“Whatever happened, Secretary Abbott is royally pissed. If the interview was as tame as it sounds, then why would Abbott complain to his mother about Davis?”

“The short version is that Day Abbott wants to marry Perry Black and he’s very jealous of Davis, and he’s not above asking his mother to hurt him.”

“I don’t suppose Davis—no, I’m not going there. If this guy is jealous of Davis, that kind of bad blood won’t go away.” Savich heard his boss curse under his breath. “You know, he couldn’t have picked a better way to hurt Davis’s career. If there’s a formal inquiry from State alleging he behaved unprofessionally, let his personal feelings get in the way, we’ll have to pull him off the case, put him through a review process that will stay on his record. I really don’t want this to happen. Take care of it, Savich, get things smoothed out, all right?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll deal with it. About Davis—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore. The secretary of state wants to see you and Davis in her office in, ah, thirty-two minutes. You want me along to run interference?”

“No, sir, but I think I’ll take Sherlock with us. She might help cool the secretary down a bit. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“You know what?” Maitland said. “If my mom were the secretary of state, I’d call her, too.”

Secretary of State’s office
Harry Truman Building
Washington, D.C.

Thirty-one minutes later, Savich, Sherlock, and Davis finished clearing three different security checks, all fast, efficient, but not as polite as the White House. Davis was nervous, he admitted it to himself, as they moved step by step toward the seat of power, toward the woman who could ruin his career in the FBI. Savich had told him not to worry too much, to act properly deferential, and leave most of the talking to him.

They were shown into the richly paneled office of the secretary of state. Arliss Abbott was standing behind her desk when they entered, her arms crossed over her gray Armani-suited chest. She said nothing at all until the three of them were standing directly in front of her desk, like disruptive schoolkids in front of a headmaster to be disciplined. Behind her impressive desk was a wall of solid built-in wooden bookcases filled to overflowing with books and knickknacks, probably gifts from world leaders, and a dozen shining photographic moments with various heads of state. It wasn’t an overly large office, small enough to be fitting for a servant of the people, but still, it announced power, tradition, and a big fist.

An older aristocrat of a man stood at her left. He had a long face, razor-sharp cheekbones, a thin nose, and boasted a beautiful salt-and-pepper mustache above his seamed lips, perfectly matching his styled hair. He gave off the subliminal I’m smarter than you, richer than you, more important than you. He didn’t smile at them. He did not move from where he stood, merely nodded and introduced himself as Bernard Pearson Franklyn.

A much younger man, about Davis’s age, stood behind him, obviously his subordinate in billable hours, judging by where he stood. He looked dramatic, no other way to put it, with his dark, liquid eyes and glossy black hair a bit on the long side. He wore a black turtleneck beneath a black blazer. He was a sharp package, the perfect distraction, Davis thought, for a living and breathing jury. He continued to smile when he introduced himself. Sasha Powers, and what kind of name was that? Davis wondered. Like his boss, Sasha did not offer to shake hands. These two were an impressive duo.

Arliss Abbott nodded to them, only a whisper of a smile on her face and none in her voice. “You’re prompt, gentlemen. And who is this?”

Sherlock pulled out her creds and handed them to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame Secretary. I’m Agent Sherlock, FBI.”

Arliss Abbott looked at Davis and held out her hand even though she knew very well who he was. Savich got his creds out, but she waved his away. “I know exactly who you are, Agent Savich.”

She studied them, and looked at Sherlock. “And why are you here, Agent Sherlock?”

To protect them. She said, “Agent Savich believed I could be useful.”

Arliss raised a brow. “In what way, Agent Savich?”

“She’s been closely involved, ma’am. Her insights are invaluable.”

Whatever that meant. Sherlock returned Arliss Abbott’s gaze, waiting for her to move on. She had never before been in the presence of the secretary of state, didn’t know what to expect of this woman with her obvious intelligence. She was fascinated to see how she would handle this meeting—like the professional negotiator she was or like a lioness protecting her cub? She looked briefly toward the two lawyers, Franklyn leaning against the secretary’s desk, the theatrical young stallion Sasha Powers with his diamond stud standing behind him at attention.