Free Day Zero by Marc Cameron Page B

stare, then half turned in his seat, distancing himself.
    “I know he had a pretty large network of agents working for him,” he said. “Half the time, they did little but get in the way of my people.”
    “Right,” Drake said. “And we know at least one member of that network tried to kill me in Las Vegas.” He steepled his fingers under his chin, something McKeon had never seen him do until he’d become president. It looked asinine when someone like Drake did it, like he was trying to shoot himself under the chin—which, McKeon couldn’t help but think, was not an entirely bad idea.
    “We believe that to be correct,” Bodington said, smugly like one child telling on another to his teacher. “Facial recognition from the Vegas security videos shows it was Jericho Quinn, an agent with Air Force OSI. He’s also wanted for the brutal murder of a Fairfax County police officer. He ran with a big Marine named Thibeau or something.”
    “Thibodaux,” McKeon interjected. “Your report says Jacques Thibodaux.”
    “Right.” Bodington turned to Virginia Ross. “And some Mexican girl from your shop.”
    “She’s from Cuba.” Ross nodded. “I can’t speak for Quinn or the Marine, but Veronica Garcia is a good one. I wasn’t certain at first, but her heroism saved a lot of lives last year during the shooting at Langley.”
    Bodington steered the conversation back to Palmer.
    “He had quite a few working for him that we wouldn’t know about, but it seemed to me he was grabbing people from other agencies and repurposing them for his missions. No doubt without any oversight from Congress. I’ve seen him with agents from the Secret Service, a couple besides Quinn from Air Force OSI, and several CIA types.”
    “But no one from the FBI?”
    “Thankfully, no, Mr. President.” Bodington nodded. “My agents have more sense than that.”
    Virginia Ross cleared her throat. “I have to say, Mr. President.” She shook her head as if to try to hold back some comment that she couldn’t quite contain. “I’ve already stated my opinion regarding Garcia. Though I have observed Winfield Palmer to be a steamroller with his programs—and often arrogant to the extreme—I have never known him to be anything less than a patriot. To think that he might be behind these attacks is, in my opinion, unthinkable.” She scooted forward to the edge of her seat and leaned in toward the Resolute Desk. “Mr. President, I would suggest a small task force, perhaps some of my agents, and some from Kurt’s shop. I am not privy to all the details regarding the shooting of the poor Fairfax County officer, but I am aware that it’s not a forgone conclusion Agent Quinn is the shooter. There seem to be numerous mitigating—”
    “We’re not holding court here,” McKeon cut her off. “I’m sure that, as with most issues, there are multiple layers to everything that has happened over the last few months. But what we must not forget is that there are yet moles within the government and it is imperative to the President that we root them out immediately.”
    “Thank you, Lee,” Drake said, almost dismissively. McKeon would have to talk to him about that. “I’d like each of you prepare a list of everyone you’ve ever seen with Winfield Palmer.” He raised an eyebrow at Virginia Ross. “And I’m not interested in your opinions. I just want names.”
     
     
    “That bitch has flown straight off the reservation,” Drake said after the two directors had gone. “I thought she was one we could trust to toe the line—if only out of self-preservation.”
    “As did I.” McKeon nodded. “But that does not appear to be the case. We should start thinking about a suitable replacement.”
    The Japanese woman stood stoically at her post along the wall.
    “She seemed like such an empty suit,” Drake went on. “What do you think prompted her little show of team spirit for Palmer?”
    “Integrity, I’d imagine,” McKeon