Primary Target

“The truth hurts, Dad.”

“Elizabeth? That’s very funny. But I’ve got to run. Do this for me, will you? You’ve got just a week left to go there. Try to make the best of it. Take advantage of the opportunities presented, and do something that excites you, okay?”

“I don’t know what that would be,” she said, except now she was lying to him. “But I’ll do my best.”

“Good. You’re beautiful, hon. Your mom and I love you. Grandpa and Grandma send their love. And call your sister, will you?”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said. “I love you too, Dad.”

She hung up the telephone. In her mind, she imagined all the people who were hanging up at the same time. Her dad certainly, probably in the Oval Office. But also Secret Service people listening on other phones in the Oval Office—two or three of them, hanging up as one. Also, people sitting at computer screens in the CIA building, or the FBI headquarters. Also, her personal bodyguard standing out in the hall, with the wire going to his ear. Was he on the phone call? She bet he was.

Also, the Russian and Chinese spy agencies. You knew they were listening. And the billionaire Russian gangsters who sent their uncouth lout children to this expensive school. Were they listening? Probably.

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