Prologue
Thursday, 18 March 2027 3:30 PM EDT, Atlanta, Georgia, USA
Caroline Bennett burst into my office without knocking.
Again.
So, help me God, if she hadn’t been so attractive, I might have fired her for that alone.
As it happened, I wasn’t doing anything particularly important. I was studying the latest polling figures, an activity I found considerably more enjoyable than actually governing Georgia.
The numbers were looking good. Very good, in fact. My approval ratings among Republican voters were holding steady, and my advisers were already discussing my future beyond Georgia.
Not that I needed their encouragement.
I had no intention of remaining governor forever.
I was built for bigger things.
“Thirteen campuses, Governor.”
I didn’t look up.
I knew perfectly well that Caroline was standing in front of my desk, waiting for my attention. But I rather enjoyed making people wait. A small reminder of who was in charge.
Caroline Bennett had a habit of entering my office as though the building were on fire. Usually, somebody had said something stupid to a reporter, or a member of the legislature had discovered an inconvenient conscience.
“Governor?”
I continued studying the screen.
“Thirteen campuses.”
I finally raised my eyes.
Perhaps there really was a fire.
“What about them?”
“The demonstrations. They’ve spread to thirteen campuses.”
There was an edge of panic in her voice.
I finished reading the polling figures before giving her my full attention. I knew what she was talking about, of course, but I rather enjoyed watching Caroline work herself into a state.
She stood in front of my desk, flushed and slightly breathless. Her tailored navy suit was immaculate, but the low-cut V-neck of her cream silk blouse revealed a generous amount of cleavage. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened across her exposed skin, rising and falling with her increasingly rapid breaths.
Caroline Bennett was thirty-two, slender, with dark brown hair cut into a precise bob just below her jaw. She wore small pearl earrings and the sensible black heels she favoured for long days at the Capitol.
I found myself watching the movement of her chest rather than listening to whatever crisis she was trying to explain.
She wasn’t the sort of woman who immediately turned heads. Her beauty was more conventional than spectacular. The wholesome American kind. I could easily imagine her as an overachieving high school cheerleader, smiling beneath the Friday night lights while boys in football uniforms dreamed of getting her alone.
I could certainly imagine her in one of those little uniforms.
The thought amused me.
Her suit was expensive and professionally cut, although it did little to disguise her figure. I’d noticed that years ago. A man would have to be blind not to.
In another life, I might have taken her to bed.
In this one, she was considerably more useful where she was.
I needed her brain far more than her breasts. Besides, a scandal involving my chief of staff would be a remarkably stupid way to jeopardise a promising political career.
And Nathaniel Whitmore did not make stupid mistakes.
At least, not the sort that could be traced back to him.
Caroline was exceptionally good at her job. She understood politics, knew how to handle difficult people, and could make things happen with a telephone call.
She was also inclined to worry.
Which usually meant I didn’t have to.
“Georgia State, Georgia Tech, Emory, the University of Georgia in Athens, Kennesaw State, and Mercer,” she said, reading from her tablet. “All reporting demonstrations. The situation at the other seven campuses is deteriorating, and we’ve got reports that another six could join by tomorrow.”
“Good.”
She stopped halfway across the room.
“Good?”
I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself a moment to enjoy her confusion.
I loved this part of the game.
The desk between us was a magnificent piece of furniture, solid mahogany with a polished surface that reflected the afternoon sunlight pouring through the tall windows behind me. It had belonged to one of my predecessors, a relic of a more dignified age.
I’d kept it because it suited me.
Power ought to look like power.
A governor’s office ought to remind visitors that they were standing in the presence of someone important. The antique desk, the leather chair, the flags, the carefully arranged photographs. Every detail reinforced that impression.
And impressions mattered.
The desk was almost entirely clear. A brass lamp stood to my left, beside a leather-bound appointment book and a silver-framed photograph of my wife and our two children. My fountain pen rested precisely parallel to the edge of the leather writing pad.
I liked things in their proper places.
People, too.
“Caroline, people don’t remember politicians who avoid a fight. They remember the ones who win.”
“Governor, these demonstrations are spreading across the state. The national networks are picking it up. This could get out of control.”
I smiled.
“Then it’s fortunate I’m the governor.”
“I’m serious, Governor.”
