“No, sir,” the boy said quietly. He sounded very shaky.
Zeke turned and looked at Danny. He was holding the Glock pistol out in front of him. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded.
“I’m not going to let you get Mama and the girls killed,” Danny said. “Nor me, neither.”
“You holster that weapon and get to a gun port,” Zeke commanded. “We’ve spent two years preparing for this, and we’re not going to screw it up now.”
“You brought this on us,” Danny said, “and you’re not going to stop until we’re all dead.” His voice was stronger, now. “And I’m not going to have it.”
“You’ll do as you’re told, boy, and you’ll do it right now!” Zeke yelled at him.
“No, sir, I won’t,” Danny said, pointing the pistol at Zeke’s head.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Zeke shouted.
“No, sir,” Danny replied, “but you have.” He pulled the trigger.
It was the loudest noise Zeke had ever heard.
Down the mountainside, the FBI agent in charge heard two shots. He picked up a handheld radio. “Shots from the house,” he said. “Everybody hold your positions.” He trained his binoculars on the house and waited. Nothing happened for a good two minutes, then the front door opened, and a teenage boy walked out, his hands in the air, followed by a woman and two girls. “Hold your fire,” the agent said into the radio. He stood up and walked up the hill, motioning a squad of agents to follow him.
He stopped ten feet short of the little group. “Stand still, son, while my people search you,” he said.
The boy and the women were quickly frisked. “Everybody’s clean,” an agent said.
The agent relaxed a little. “Good morning, folks,” he said. “Who are you?”
“My name is Danny Tennant,” the boy said, “and this is my mama and my sisters.”
“Where’s your father, Danny?” the agent asked.
“He’s up in the cupola,” Danny replied, pointing to the top of the house.
“Is he going to give us any trouble?” the agent asked.
“No, sir; he’s dead. I shot him.”
The agent took a quick breath, then motioned to his men. “Take a look inside,” he said, “and be careful.”
Three minutes later they returned. “Tennant’s upstairs,” an agent said. “He’s dead, like the boy said. There’s nobody else in the house.”
The agent took Danny’s arm and walked him toward the front porch. “You want to tell me what happened, son?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” Danny replied, “but it’s gonna take a while.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” the agent said.
Will Lee stood coatless in the bright January sunshine on the steps of the United States Capitol and tried not to shiver in the stiff breeze that snapped at the numerous American flags in his immediate vicinity. Only Kate knew he was wearing his ski underwear.
He had been president for less than sixty seconds, and as he waited for the roar of applause to die, he considered his position. He had a twenty-two-vote majority in the House of Representatives, a result, he knew, of the reaction of voters to the disgraceful Republican conduct of the Clinton impeachment proceedings. He had cleverly reduced the two-vote Republican majority in the Senate to one, by, with George Kiel’s consent, appointing as secretary of state a Republican senator whose home-state Democratic governor had appointed a Democrat to the remainder of his term. Having worked for many years to befriend Senate Republicans, he had no doubt he could swing a couple of their votes when it counted.
He had, after a select committee had recommended her, appointed his wife to the position of Director of Central Intelligence, and he fully expected her to win confirmation by the Senate, on the grounds that she had earned the job by means other than by sleeping with the president. As a result, he reckoned, he had a better-than-even chance of discovering who had really killed Jack Kennedy and if a spaceship had actually crashed at Roswell, New Mexico.
He glanced over his shoulder at Joe Adams, who was beaming broadly at him as he pounded his hands together, and who looked greatly relieved no longer to be president.
He looked at his parents, who had stopped applauding and, instead, had their arms around each other.
He looked at Peter and, finally, at Kate, and he thought that she had never looked happier, when sex was not involved.
All was as right with the world as it would ever again likely be, unless he could, by force of his long experience and personal leadership, make it even better. He was determined to do so.
He looked into the crowd of one hundred thousand inauguration attendees and into the lenses that connected him with a hundred million other of his countrymen.
“My fellow Americans,” he began….
I am happy to hear from readers, but I should warn you that, if you write to me in care of my publishers, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my Web site at
www.stuartwoods.com,
where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is because you are one among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail return address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail me, please do not send attachments, as I
never
open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.
Please do not place me on your mailing list for funny stories, prayers, political diatribes, petitions, or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from friends. Generally speaking, when I get an e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of
Writer’s Market
at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to The Publicity Department, HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, New York 10022.
Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, California 90212-1825.
