Page 85 (1/2)

“And what the f.u.c.k do you know about war? Huh? With your f.u.c.king Ivy League education? You’re going to tell me what a war is?”

“Take it easy, Murray,” Gutierrez said.

“I don’t think I will, Mister President,” Murray said. He could hear himself, he tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t take it anymore. “Tell me, Miss Colburn, in your infinite wisdom, do you know what it’s like to have someone shoot at you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “I earned my Ivy League education.

Earned it while growing up without any money, with drugs all around me and crime all over the place. I saw my fair share of guns, Murray. I’ve seen friends die.”

Murray laughed at her. “Oh, is that right? So you grew up in da hood, and that means you know what war is? After you saw someone die, did you run back to your house and turn on MTV?”

“You don’t know me,” Vanessa said. “You don’t know how I grew up.”

“Fine, then educate me. How many people have you killed?”

She said nothing.

“None? Okay, I’ll give you a free pa.s.s there. How many times have you held your friend’s head while he bled out, looked into his eyes and promised him you’d make sure his kids would grow up strong? None? Well then, surely you must have had to wipe your friend’s brains off your f.u.c.king face, right? How many times have you hidden in a rice paddy as your blood seeps into the filthy water? How many times have you had to kill a twelve-year-old girl because she was shooting her AK at you? Huh?

Maybe da hood don’t sound so tough now, does it?”

“Murray!” Gutierrez barked. “Your service to this country is no small matter, but that’s enough.”

Murray realized he was breathing hard and sweating. In thirty years of being in this room, in front of six presidents, he’d never snapped like that.

This woman could push his b.u.t.tons like no other. He pulled some Kleenex from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his head.

Vanessa didn’t look upset at all. Her poker face was good, but it couldn’t hide her main emotion—satisfaction. She’d won. She’d exposed his mistakes. She’d made him lose his temper, big-time. In her eyes he saw a crystal-clear message—if he was going to save any part of his career, he needed to cave in and back whatever she suggested.

Murray cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mister President.”

Gutierrez gave his political smile. “This is a rough situation. We’re all a little short-tempered.”

“Listen, Murray,” Vanessa said. “Believe me, I’m not some hippie who thinks you were a baby killer or something. I respect your service and your experience, but you’re from a different time. This is the reason we came into office. Because people like you think we can just forget someone’s civil rights if it fits the moment.”

Murray’s temper reignited, but he’d be d.a.m.ned if he’d lose it again. He locked his jaw shut. An uneasy silence filled the Oval Office. Gutierrez finally broke it.

“How controlled would this be, Murray? If we let them hatch, would anyone know?”