Drone

“She probably heard you were a good tipper.”

Early pulled a cell phone out of his shirt pocket and set it in front of Pearce.

“I’ve already got a phone. But thanks.”

“Not with that number on it. Pick it up and call her.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Pearce frowned. “She’s on East Coast time, you know.”

“She’s at work. Call her. Tell her she’s a liar and I’ll go away. We never met. I won’t bother you again, and neither will she.” Early stabbed his fork into a chunk of roasted rosemary potato glistening with olive oil.

Pearce picked up the phone. Leaned back in the booth. Thought about it for a few seconds, then punched the call button. It rang twice.

“Hello, Mr. Pearce,” Myers answered.

Pearce shot a curious glance at Early. Is this a joke?

Early grinned. No, it’s not.

“Mike asked me to call you,” Pearce said.

“That means you turned down his offer. I’m sorry to hear that. He’s a big fan of yours.”

“Mikey’s always been a cheerleader for lost causes. Including yours, I’m afraid.”

“He told you about the situation?”

“I turned him down before we got that far.”

“I actually prefer doing business face-to-face. If it’s at all possible, I’d like to meet with you later today and put all of my cards on the table. You can fly back with Mike.”

“It’s going to be a very short meeting, ma’am, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“If you can spare the time, I’d be grateful.” Myers clicked off.

Pearce stared at the phone in his hand for a long time. Old habits die hard. How do you say no to the president?

“She’s a pistol, ain’t she?” Early smiled.

Pearce slid out of the booth as Early took another bite of food.

“What’s the verdict, chief?” Early asked.

Pearce grabbed his ranch coat and stood up.

“I’ve got a boat needs refinishing this afternoon. So if we’re going to do this, let’s go.”

Pearce pulled on his coat.

Early dropped his fork and leaped up.

“Give me your wallet,” Pearce demanded.

“What for?”

Pearce motioned impatiently with his hand.

Early handed Pearce his wallet. Pearce fished out a hundred-dollar bill and tossed it on the table.

“What are you doing?” Early asked.

“She’s got a kid. And you were never a good tipper.”

Pearce tossed Early’s wallet back at him, turned, and marched toward the door.

The White House, Washington, D.C.

It was just after seven in the morning when Early and Pearce arrived at the private VIP entrance to the West Wing.

Early and Pearce checked their weapons with the duty officer behind the security desk, a striking Haitian-American woman with luminous green eyes.

Early placed the palm of his right hand on the security scanner.

“What? No smile today?” Early asked.

“Sorry, Mr. Early. Everybody’s jittery. Someone called in another bomb threat an hour ago. That’s the third this week.”

“Just another crank. Won’t amount to anything,” Early assured her.

“Hope you’re right.”

A few moments later, Early’s personnel page pulled up on the security monitor. It included his latest headshot, a short bio, his job title and security status. The guard nodded him through to the unmarked door behind her.

“Thanks, Simone. Take it easy.” Early strode through the checkpoint.

Pearce didn’t budge.

“You coming?” Early asked.

“You need to wave me through.”

“He can’t. We have a strict security protocol,” Simone said.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Pearce said to Early.

Another security agent stood close by. A big slab of meat in a crew cut wearing a name tag that read HANK. He shifted his weight, his thick body visibly tensing.

“The president’s waiting,” Early said.

“Sir, you have to place your hand on the scanner,” Hank said. His cold, gray eyes weren’t asking.

Pearce looked him up and down with a smirk, then turned back to Simone. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He stepped over to the glass and put his hand on the scanner.

Simone flashed a dazzling smile. “Thank you, sir. I promise this will only take a second.”

Pearce left his hand on the scanner but glanced over his shoulder at Hank, who was still eyeing him.

Simone frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. Something’s wrong. Mr. Early’s file pulled up again. Would you mind removing your hand for a second?”

“Sure thing.” Pearce smiled.

Simone tapped a few keys to relaunch the program. When it pulled back up, she said, “Please put your hand back on the scanner.”

Pearce put his hand back on the glass screen.

Vice President Greyhill’s file pulled up.

“I don’t understand,” Simone whispered to herself. “You’re not the vice president.”

“Maybe I’m wearing a disguise,” Pearce offered.

“What’s the matter?” Hank asked Simone.

“A glitch. Let me try something.” Simone turned to Pearce. “I’m sorry, but this will take a few moments.”

“We’re already late, Simone,” Early said.

“The president will have to wait a little longer, sir,” Hank said. He glared at Pearce. “You need to step back.”

Pearce smirked. “I’m fine right here.”

Hank took a step toward Pearce.

“Oh, Jesus,” Early whispered. He knew Pearce wouldn’t back down. But Simone saved the day.