The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [143]
“You think they gave Ron a choice? The Three had access to the same FBI files we did. They knew his weakness—the child he thought none of us knew about . . .”
“Child? He had a—?”
“I told Lee that would come back to rip us. I told him,” she insists, more angry than ever. “I said it on the campaign—you could tell even back then. When you have a scab like that, someone’s bound to come pick at it.”
I nod, knowing better than to slow her down. “But for Boyle to actually join them—”
“That’s not what I said. I said they approached him. But The Three didn’t understand—with Ron . . . even with his child . . . with all the self-destructive messes he’d made . . . he’d never turn on us. Never. No matter the cost,” she says, looking up. I get the point. She expects the same from me.
“Dr. Manning, I’m sorry—but the way you said it . . . You knew all this back then?”
“Wes, you were there with us. You know what was at stake. With someone like Ron . . . that kind of pressure point to exploit . . . you really think the FBI doesn’t keep an extra eye on him?”
She stabs me with a look that almost knocks me to the ground. “Hold on . . . you’re saying the FBI was watching Boyle? While we were in office?”
“They were trying to keep him safe, Wes. And even then, Lee fought them watching on every front—called Barry and Carl personally,” she says, referring to our old FBI director and national security adviser. “Two days later, they found the deposit. Eleven thousand dollars in a bank account with Ron’s daughter’s name on it. Can you imagine? Using his daughter’s name! They said that was probably The Three’s opening offer. Take the money they slipped into his account, or they’d wreck his life and tell his wife about the child he was hiding on the side.”
As she says the words, I’m the one who needs to lean on the dresser to stand. “But in . . . in the briefing book . . . I never saw anything about that.”
“Every file wasn’t for you, Wes.”
“Still, if The Three were that close, couldn’t you call—?”
“You think we weren’t pulling up the floorboards? At that point, we didn’t even have a name for who we were chasing. We knew they had someone from FBI because they’d clearly accessed Ron’s files. Then when they transferred the money into Ron’s bank account—Secret Service does financial crime—they said the way the money was sent, they were using techniques from inside. And blackmail? That’s CIA bread and butter. We alerted every agency with an acronym and started telling them to look within!”
“I know . . . I just—” I catch myself, always careful to know my place. “Maybe I’m missing something, ma’am, but if you knew Boyle was being pressured into joining The Three, why didn’t you just warn him—or at least tell him that you knew he was being blackmailed?”
Looking down at the handwritten letter, Lenore Manning doesn’t say a word.
“What?” I ask. “He was being blackmailed, right?”
She sits on the hand-painted chest, still silent.
“Is there something I’m not—?”
“We needed to see what he would do,” she finally says, her voice softer than ever.
A sharp chill seizes my spine. “You were testing him.”
“You have to understand, when The Roman got that close—to penetrate our circle like that—it wasn’t about Boyle anymore—we were trying to catch The Three.” Her voice trembles—she’s been holding this in for so long—she’s practically pleading for forgiveness. “It was the FBI’s request. If the myth was real, if a group of dirty agents were truly in contact, this was their chance to catch them all.”
I nod like it makes sense. Ron Boyle was their oldest and dearest friend, but when The Three forced his head toward the mousetrap, the Mannings—the President and First Lady of the United States—still waited to see if he’d take the cheese.
“I know what you’re thinking, Wes, but I swear to you, I was trying to protect Ron. I told them that: Give him time to resign. Make sure to look out for—” She swallows hard, shaking her head over and over and over. I’ve seen the First Lady angry, upset, sad, offended, enraged, distressed, anxious, worried, and even—when she came