Those who wish to conduct business of a more literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 598 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10022.
If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my Web site,
www.stuartwoods.com
, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you want a signed copy but can’t attend, phone one of the listed stores and place an order. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his HarperCollins representative or the HarperCollins Publicity Department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my
book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Carolyn Marino at HarperCollins. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of all my published works appears in the front of this book. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two non-fiction books, a good used bookstore or one of the on-line bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.
I want to express my deep gratitude to Gladys Justin Carr, my editor for many books, who is retiring. During our work together she has always been very supportive, and her acute editorial judgment has improved every manuscript I have sent her. I wish her the happiest of retirements. Her assistant, Dierdre O’Brien, who manages a thousand details, also has my sincere thanks.
I would also like to thank Carolyn Marino, who has taken over from Gladys during the production and promotion stages, for her hard work on my behalf.
My agents, Morton Janklow and Anne Sibbald, and all the people at Janklow & Nesbit, continue to labor on my behalf, always with excellent results, and they, as always, have my gratitude.
I want to thank Melody Miller, Deputy Press Secretary to Senator Edward M. Kennedy of Massachusetts, who has always been there to supply the political
background and verisimilitude so necessary for novels like this. I am grateful for her help and her continuing friendship.
My wife, Chris, is always my first reader and most fearless critic, and I thank her for her candor and her love.
Stuart Woods
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of over twenty novels including
Worst Fears Realized, Orchid Beach, Swimming to Catalina, and Dead in the Water.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Praise
Critical Acclaim for Stuart Woods
WORST FEARS REALIZED
“
Worst Fears Realized
is one of his winners, starting fast and picking up speed…. The story is slick, taut, and well-told. It will delight Woods’ many fans.”
Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Excellent…. A fun read for fans of undercover agents who get plenty of action under the covers…. There’s plenty of excitement as Stone and Dino race around New York chasing a killer.”
USA Today
“With sharply drawn characters, a plot that’s satisfying to the last dirty deed, and a story that flows with the effortless grace attained only by a master, this seductive novel will have readers twitching with suspense.”
Library Journal
“Woods…can write smart dialogue and knows how to pace.”
Publishers Weekly
ORCHID BEACH
“An action-packed puzzler.”
People
magazine Page-Turner of the Week
“Smooth and satisfying.”
Publishers Weekly
“Barker—tough and tight-lipped—is fun to watch as she maneuvers among city politicians and wary colleagues, one of whom may be the murderer.”
Entertainment Weekly
“An entertaining suspense story…. Barker is tough when she needs to be, and clever and persistent in following her hunches.”
School Library Journal
SWIMMING TO CATALINA
“This enjoyable, star-dusted plunge into Hollywood’s dark side agreeably melds ’90s glitz with classic noir.”
People
magazine
“Outstanding…. After nearly two dozen books, Woods can still surprise readers, not only with clever plots and characters, but also with his knowledge of everything from aeronautics to yachtsmanship…. A highly entertaining read that’s chock-full of slam-bang action, fast cars, beautiful women, fine wine, and tart, tongue-in-cheek humor.”
Booklist
“A heck of a plot, intrigue and cover-up between the first and last page.”
San Antonio Express News
“A fast-paced thriller…. A tight storyline that never loses focus while barreling to an exciting finale…. Woods…keeps readers interested.”
Rocky Mountain News
UNDER THE LAKE
“Part detective story, part ghost story, part Southern gothic…. It scared the living hell out of me!”
Stephen King
“Keeps you turning page after page.”
Washington Post
“Another gem…. A book to read and get chills fromon even the hottest day!”
San Diego Union
“A marvelous book…. One of the best I’ve read in along, long time.”
Andrew Greeley
“A blockbuster certain to keep you turning the pages long into the night.”
Macon Telegraph and News
“Never a dull moment as the story surges toward its exciting climax.”
Publishers Weekly
DEEP LIE
“One of the most readable espionage novels since
The Hunt for Red October
!”
Atlanta Journal & Constitution
“Vibrating with tension and nonstop action.”
Publishers Weekly
“An amazingly original thriller!”
Richard Condon, author of
Prizzi’s Honor
“Terrific.”
Pat Conroy
“Hooks you fast with a first chapter so chilling it almost clanks cold chains on your spine…. A crackling good story.”
San Francisco Chronicle
“A great idea for an espionage thriller…. I read the thing in one gulp.”
Houston Chronicle