The Trident Deception Read Online Free PDF Page B

office, wasting no time on pleasantries. He grabbed the remote on Christine’s desk, pointing it at the TV on the wall across the room. A reporter appeared on-screen, umbrella in hand protecting her hair and makeup from the steady drizzle, the spandrels of the Calvert Bridge arching gracefully behind her. “To recap today’s gruesome discovery, the murder victim discovered in Rock Creek Park has been identified as twenty-two-year-old Russell Evans, a White House intern. Police officials have provided few additional details, but we’ll keep you up-to-date as new information is obtained. This is Doreen Cornellier, Channel Nine news.”
    Christine stared at the TV in disbelief. Russell … murdered?
    The TV went black, and Hardison tossed the remote control back onto Christine’s desk. “Leave,” he said to the secretary, who was still clutching the files.
    Christine stood to accept the files. She numbly thanked the older woman, who avoided the chief of staff’s stare as she hurried out of the office.
    “When was the last time you talked with Evans?” Hardison asked.
    She placed the files on her desk, then focused on Hardison’s question. “Friday night. I stopped by his desk on my way out and he said he’d be working late.”
    “What was he working on?”
    “I had him reviewing nuclear weapon policy initiatives we have under development. Why do you ask?”
    Hardison’s eyebrows furrowed. “Call me paranoid, but someone just murdered your intern, and I’d like to convince myself his death was unrelated to his work. That he didn’t piss off a powerful constituent or lobbyist group.”
    “You think his murder was politically motivated?”
    “No, it was probably just a mugging gone wrong. But we’re meeting stiff resistance to some of the legislation we’re pushing forward, and I’d like to know if he was working on anything sensitive.”
    “I don’t think so, Kevin.” Christine glanced at the dark TV. “Do you want me to look into it?”
    “No, I’ll take care of it. Get back to work. Did you approve the intelligence agency restructuring?”
    “No,” Christine replied coolly.
    Hardison approached Christine behind her desk, stopping a foot away, a scowl on his face. The strong scent of his aftershave assailed her. “Why are you here? Why did you take this job?”
    Standing her ground, Christine refused to be intimidated by Hardison’s physical presence. “Because the president asked me to. Because he, unlike you, values dissent, wants to hear the other side of the story and not just the stilted one-sided crap you feed him.”
    The muscles in Hardison’s jaw twitched. “The president has the vision, and I do the heavy lifting. I’ve melded this White House staff into a formidable team, and you refuse to join that team, bucking my policies at every turn.”
    Christine glared up at him. “You mean the president’s policies. Or do you?”
    “Don’t mince words with me, Christine. Either get on board, or get out of the way.”
    Christine pressed her lips together as several inflammatory responses flashed through her mind. Instead, she took a more personal approach. “What happened to you, Kevin? We used to be friends, working together to achieve the same goals.”
    “That was twenty years ago, Christine. I’ve become a realist, while you cling to your idealistic dreams. I achieve results, while you do nothing more than make my job difficult.”
    It was pointless to continue the discussion. She settled into her chair. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”
    “I want your concurrence on the restructuring proposal.”
    Christine smiled. “Don’t hold your breath.”
    Hardison gritted his teeth, then turned and left.
    *   *   *
    Leaning back in her chair, Christine rubbed her temples again with both hands. Maybe Hardison was right. She felt like a salmon swimming upstream, making no headway against the current of well-intentioned, but ultimately damaging, policies being