“So am I.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. I noticed how the fabric of her skirt tightened briefly across her hips.
She had no idea how often I watched her.
Probably just as well.
I had spent years building my political career around a simple principle. People wanted certainty. They wanted someone who would stand up, tell them what was right and wrong, and refuse to apologise for it.
Most people didn’t actually want to think for themselves. Thinking was exhausting. It was much easier to have someone like me tell them what to believe.
And I was very good at that.
These students thought they were challenging my authority.
What they were actually doing was giving me an audience.
“And I intend to make the most of it.”
I glanced toward the American flag beside the window. The Georgia state flag occupied the opposite corner. Both had been carefully positioned for photographs and television appearances.
I’d spent enough time in front of cameras to know that a flag in the right place could make almost anything sound patriotic.
“Get Fox News on the phone.”
“Fox News, Governor?”
“Tell them Governor Nathaniel Whitmore has something to say about these demonstrations. And he’d be delighted to say it on national television. Tonight.”
Caroline lowered her tablet.
“You want me to arrange an interview?”
“Make sure they know I’m available. Preferably during prime time.”
She looked as though she wanted to argue.
I raised an eyebrow.
She thought better of it.
“Give me a moment, Governor.”
She placed her tablet on the edge of my desk and took out her phone.
I watched her walk toward the windows.
Caroline had a rather pleasing way of moving when she wasn’t rushing about in a panic. The tailored skirt suited her. I’d always thought she would look better in something a little shorter, but Caroline was determined to be taken seriously.
Women like Caroline were funny that way.
They spent fortunes making themselves attractive, then seemed offended when men noticed.
I returned my attention to the computer while she made the call.
Caroline had spent years learning how politics really worked. She knew the journalists, the producers, the donors, and the people who could make things happen with a single telephone call.
She had helped me become governor.
I knew that, even if I didn’t always remind her.
There was no point allowing staff to become too pleased with themselves.
I could hear her speaking quietly by the windows. She had that particular voice she used when negotiating, polite enough to sound accommodating and firm enough to make it clear that she expected to get what she wanted.
I rather liked that voice.
A few minutes later, she ended the call.
“Eight-thirty tonight, Governor. They’ve confirmed a live interview. Their Atlanta crew will handle the connection.”
I looked up.
“Excellent.”
“They’ll want you ready by eight-fifteen. I’ll have the communications team prepare the briefing.”
“See?” I spread my hands. “Thirteen universities protesting, and now I have a national audience. This is turning into a very good day.”
I could already imagine the interview.
The questions. The outrage. The opportunity to remind millions of Americans that somebody was still prepared to defend traditional Christian values.
Family. Faith. Responsibility.
Three words that sounded magnificent on television.
Clips would be circulating online before the interview was even over. My supporters would applaud. My opponents would be furious.
Both reactions suited me perfectly.
The important thing was that people would be talking about Nathaniel Whitmore.
Caroline didn’t share my enthusiasm.
She rarely did when I was enjoying myself.
She stood beside the desk, looking down at her tablet, her lips pressed together in that disapproving little expression I’d come to recognise.
I wondered, not for the first time, what it would take to make her lose that composure completely.
She opened her mouth, presumably to warn me about something else.
Then I felt a vibration inside my jacket pocket.
I ignored it.
A second vibration followed.
I frowned.
There were two telephones in my life. One belonged to the governor of Georgia. My staff managed it, answered it, and made certain that anybody who needed my attention eventually got it.
The other belonged to me.
Very few people knew its number.
I reached inside my jacket and withdrew the slim black phone.
The screen displayed a single word.
ARPHAXAD
My stomach tightened.
I opened the message.
LONDON. 17:00 GMT. TOMORROW.
I read it again.
London.
Five o’clock tomorrow afternoon.
No explanation. No request. Not even the courtesy of asking whether I was available.
I knew what it meant.
For a moment, I became acutely aware of the afternoon sunlight falling across my desk, the distant sounds of people working beyond my office door, and Caroline standing a few feet away.
Everything looked exactly as it had a moment earlier.
But the day had changed.
Without thinking, I began turning the heavy gold ring on my right hand.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
The ring had been made for me when I was admitted. Its broad face bore an emblem that meant nothing to anyone outside a very small circle.
I had worn it every day since.
I turned it around my finger several more times.
