but not so young that she didn’t understand I had done something very bad. She blamed me completely. But things change. Now she’s thirteen, and the two of us are as close as a parent and child can be. I have her nearly half the time, but just two days ago, she asked about moving in with me.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “She loves her mother as much as she loves me. It’s just a teen thing. I said that if she left matters as is, I’d get us a cat.”
    For the first time since Lou’s arrival, Jeannine Colston managed something of a smile. “Good luck,” she said. She paused, her expression wistful, possibly recalling cats in her family’s past. “Now, then,” she asked finally, “are there any other questions you have? Anything else you want to know about?”
    “Congressman Colston was shot in your garage.”
    “That’s right.”
    “And his study is above the garage.”
    “Right again.”
    “Would you mind if I had a look around there?”
    “As long as you don’t need me to do it. I don’t like being in either place. Besides, I feel a migraine coming on, and the only thing that ever really works at this stage is a nap.”
    “No problem.”
    “The code for both doors is five twenty-nine eighty-two, our wedding date.”
    Lou repeated the number, thanked her, and agreed not to stop back on his way out unless something came up that was important. “I assume the police are done here,” he said.
    “From what I could tell, they were done almost as soon as they started. They knew they had their man, and so did I.”

CHAPTER 10
    Sarah Joyce Cooper was on a partner track, or at least that is what she had been told by the firm’s founder, Grayson Devlin. She was known for her intellect and composure in the courtroom, but when Devlin summoned her to a conference in his office, her nervousness was understandable.
    The conference area, half the size of the one by the library off the main suite, was designed by one of Washington’s most prestigious architectural firms to evoke feelings of regality and power. It was a legal sanctuary, featuring rich mahogany paneling and a floor adorned by one of the most beautiful Oriental carpets Sarah had ever seen. There were leather couches and chairs positioned with a designer’s flair, bookcases filled with impressive legal tomes, and of course, a well-stocked bar. On one wall was a gas fireplace, and before it, an oval mahogany table with seating for eight.
    When Sarah arrived, five of the firm’s seven partners were at the conference table. She had no idea how long the partners had been there, and indeed, it was possible they did not know themselves. There were no windows in Devlin’s private space, and no clocks. As Sarah found out during her first year on the job, the business of the senior partners of Devlin and Rodgers ended each day only when it had to.
    She took her appointed seat and glanced at the papers set out for her, a stack considerably smaller than those in front of the others. She could see they had been reviewing the Gary McHugh case. It seemed a bit early for a strategy meeting of this magnitude, but she felt prepared. Still, she took a sip of lemon water against the raspiness in her throat. There were no prolonged greetings. The firm billed by the minute, and the senior partners’ philosophy was to charge only for time spent serving their clients.
    Grayson Devlin spoke first. A tall and lean silverback with a full head of hair and a love for designer suits, Devlin, even in his