The Third Coincidence Read Online Free Page A
issues the way they had so many times, so long ago when the man was just Sam.”
The president put down his sandwich. “After air, water, and food, oil is the most vital commodity to our way of life. And the pro- duction and distribution of much of the food and water are de- pendent on oil, not to mention getting the American consumer to the food. Our reliance on the most volatile region of the world for a huge portion of our oil borders on insanity. And that doesn’t even take in the fact that OPEC is a monopolistic cabal that couldn’t exist
the third coincidence 23
under our laws. So, where else should we go for our oil?”
Jack knew that in America every major issue came down to the two main political parties striving to make the other look bad by al- ways opposing whatever the other party wanted. Still, with political resolve, solving our oil dependency was doable.
“Untie our oil industry’s hands so they can develop our own fields,” Jack said, answering the president, “and there’s Mexico. If we diverted a third of our OPEC buys into increased purchases of oil from Mexico, we could, through bringing that quantity of our buys into our region of the world, further stabilize our sources of oil while enhancing the Mexican economy. The good-paying jobs created in the process would reduce the motivation for illegals to cross our bor- der. As part of the oil deal, we could likely barter for real cooperation on their side to slow down human and drug smuggling. I hope I haven’t been too candid, sir.”
“Nonsense. I asked, but we need to leave that discussion for an- other day and get back to why you’re here.”
Twenty minutes later, Jack drove out through the same White House security checkpoint. With his focus on assembling his team, he failed to notice the dark Ford Explorer that turned from F Street onto Seventeenth to fall in two cars behind.
chapter 6
Security is tight at the Supreme Court. There’s talk of an early summer recess, and whispers now and then about resignations.
—Sarah Little, NewsCentral 7, June 5
Rachel Johnstone left the FBI building in a snit. She had just fin- ished meeting with the FBI’s beefy director, Fred Hampton, where he’d assigned her the murders of two Supreme Court justices and the suspicious death of a Federal Reserve governor. Then came the almighty but . But, she would be working on a task force under Jack McCall.
She knew her desire to lead the investigation exceeded her ré- sumé. But the lead had not just been taken from her, it had been taken from the bureau and given to a spook, and not just any spook, Jack McCall.
Why me, Lord?
Thirty minutes later, Rachel walked into her one-bedroom apart- ment, dropped her keys in the basket on the mahogany sofa table just inside the door, ruffled the head of her cat, Jingles, standing next to the basket, filled the cat’s bowl with dry crunchies, and started shedding her pantsuit. She hung her blouse over the back of a chair and reached back to pop her brassiere. Then, using the remote she turned on some bluesy piano player that fit her sultry mood, the over- head fan cooling her sweaty skin.
She doubted Jack McCall would remember her. Not unless he
the third coincidence 25
remembered all the women who had come on to him, women he had shunted aside with one excuse or another. With her he had used the unimaginative “regulations do not permit personal involvement among intelligence personnel.” It had been a putdown and she had not forgotten.
It wasn’t her appearance, heaven knows. She didn’t think of her- self as vain, but certainly there was no shame in being conscious, even proud of one’s appearance. More frequent high reps with low weights would tone a few spots and keep her breasts firm and high, but all in all the curves were still in the right places.
Not bad for forty-three.
Ten minutes later she stepped out of the shower. After toweling the loose water out of her hair and patting the
The president put down his sandwich. “After air, water, and food, oil is the most vital commodity to our way of life. And the pro- duction and distribution of much of the food and water are de- pendent on oil, not to mention getting the American consumer to the food. Our reliance on the most volatile region of the world for a huge portion of our oil borders on insanity. And that doesn’t even take in the fact that OPEC is a monopolistic cabal that couldn’t exist
the third coincidence 23
under our laws. So, where else should we go for our oil?”
Jack knew that in America every major issue came down to the two main political parties striving to make the other look bad by al- ways opposing whatever the other party wanted. Still, with political resolve, solving our oil dependency was doable.
“Untie our oil industry’s hands so they can develop our own fields,” Jack said, answering the president, “and there’s Mexico. If we diverted a third of our OPEC buys into increased purchases of oil from Mexico, we could, through bringing that quantity of our buys into our region of the world, further stabilize our sources of oil while enhancing the Mexican economy. The good-paying jobs created in the process would reduce the motivation for illegals to cross our bor- der. As part of the oil deal, we could likely barter for real cooperation on their side to slow down human and drug smuggling. I hope I haven’t been too candid, sir.”
“Nonsense. I asked, but we need to leave that discussion for an- other day and get back to why you’re here.”
Twenty minutes later, Jack drove out through the same White House security checkpoint. With his focus on assembling his team, he failed to notice the dark Ford Explorer that turned from F Street onto Seventeenth to fall in two cars behind.
chapter 6
Security is tight at the Supreme Court. There’s talk of an early summer recess, and whispers now and then about resignations.
—Sarah Little, NewsCentral 7, June 5
Rachel Johnstone left the FBI building in a snit. She had just fin- ished meeting with the FBI’s beefy director, Fred Hampton, where he’d assigned her the murders of two Supreme Court justices and the suspicious death of a Federal Reserve governor. Then came the almighty but . But, she would be working on a task force under Jack McCall.
She knew her desire to lead the investigation exceeded her ré- sumé. But the lead had not just been taken from her, it had been taken from the bureau and given to a spook, and not just any spook, Jack McCall.
Why me, Lord?
Thirty minutes later, Rachel walked into her one-bedroom apart- ment, dropped her keys in the basket on the mahogany sofa table just inside the door, ruffled the head of her cat, Jingles, standing next to the basket, filled the cat’s bowl with dry crunchies, and started shedding her pantsuit. She hung her blouse over the back of a chair and reached back to pop her brassiere. Then, using the remote she turned on some bluesy piano player that fit her sultry mood, the over- head fan cooling her sweaty skin.
She doubted Jack McCall would remember her. Not unless he
the third coincidence 25
remembered all the women who had come on to him, women he had shunted aside with one excuse or another. With her he had used the unimaginative “regulations do not permit personal involvement among intelligence personnel.” It had been a putdown and she had not forgotten.
It wasn’t her appearance, heaven knows. She didn’t think of her- self as vain, but certainly there was no shame in being conscious, even proud of one’s appearance. More frequent high reps with low weights would tone a few spots and keep her breasts firm and high, but all in all the curves were still in the right places.
Not bad for forty-three.
Ten minutes later she stepped out of the shower. After toweling the loose water out of her hair and patting the
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