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he
couldn’t be bullshitted.
    While the President paced the carpet behind
one of the two couches facing each other in the Oval Office, I
gathered my thoughts so I could fill him in on Mission Green
Freedom.
    “From what I’ve read,” I began, figuring
that, at least, I was telling the truth, “Mission Green Freedom is
a new super PAC.”
    I had read about Mission Green Freedom. As I
always do, I read everything I can get my hands on from all
sources. Knowledge is the best protection. But I knew even more
from my personal connection.
    “You know more than you’ve read about,
right?” President Ruvama asked, looking right into my eyes, making
it clear he already knew the answer to his question.
    “Yes, that would be correct, Sir. Mission
Green Freedom is funded by friends of my family,” I said, then
cleared my throat.
    This was going be a tenuous line to walk, but
I was more than prepared to do what I needed to do to keep The
President safe and back in The Oval Office for a second term.
    President Ruvama stopped pacing for a moment
and relaxed his shoulders. I’m sure he was thinking as I had at
first. We were pretty good at reasoning things out in a similar
manner.
    “Well, at least it’s friendly money this
time. I suppose that’s a positive start, right?”
    “We could start there. Sure, Mr. President.
And since I’m not privy to your campaign conversations, we
shouldn’t have any trouble with the coordination rules at all
between the super PAC and your campaign officials.”
    The President laughed, which I suppose was
appropriate, given our conversation’s turn to coordination
rules.
    “Like there really are coordination rules
that any of us understand or are actually being enforced when it
comes to these super PACS. The Supreme Court didn’t help us much
there.”
    Not feeling it was my role to entertain The
President with my thoughts and concerns when it came to
coordination rules that simply didn’t exist and never would, I
didn’t say anything. I was there to protect him. Period. Well, as
far as he was concerned.
    Little did he know, and hopefully he’d never
have to know, that my protection went way beyond my Secret Service
duties. If it weren’t for me and my family and friends, he’d no
longer be the President of the United States.
    “Well, it’s getting late. So, I guess that
will be all for now. I’m sure you have a great deal yet to do for
next week’s convention.”
    “That I do, Sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be
heading to my office. Your usual team is right outside the door.
But don’t hesitate if you need my direct assistance.”
    With our meeting over, I left the President’s
company and went to my office, which sat directly beneath the
President’s.
    As I made my way to the intelligence
headquarters underneath The White House, warring thoughts juggled
for supremacy in my head. The President was smart. Very, very
smart. But how had he so easily latched onto the fact that Mission
Green Freedom was about to be a Bernini-funded super PAC? I needed
to get in touch with my brother and Uncle Cliff, but I couldn’t do
it till I got home. I certainly couldn’t talk about it from The
White House.
    I had a strong hunch that the SEC’s
whistle-blower program wasn’t as sound as they claimed it was.
Roman and Uncle Cliff had to be warned.
    In the meantime, The President was right, I
also had a bunch of stuff to line up for next week’s Democratic
National Convention, including taking a look at the reports I’d
requested from the FBI that were finally finished.
    Hopefully, those reports would shed some
light on just how much danger my brother and uncle were in.

CHAPTER NINE
     
     
     
     
    T here’s simply no
such thing as a firewall between a super PAC and a politician. Just
like there’s no impenetrable barrier between Governor Crumley’s
wealth and the coffee, casino and foreign countries whose death
squads, along with my help and expertise, have made him one of