The Third Coincidence Read Online Free

meeting had been resolved.
    “What are the Israelis saying, sir?”
    “Spoke to their prime minister this morning. The Mossad has nothing. Like I said, we’ll play it domestically and keep an open mind.”
    “What about the task force itself?” Jack asked. “Who? How many? Whom do I report to?”
    “You pick the size, subject to future events, the staffing I’ll leave in your hands. You know the best people better than I, and whenever this office gets involved in staffing, politics end up dirtying the
    the third coincidence 21

    water.”
    “There’s a civilian I’ll want on the team.” “You will be responsible for him.”
    “I accept that, sir.”
    “I’m going to run this through the White House, so there’s some political realities. It’ll need to be a multiagency task force. You’ll need to include at least one person from the FBI and Defense. You’re the CIA’s only involvement. FBI Director Hampton has re- quested someone specific, an Agent Rachel Johnstone—her file sug- gests you may have met her.”
    Jack pictured Rachel’s face, her jet black hair and eyes the shade of washed blue denim. He had forgotten a lot of women he had known since, but would never forget Rachel. She had been a bit ag- gressive in letting him know she was available, but then he had been a bit stuffy in those days about protocol.
    “We met some years ago, sir. Ms. Johnstone was with naval in- telligence. She helped on an assignment I did for the Defense Department. She’s tireless and a solid thinker. If Director Hampton suggested she be put in charge, she must have developed into a fine agent. That doesn’t surprise me. I’ll take a look at her file and con- sider making her second in command. That’ll strengthen the CIA- FBI coordination. From Defense, I’ll want Colin Stewart.”
    The president furrowed his brow. “I know that name.”
    “The Kuwaiti Embassy. Colin sat with us while we structured the contingency plan for the possible evacuation.”
    “Oh, yes, I remember. When my wife saw him, she said that he had cheekbones sharp enough to cut cold butter. It was an odd thing for her to say.”
    “The ladies say he’s ruggedly handsome.” Jack shrugged. “Go figure.”
    “You asked about authority. You take orders only from me. But, please, do your level best to avoid ruffling the feathers on my big birds. I’ll want periodic reports on my request or when you feel it’s warranted. Here’s the jacket on Ms. Johnstone. Take a look after
    22 David M. Bishop

    we’re done. Give it to Gruber on your way out. If you need anything, call Gruber or my chief of staff, Clarence Stafford. He prefers Clancy. Should you think it necessary, call me directly. You will be given the same access as my cabinet members. Any questions?”
    Here I go again, Jack thought, one more for the Gipper. “Not now,” he said, “but I’ll likely have some later.”
    On the way to the lunch table, the president picked up a book from the credenza near his desk. “Have you read this?” he asked, an- gling the book. “The Politics of Oil and Terrorism.”
    “Finished it last weekend, sir.” They sat down and unfolded their linen napkins.
    “I finished it last night,” the president said. “How did it strike you?”
    “A solid book, sir. The extremists want our influence out of their part of the world. They could likely get it done by destroying the oil industry in the Middle East. But they’re pragmatic enough not to have done so because, indirectly, a chunk of their funding for ter- rorism comes from our oil purchases.”
    The president held up his sandwich. “God, I’ve missed these.” He took a big bite and used his tongue to erase the mayonnaise comma punctuating the corner of his mouth.
    “I don’t think I’ve had tomato on rye since we were together in Kuwait,” Jack said, feeling a bit odd. Here he was having an ordi- nary lunch with the president of the United States, talking about shared books and world