A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [110]
A thin man with graying temples, sharply dressed in a tailored suit, rose from his seat at the table. Griff, hardly a newshound, had never seen photos of any of the Cabinet. He assumed the man, who moved like an athlete and looked patrician bred, was Paul Rappaport. The former governor’s bearing and sharply defined features had Griff trying to recall the exact words to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s song “Fortunate Son.”
“Griffin Rhodes,” Griff said. “My associate, Melvin Forbush.”
Griff took a step forward to shake hands. Two of the agents intervened, blocking his path.
“We’ve got to search you first, sir,” the woman said.
Groaning inwardly, Griff dropped his parka to the floor, and lifted his arms for a pat-down. A second agent swept him with a handheld metal detector. Melvin, who had a dreamy expression that Griff took to mean he was imagining himself in any number of movie pat-down scenes, was subjected to the same treatment.
“All clear,” one agent said to Rappaport.
The secretary then met them in the middle of the room. Griff extended his hand. Rappaport took it for a moment. Griff could see mistrust in the man’s gray eyes.
“I’m not the bad guy here,” Griff said in a near whisper.
“I know what you believe, but I also know your history,” Rappaport said.
“So you know that I was framed.”
The secretary did not smile.
“I know that you were arrested for stealing the virus,” he said. “And I know that you’re the man President Allaire has tasked with saving our government. Makes me think of the fox guarding the henhouse.”
Griff’s expression was one of extreme displeasure. Angie’s heroism and current plight continued to dominate his thoughts, along with his impending escape from the lab to Wichita. In addition, Griff had Sylvia Chen’s human experimentation and his own continued failures with Orion adding to his emotional cocktail. His ability to control his simmering anger was hanging by the strand of a spider’s web.
“Mr. Secretary, what is it you want from me?” he said. “Did you just fly a thousand miles to put me in my place?”
Rappaport’s grin held no mirth.
“Well, what I want, Dr. Rhodes, is to make absolutely certain you are doing what you have promised to do. I am ready to become president if I must, but I’d prefer it not come to that.”
“Pardon my saying so, Mr. Secretary, but to my sense, at least, that statement isn’t exactly oozing sincerity.”
“That’s your interpretation, Rhodes. As secretary of Homeland Security, it’s my sworn duty to protect the president and this country. If that includes monitoring you and your work here, and it does, then that is just what I shall do. If my sworn duty involves taking over for President Allaire, then that is what I will do. But at the moment, all I care about is seeing to it that you do everything in your power to save those poor unfortunates in the Capitol. In that regard, I want to know exactly what you are doing down there in that little hole of yours. Because, let us be honest with each other—”
“Yes, let’s.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“So, I’ve gathered.”
“I have brought with me some folks who will make absolutely certain I can keep a very close eye on you and your activities.”
Rappaport turned and motioned to one of the men seated at the conference table behind them. The man stood slightly taller than Rappaport, and appeared equally as fit. He wore a blue blazer over an oxford shirt. The jacket had a ten-point buck emblazoned on the pocket. Unlike Rappaport, he was interested in shaking Griff’s hand.
“I’m Roger Corum,” he said, “CEO of Staghorn Security Technologies.”
Forbush’s expression suddenly became that of a child viewing a fireworks display.
“Wow! That’s so great,” he said, with his typical enthusiasm, as he gave Corum’s hand a prolonged, vigorous pumping. “I’ve been wanting to get in touch with you guys about some security tape I have from the system you upgraded a couple of years ago. Talk about a lucky break!