Page 59 of Filthy Liar

I excuse myself and head for the exit. The long way, of course, taking me as close to the Oval Office as visitors can get, which isn’t that close, but is close enough that when the notoriously antsy POTUS roams through the halls, I manage to get in front of him.

This was not exactly my plan A. But it will certainly do as a plan B.

“Nice to see you again, sir.” The words should stick in my throat like the disingenuous bullshit they are, but they come out smooth as silk. I’m good at this.

Best eyes me up, gives me the once over, and I know exactly what he’s thinking, because we have met before. Not that he’ll admit it.

“Remind me of your name, young man.”

I have met the President of the United States of America at least twice before, and this conversation goes exactly the same way each time. “Jason Evans, sir. Former special warfare operator. You were a great help at our fundraiser in Vegas.”

I’ve never attended a fundraiser with him, but that’s not really the point.

“A Navy SEAL.” He grins, and it doesn’t reach his eye. “I like what you guys do. You go after the high-value targets. We could use you here. Do you want to be the new Secretary of Defense?”

He laughs. I laugh. It’s a joke, but it’s not funny. “Thank you, sir, but I like where I’m at right now.”

“What brings you to the White House?”

“Having lunch with an old friend on the NSC.” He doesn’t register the acronym, so I spell it out. “National Security Council. I heard a rumor about the new intelligence report—unclassified, of course.”

“Yes, right. The new report. Very serious.”

“You’re being briefed on it next.”

“I’m looking forward to that.” He pauses. Hook, line, sinker. “Do you want to sit in on that briefing?”

“I don’t have the clearance, sir.”

“Round here, I make the clearance rules.”

That’s not even remotely true. I grin. “Excellent.”

The Lieutenant-Colonel givesme a murderous look as she tries in vain to explain the legal agreement between the Five Eyes Alliance to a Commander-in-Chief who does not give a shit and has realized, belatedly, that he does not want this intelligence briefing that he convinced his Chief of Staff he did actually want.

I see how I’ve made this difficult for her, but it is her job, after all.

“Sir, the United States is bound by the UKUSA Agreement. It’s a joint—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what agreements my predecessors signed. I didn’t agree to that, and it sounds like horseshit. You want me to believe that New Fucking Zealand and the frozen wasteland that is Canada have better intelligence than the United States of America? Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

“At the analyst level, our intelligence assessment concurs with their reports.”

“But we do have our own, independent data? Anything at all, not provided by those socialist yahoos, to believe that American business giants should be charged in an international court?” The President shakes his head. “Not on my fucking watch. We don’t allow Americans to be tried for war crimes, we certainly aren’t going to allow them to be tried for financial crimes by countries who don’t understand our way of life.”

It’s his stump speech, I realize. He’s memorized these lines, and they happen to sort of fit this situation, but it’s not actually engaging with the question at hand.

“I have said it before, and I will say it again. The United States of America is not under attack. We have the best military and intelligence communities in the world, the best ever, and we are all very safe. Right, guys? That’s what I’ve said, and that’s what the intelligence reports should say, too.”

Because he genuinely believes that his fantasies of how the world works is slick analysis.

Jesus Fuck, I can’t stand here silent a minute longer. “Excuse me,” I interrupt. “Sir, if you don’t listen to your intelligence officers, you will wake up very soon to a rude surprise. An international court level of surprise. You don’t want that problem. You can act now and investigate Mack Evans, Amelia Dashford Reid, and Gerome Lively—”

“Two of those people are dead, and that’s a real shame, I gotta tell you. I don’t know what your beef is with Mack, but he’s a good guy. I’m having lunch with him this afternoon, in fact.” POTUS narrows his eyes at me. “Who let you in here, anyway?”

“You did, sir.” The final three words I got to say in the Oval Office before being escorted off the property by the Secret Service.

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