Free A Touch of Malice by Gary Ponzo

the real problem here, Sam? I’m making a diplomatic visit to a South American country with a democratically voted president.”
    Fisk pursed his lips. “I’m telling you, Santoro is psychotic. You have no idea how dangerous he is.”
    “Sam, I’m flying with a plane full of Marines. They’ll be securing the area before I ever step foot outside of Air Force One.”
    “You don’t understand—”
    “I understand better than you think. The press already knows about Trent. When a US president goes to a country like Colombia, the media follows. They will be scattering like termites, looking for a story. We can use that type of scrutiny down there. Santoro’s presidency has never been studied with the sort of searchlight focus a hungry press corps will bring. We can use that type of examination. They may uncover things we can’t.”
    Fisk rubbed the side of his face. “That’s it? That’s what you’ll be doing, bringing a trail of reporters to uncover the story? Find out what happened?”
    “Of course, Sam,” Merrick slapped the side of Fisk’s shoulder. “What, you thought I was going to personally lead a search party through the Amazon?”
    “No,” Fisk said. “I thought you were going to arrange a meeting with Pablo Moreno. Maybe do some negotiating face to face?”
    If Merrick had those thoughts he gave nothing away, but Fisk had known him too long. Merrick wouldn’t let this go without a fight.
    “I offered fifty million dollars to keep him alive until I get there,” Merrick said, bluntly and without apology.
    There it was, Fisk thought. The can of worms had officially been opened.
    “Daddy!” came an urgent scream from the sitting room.
    Merrick flung open the door and ran to Emily, who was standing in front of the couch and pointing to the muted TV.
    “It’s Uncle Trent!” Emily shouted. “He’s missing, Daddy.”
    There stood a CNN reporter in front of the capital building in Bogota. The words, “President’s Brother Missing,” highlighted in bold at the bottom of the screen.
    Merrick draped his arms around his daughter and pulled her close. “It’s okay, sweetie. Daddy’s going to find him and bring him home.”
    Great, Fisk thought. Among all the other crap he had to negotiate as secretary of state, he’d become advisor to the Indiana Jones of presidents as well.
    * * *
    President Santoro examined the man sitting in his office with a sense of admiration. Dr. Mark Grennan was a slim man with a trim mustache and a medical degree from Yale School of Medicine. He also received a PhD in Psychology there as well.
    Santoro sat behind his large desk and smiled affably as the psychologist scribbled notes in a legal pad placed in his lap. They’d been talking for over an hour and the man must’ve written enough pages to fill a book.
    “So, Dr. Grennan,” Santoro raised his eyebrows. “Do you think I am disturbed?”
    Dr. Grennan looked up at Santoro suspiciously, as if his answer was being measured somehow. “Of course not, Mr. President,” Dr. Grennan said, suddenly losing interest in his book full of notes. “You are simply operating under extreme pressure and you use the dolls as a form of transference.”
    “Transference?”
    “Yes. You must understand, Mr. President, the main characteristic these dolls have in common is that they can’t speak. Therefore they can’t disagree with you. They are simply inanimate objects so they can’t criticize your actions. Deep down you crave acceptance. This experience you had in the Amazon with this young businessman, you were simply looking for him to approve of you. You see, every day you make decisions which half the people agree with. No matter how hard you try, the other half are going to disagree with you. This is a hard principle for any leader to have to face. These dolls simply help you cope with the barrage of noise aimed at your position in the country.”
    Santoro sat there, hands clasped, index fingers tapping together under his