Free Kodiak Sky (Red Cell Trilogy Book 3) by Stephen W. Frey Page B

“the chief justice could theoretically stop the process on his own.”
    “As we’ve discussed several times,” Baxter confirmed.
    Dorn pointed at the paper in Baxter’s lap. “So having the other original of that Order is essential for us in terms of destroying RC7’s protection.”
    “Yes, sir. Again, as we’ve discussed several times.”
    “You must get it, Stewart. If I have both of them, I don’t have to worry about being impeached. I don’t have to worry about the Supreme Court or anything else, for that matter. I can do whatever I want to Red Cell Seven. I can destroy it and suffer no consequences, because Red Cell Seven would not be able to present it to the court.”
    “Understood, sir.”
    Baxter stared steadily at David Dorn from his chair, which was directly in front of the great desk. The press had begun calling Dorn the “presidential floor model” because of his dark good looks, intense natural charisma, and the way he’d calmly and efficiently handled the Holiday Mall Attacks.
    It was ironic, Baxter thought to himself as he marveled at the description’s accuracy. Bill Jensen had come up with the flattering nickname, but now Bill was an enemy—if he was still alive. The special detail of men Baxter had assigned to pick up Bill’s trail had failed to find anything. Baxter’s men had even tailed Jack and Troy a few times to see if they were secretly helping their father. But those surveillances had turned up nothing.
    “How did you get that original?” President Dorn asked, pointing again at the paper in Baxter’s lap.
    “You don’t want to know, sir,” Baxter answered quietly, wondering if Dorn ever taped conversations in the Oval Office the way Nixon had.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “People help me, sir.”
    The president leaned forward over the desk. “I’m not recording this, Stewart.”
    Damn, he was good. “Of course you aren’t.”
    “Did you get it from Roger Carlson’s townhouse in Georgetown?” Dorn asked directly.
    Roger Carlson had founded Red Cell Seven in the early 1970s on direct orders from President Nixon. Carlson had died last autumn under suspicious circumstances.
    “Yes, sir, we did.”
    The president slowly raised one eyebrow. “Did getting that document have anything to do with Roger’s wife being found dead in the Potomac River a few miles south of here? Did Nancy get in the way of the townhouse search for that document? Did your people have to take extreme measures to deal with that situation?”
    Baxter stared stoically across the great desk. “That would be a logical assumption,” he finally answered. “I don’t want to upset you, sir,” he added quickly. “I don’t want you to—”
    “I’m not upset at all,” Dorn interrupted calmly, leaning back.
    Dorn never failed to surprise. It was one of the most compelling aspects of working for the man. Baxter took a deep breath. Dorn might not take this next piece of news quite as well.
    “I need to inform you,” Baxter spoke up reluctantly, “that it would appear Red Cell Seven still controls the other original, the second original of this Executive Order.” He tapped the piece of paper again.
    Dorn leaned forward, put his elbows on the desk, and clasped his hands together. “Where is Shane Maddux? What happened with him?”
    Baxter glanced past the president at the large window that overlooked the Rose Garden, which was hidden by darkness. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve tried contacting him several times, most recently this morning. But I haven’t heard back.”
    “Maddux is your friend.”
    “My acquaintance.”
    “You get my point.”
    “He turned on me.”
    “He stayed true to Red Cell Seven.”
    “You may be right,” Baxter admitted grudgingly.
    “I am right. I called that one from the start.”
    Back in December, Shane Maddux had secretly approached Baxter to strike a deal. In exchange for immunity from being investigated in any way for his involvement in the Los Angeles