The Threat

Dan tried to focus. McKoy and the other detail guys were eyeballing the passing woods. “Well, my opinion—”

“That’s what I want.”

“Shit flows downhill. But so does everything else.”

“Like what?” De Bari was riveted. Again, as if his total attention were on Dan. Once it had been mesmerizing. Now it nauseated him. What had Congressman Freck said about the guy — that he’d never known a human being De Bari really cared about.

“Uh, I don’t know how it is dealing with other organizations. But with the Pentagon, whatever the guys at the top think, that flows downhill too. Everybody takes his cue from them.”

“I figured it was the conscientious-objector thing.”

“That’s just a rag to smear you with,” Dan told him. “The admirals, the generals, used to at least say it didn’t matter to them which party had power. Now they don’t even bother to pretend.” He almost added that was the most ominous trend he’d seen in his years in the service, but didn’t. Spilling his guts to De Bari wasn’t going to change anything. And why should he even try to help him?

The snow was slushy down here out of the wind. Water stood in depressions as they came down off the saddle, making them weave among shining puddles of sky. De Bari panted, “I’m going to keep cutting. If the country wanted to keep a big military, they’d have elected the other guy.”

“They don’t like backing down around the world, sir. Leaving places we’ve been for years.”

De Bari chuffed along frowning. “They think I’m retreating.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Know how I see it?”

“No, Mr. President.”

“We went into those places to keep the Soviets out. Right? Now they’re gone. You wanted me to put troops into Bosnia. But it just ain’t our fight. We’re not all-powerful anymore. Is it better to start moving back, on our own? Or wait till somebody decides to kick us out?”

Dan saw what he was getting at. Like shortening a defensive perimeter. But you could argue just as well that if you had to fight, it was better to do it as far from the homeland as you could. Or that if you abandoned one ally, why should the others trust you? And you could say Bosnia wasn’t America’s business … like Czechoslovakia hadn’t been Britain’s business in 1938.

It was like looking into a hall of mirrors, where you couldn’t see which was a wise choice and which a foolish overstepping. Maybe the historians could, in a hundred years. Or maybe not even then.

“See what I’m sayin’?”

“I do. But I don’t know if you’re right.”

For answer he got a bark of laughter, then wheezing as De Bari made up lost air. “So there’s nothing I can do to get them on my side.”

“They’re never going to like you, Mr. President. To them, you’re the enemy.” He ran a few paces, then added recklessly, “So I guess — you’ve just got to decide where you want to go, and lead the way.”

De Bari gave him an ironic smile. “You find out fast, in this job, you can only lead people where they already want to go.”

“Then get out front, and see if they follow you.”

De Bari didn’t answer. He seemed to be laboring to keep up even this slow pace. Dan shook his head as if flinging flies off. Despite everything, he felt just a little sorry for the guy. He was taking so much flak. The insults and innuendoes, the smears and outright contempt.

But De Bari was just so false. All the bonhomie, the sham compassion he oozed on television with some poor bastard who’d lost his house in a tornado, everything about him

was a lie … even the way he made you like him. It was like fucking a whore. As soon as it was over you hated yourself. Even the policies Dan had once liked he saw now as just what made the guy’s donors — including, no doubt, Tallinger and the Chinese — happy.

Bad Bob was no different from any other politician. Out for themselves and what they could get away with. And Lincoln, Washington, Roosevelt? All just shyster politicians, canonized by a people so starved for heroes they closed their eyes to the fact they had none.

“Aw, shit. Here it comes.”

Dan saw it. The trail branched, one fork leading down into the valley, the other around the mountain again, back toward the hilltop. The sky was clouding, taking on the ominous leaden hue that presaged more snow. The lead runners glanced back, gauging which direction they’d take. Agent McKoy looked at De Bari, then waved: Go left. The long way around, Dan figured. That left two protective agents, Dan, and the president. They shuffled slowly up to the fork.

But instead of making the downhill turn, De Bari shambled to a halt. “I better get back,” he grunted. He bent for a few seconds, hands on knees, coughing. Then straightened, turned right, and started to walk, swinging his arms and wheezing as if he’d run a marathon. Dan figured all told, they’d gone half a mile.

Right then, almost from nowhere, Dan knew he could kill him.