WASHINGTON, D.C.

Ambrose drove himself over to Foggy Bottom. The Department of State was clearing for the day, so he had no bothersome eyes watching as he took the stairs three at a time.

He was escorted to the secretary of state’s office by two guards. As he entered the office, Ambrose saw the secretary was busy jotting something down on paper. For someone who was only fifty-two, the cabinet member’s hair was turning a distinguished shade of gray at the temples. Ambrose had watched earlier in the day as the president praised him on television for his unyielding stance with the crisis that he had thwarted in Iraq. He was definitely the flavor of the month. But as Ambrose set his briefcase down and took a seat, he could see the man who would soon become the next president of the most powerful nation on earth was angry.

“I take it your conversation with the president was enlightening, Mr. Secretary?” Ambrose asked.

The tall man behind the ornate and ostentatious desk finally looked up.

“How in the hell could this happen?”

“How were we supposed to know his daughter was on that ship?”

“That little bitch has been nothing but a royal pain in the ass since the president took office and her presence in Brazil could bring our whole shaky house of cards down around our neck.”

Ambrose swallowed as he listened to a man who was world famous for keeping his cool, a man who planned the outcome of events, never just hoping for a favorable one.

“They haven’t been heard from since—”

“It doesn’t matter, you fool, even if the whole expedition is dead, do you think for one goddamned minute the president will let the body of his daughter go unclaimed down in the fucking jungle?” He stood up and tossed the ballpoint pen he had been using at Ambrose, who flinched as it bounced off his shoulder. “Now he tells me he’s authorized not one, but two naval task forces to the south. Sailing orders that you should have informed me of!”

“He consulted with the secretary of the navy directly. I didn’t know anything until a moment ago. Look, we can steer him away from a recovery effort, just advise against it. I am his national security advisor, goddammit, and you’re his secretary of state.”

“That bastard just ordered me, ordered me to Brazil. He wants inroads laid so we can either clear the way for a rescue operation by the marines of all people, or at least get the Brazilian military in there.”

Ambrose had been briefed as to what the president was going to say to the secretary, so he wasn’t surprised by his orders.

“It’s the president doing the requesting, so why don’t you just put it as a threat? President Souza won’t take too kindly to that. Make the situation hot enough to where there is no action taken at all. What will he do, invade a friendly nation over his wayward daughter who is most likely dead already?”

“Yes, goddammit, you work for the bastard; he loves his daughter no matter how much of a pain in the ass she is!” the secretary yelled as he paced to his large window behind his desk. “And now he knows about the team the intelligence chiefs sent with the Zachary group, who may or may not have eliminated the very team the president wants us to rescue!”

“Then all the better we get this thing to blow up. Cover our tracks where no one can trace our involvement in either Iraq or what was taken out of that damned valley down there. With any luck, Kennedy blew the goddamned thing up and buried everything and everyone forever.”

The secretary of state turned toward Ambrose, his eyes afire. “If even a hint of this gets out, the election is lost. Remember, I’m still tied to the president’s coattails whether I like it or not.”

“That doesn’t worry me all that much,” Ambrose said as he stood.

“Oh, and why is that?”

“If even a hint of what we’ve done leaks out, we’re all going to hang for treason, because the danger you failed to foresee when we took into our confidence the military chiefs of intelligence is that they will indeed cover their tracks, any way they can. And in case you didn’t know it, Donald, they do have the assets to get that part done, and we would be the one to be covered up. Good luck in Brazil, Mr. Secretary. I’ll do what I can from the White House.”

“If they were so good at their jobs, why did we have the fiasco at Arlington?”

“That was contract work; for us, they’ll come themselves. You have to look at the military hierarchy. The men we are dealing with are hungry for power, and that power lies in the climbing of the corporate ladder. This plan of yours was to help them in doing just that. They won’t be happy if they sense it’s too hot,” Ambrose said. He opened the door and left.

The secretary of state watched the door close and then sat heavily into his chair. He knew he would virtually have to start a war in South America to confuse the situation and make that godforsaken valley in the Amazon vanish from everyone’s radar.

Then it struck him. The president would never rely on just one option. He, like himself, always thought in the same terms as that of a master chessman, thinking five and ten moves ahead. That son of a bitch would have a second option already in the planning stages at least. That meant if his diplomatic queries failed, the president might even have an armed team on the ground or in the air for a rescue operation, hell, maybe even more options. An illegal and underhanded rescue attempt done behind the back of the Brazilian government? The secretary realized he had his out. An operation such as that would constitute an invasion of a friendly country. He had his main asset in the Brazilian Air Force, and he would alert that man that he might be needed.

He picked up the phone and called the front desk to have Ambrose turned around. He had one more instruction to give the advisor. All he needed was to know the location of that goddamned valley. He was sure the Brazilian authorities would welcome a tip that either their airspace or their ground territory was about to be compromised.

And that, he surmised, could get messy, and that mass confusion could be his best ally.