Father Night Read Online Free PDF

you and me.”
    “No, not me.” Crawford stared at lights blinking far in the distance as if they had a message for him. “I was on the periphery.”
    “At the last minute you backed away.”
    The president winced. “I had other obligations. Important ones.” His gray eyes flashed. “That’s why I relied on you. The plan was agreed upon. Three-thirteen deployed Acacia to the Horn of Africa, along with a battalion of Marines, for cover. From there, it completely vanished off every grid known to military and man. Twenty-seven hours later, the Incident occurred, causing a cluster-fuck the likes of which I have never seen before or since.”
    “Which is precisely why it needs to remain buried.”
    “Ancient history has a way of biting even the most vigilant in the ass. If word of the Incident ever got out, I’d be ruined.” The president cleared his throat. “I am thinking more along the lines of incinerated.”
    Carson waited a moment, marshaling his thoughts. “I think that can be arranged.”
    “Whatever is done,” the president said, “I don’t want to know about it.”
    Of course you don’t, Carson thought. This will happen when and if I give the order, not you. “Arlen, I want to be clear. There are risks to taking any action whatsoever.”
    “Deal with them, Henry. Use whatever means. Above all, I want plausible deniability.”
    Carson nodded, disgusted by the other man’s cowardice. On the other hand, if Crawford weren’t such a coward, Carson wouldn’t be able to exploit him as he did. “I’ll take care of it.”
    They had made a full circle and were now back at where the cars were parked.
    President Crawford stuck out his hand. “Henry, good to see you.”
    Carson grasped it briefly. “As always, Arlen.”
    The president nodded to his Secret Service detail, letting them know he was ready to leave. “This conversation never happened.”
    Carson produced a lupine smile. “What conversation?”
    *   *   *
    N ONA H EROE had just come in from the field, where she had been involved in a hostage situation at a stationery store. Before it could get out of hand, she had taken control by entering through the cellar and, coming up behind the perp, disarming him, and taking him into custody. Marching him out the front door, she had announced herself and shoved him over to the uniforms clogging the street. Now, as she strode across the office, she was looking forward to her lunch break so she could visit her brother in the Bethesda Naval Hospital. As often as she went, it never seemed enough.
    “Chief of detectives wants to see you,” one of her Violent Crimes detectives said when he saw her come in. And then he added, as he watched her make her way to her cubicle, “Now, boss.”
    “Uh-huh.” She turned on her heel and went back down outside, crossed the street to the building opposite the one she worked out of, passed through the marble lobby and into a stainless-steel elevator. She punched nine, then had nothing but her reflection to stare at on the ride up. She saw an imposing woman, with a good figure, the fine, slightly exotic features of her paternal grandmother, and skin the color of bittersweet chocolate. She was still on the good side of forty, but looked more like thirty. Then she turned away, snorting in self-derision.
    Exiting, she took a hallway to the end, turned left along another, shorter corridor, and stopped in front of a wood-paneled door. On the wall to the right was a plaque that read: LEONARD BISHOP, CHIEF OF DETECTIVES .
    She rapped once with her knuckles, opened the door, and walked in just as Bishop said, “Enter.”
    He stood up when he saw her, but did not come around from behind his massive oak desk. The walls were hung with decorations, commendations, and photos of Bishop with various politicos from both parties, past and present, including President Arlen Crawford, looking red-cheeked, windblown, and every bit the rangy Texan. There was no picture with his