I was the governor of Georgia.
Millions of people lived under my administration. Legislators sought my approval. Business leaders requested meetings. Journalists competed for my attention.
And yet somebody in London believed they could summon me with three words and a time.
The worst part was that they were right.
I wanted to throw the telephone across the room.
Who the hell did they think they were, summoning me like some goddamn errand boy?
I was the governor of Georgia. I had responsibilities. Commitments. An entire state to run. And tonight I had a prime-time television interview that could do more for my political future than six months on the campaign trail.
Apparently, none of that mattered.
Not to them.
I tightened my grip on the telephone until my knuckles whitened.
For one glorious second, I considered telling them to go to hell.
Then I remembered exactly who I would be telling.
The thought passed.
Caroline had gone quiet.
I could feel her watching me.
I slipped the telephone into my jacket pocket and placed my hand flat against the desk. My fingers were trembling slightly.
I curled them into a fist.
Goddamn it.
“Cancel the interview.”
Caroline blinked.
“I’m sorry, Governor?”
“The Fox News interview. Cancel it.”
“But Governor, I only just arranged it.”
“I know that, Caroline.”
“They’ve already confirmed the time. Their producers are making arrangements. You specifically asked me…”
“Then unarrange it!”
The words came out louder than I intended.
Caroline recoiled slightly.
I rarely shouted at her. There was seldom any need. She knew me well enough to recognise when an argument was over.
But this time she didn’t move.
She simply stared.
I drew a slow breath through my nose.
“Cancel the interview,” I repeated, more quietly.
“Of course, Governor.”
She glanced down at her tablet, but her fingers hovered over the screen without touching it.
I could see the questions forming behind her eyes.
I didn’t want to hear a single one of them.
“And cancel tomorrow’s appointments.”
Her head snapped up.
“All of them?”
“Yes. All of them.”
“Governor, you’ve got the education committee in the morning, the business leaders at noon, and the...”
“Did I stutter?”
She fell silent.
I immediately regretted the outburst. Not because I’d hurt her feelings. Caroline was paid well enough to endure the occasional sharp word.
No, I regretted it because I’d allowed her to see me lose control.
And I never lost control.
At least, not in front of the staff.
She lowered her tablet.
“Governor, is something wrong?”
There it was.
The question I’d been dreading.
“Nothing is wrong.”
She looked at my clenched fist, then at my face.
“Are you sure?”
I stared at her.
Caroline Bennett had worked beside me through political scandals, hostile press conferences, election nights, and enough legislative battles to drive a lesser woman into early retirement.
She had never looked at me quite like that before.
Concerned.
Uncertain.
Almost frightened.
I hated it.
“I’m going to London,” I said.
“London?”
“Tomorrow.”
She swallowed.
“Governor, that’s rather sudden.”
“Thank you, Caroline. I hadn’t noticed.”
She didn’t smile.
Normally, that sort of remark would have earned me one of her patient, long-suffering expressions.
Not this time.
Her eyes flicked toward the pocket where I’d put the telephone.
A small movement.
Barely noticeable.
But I noticed.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
“What is what?”
“In London. What’s happened?”
I felt another surge of anger.
Not at Caroline.
At the people who had put me in this position.
At the three words on that goddamn screen.
At the knowledge that, despite everything I’d achieved, I was still expected to come running when summoned.
“That’s none of your concern.”
The words landed harder than I’d intended.
Caroline’s expression changed.
She glanced down at her tablet, then back at me.
“Of course, Governor.”
There was something different in her voice now.
She was trying to sound professional.
Trying very hard.
For a moment, I almost told her not to worry.
Almost.
Instead, I turned toward my computer.
The polling figures were still on the screen.
A few minutes earlier, they had seemed terribly important.
Now I could barely remember what they said.
“And Caroline?”
“Yes, Governor?”
“Book me on the next flight to London.”
She hesitated.
I could see that she wanted to ask another question.
For once, she thought better of it.
“Yes, Governor.”
She turned toward the door.
“And Caroline?”
She stopped.
“Not a word of this to anyone.”
Her hand tightened around the tablet.
“Of course.”
I watched her leave.
She closed the door quietly behind her.
I sat there for several seconds, staring at the spot where she’d been standing.
Then I looked down at the gold ring on my finger.
I hated that fucking ring.
