In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) by L.D. Beyer
Authors: L.D. Beyer
Ads: Link
Avenue. The Secret Service investigated them all, dispatching teams of agents from its field offices as the first line of defense.
“Listen, Matthew. This time, he’s also threatened you.”
Richter felt a chill. “He’s still in the hospital, isn’t he?”
Sartori nodded. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I wanted you to know.” She squeezed his arm. “Just be careful. Okay?”
___
With a cup of coffee in hand, the president sat down across from his Chief of Staff. The five days out of the office—time he had spent reconnecting with his family—had helped him put things in perspective. By the time he had returned to the White House, he had made up his mind.
“I’ve made two decisions,” he began. “First, I am going to run for reelection.”
Howell nodded, apparently not surprised.
“But,” he continued, “Rumson is not going to be on the ticket.”
It was clear that Howell had been expecting this too.
“I’m not sure I can trust him anymore.” The president shook his head. “I realize now that I made a mistake.”
“I agree with your decision, sir. But, I’m concerned about how he’s going to react when he finds out.”
“I am too. I’m not sure how to manage that yet. But, for now, I want you and Linda Huff to start developing a list of potential running mates.”
The two men spent several minutes discussing criteria.
Howell closed his notebook and stood to leave, but President Kendall caught his arm.
“This cannot go any further than you and Linda.”
___
The large screen showed a Mexican hacienda, with over a dozen buildings, all surrounded by a fifteen-foot stone wall topped with an electric fence. The main house was four separate buildings arranged in a square around a large stone courtyard shaded by citrus trees. In the middle was a pool, the morning sun shimmering on its surface.
A trellised and vine-covered walkway connected the main house to a covered parking area, the front ends of several Mercedes and Porsches visible in the shade. Behind this were some outbuildings and another parking area—this one uncovered—with a dozen or more cars and trucks. These appeared to belong to the guards and workers.
Half a dozen guards were patrolling the perimeter, while others clustered together, talking and smoking, their automatic weapons casually slung over their shoulders. A few men were sitting in the shade of a jacaranda tree, possibly taking a siesta. In the courtyard, gardeners were trimming bushes and trees, while two men cleaned the pool. To the side, below a pergola, four men sat at a table. A second screen showed three armed men in the shade of the guard booth at the end of the driveway, three hundred yards from the hacienda.
Pat Monahan was amazed at the detail and the clarity of the video feed. A colonel from the National Reconnaissance Office told him that the video was courtesy of one of the NRO’s Lacrosse satellites. According to the colonel, the satellite was capable of capturing high-resolution images of objects the size of a football, all the while orbiting four hundred miles above the earth. The satellite employed highly sophisticated radar-imaging technology and was able to “see” through clouds, through all kinds of weather, and at night. The only drawback was that the satellite flew a geosynchronous orbit and passed over the target area just twice a day. They had been fortunate that the timing of the mission coincided with the satellite pass. Although, that probably wasn’t a coincidence, Monahan realized.
The CIA analyst pointed to the men at the table.
“This is Pedro Aguilar, ‘El Jefe.’ The men with him are his key lieutenants: his brother Jayme Aguilar, his cousin Manuel Hernandez, and Roberto Calzada. Calzada is the enforcer.”
“Do we know who’s inside the buildings?” Monahan was nervous.
The analyst pointed to the largest
“Listen, Matthew. This time, he’s also threatened you.”
Richter felt a chill. “He’s still in the hospital, isn’t he?”
Sartori nodded. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I wanted you to know.” She squeezed his arm. “Just be careful. Okay?”
___
With a cup of coffee in hand, the president sat down across from his Chief of Staff. The five days out of the office—time he had spent reconnecting with his family—had helped him put things in perspective. By the time he had returned to the White House, he had made up his mind.
“I’ve made two decisions,” he began. “First, I am going to run for reelection.”
Howell nodded, apparently not surprised.
“But,” he continued, “Rumson is not going to be on the ticket.”
It was clear that Howell had been expecting this too.
“I’m not sure I can trust him anymore.” The president shook his head. “I realize now that I made a mistake.”
“I agree with your decision, sir. But, I’m concerned about how he’s going to react when he finds out.”
“I am too. I’m not sure how to manage that yet. But, for now, I want you and Linda Huff to start developing a list of potential running mates.”
The two men spent several minutes discussing criteria.
Howell closed his notebook and stood to leave, but President Kendall caught his arm.
“This cannot go any further than you and Linda.”
___
The large screen showed a Mexican hacienda, with over a dozen buildings, all surrounded by a fifteen-foot stone wall topped with an electric fence. The main house was four separate buildings arranged in a square around a large stone courtyard shaded by citrus trees. In the middle was a pool, the morning sun shimmering on its surface.
A trellised and vine-covered walkway connected the main house to a covered parking area, the front ends of several Mercedes and Porsches visible in the shade. Behind this were some outbuildings and another parking area—this one uncovered—with a dozen or more cars and trucks. These appeared to belong to the guards and workers.
Half a dozen guards were patrolling the perimeter, while others clustered together, talking and smoking, their automatic weapons casually slung over their shoulders. A few men were sitting in the shade of a jacaranda tree, possibly taking a siesta. In the courtyard, gardeners were trimming bushes and trees, while two men cleaned the pool. To the side, below a pergola, four men sat at a table. A second screen showed three armed men in the shade of the guard booth at the end of the driveway, three hundred yards from the hacienda.
Pat Monahan was amazed at the detail and the clarity of the video feed. A colonel from the National Reconnaissance Office told him that the video was courtesy of one of the NRO’s Lacrosse satellites. According to the colonel, the satellite was capable of capturing high-resolution images of objects the size of a football, all the while orbiting four hundred miles above the earth. The satellite employed highly sophisticated radar-imaging technology and was able to “see” through clouds, through all kinds of weather, and at night. The only drawback was that the satellite flew a geosynchronous orbit and passed over the target area just twice a day. They had been fortunate that the timing of the mission coincided with the satellite pass. Although, that probably wasn’t a coincidence, Monahan realized.
The CIA analyst pointed to the men at the table.
“This is Pedro Aguilar, ‘El Jefe.’ The men with him are his key lieutenants: his brother Jayme Aguilar, his cousin Manuel Hernandez, and Roberto Calzada. Calzada is the enforcer.”
“Do we know who’s inside the buildings?” Monahan was nervous.
The analyst pointed to the largest
Similar Books
