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glean the importance of the more cryptic shots.
    “The photo of the Arab women in black. Is that Saudi Arabia?”
    “No. Yemen.”
    “Why do you have it in a frame?”
    “It’s a reminder of the subjugation of women in the Arab culture.”
    McMahon nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
    Kennedy began laughing.
    “What?” asked McMahon.
    “It’s not a reminder of the subjugation of Arab women. It’s actually a team of Delta Force commandos who were on their way to say hello to an individual who, let’s just say, wasn’t playing by the rules.”
    “You’re shitting me?” McMahon stood up so he could examine the photo more closely. “Who were they going after?”
    “That’s classified.”
    “Did they get him?”
    Kennedy nodded.
    “Good.” McMahon settled back into his spot on the couch. “So what’s the deal with the meeting this morning?”
    “Do you know Cap Baker?”
    “The Republican strategist.”
    “Yes.”
    “He’s the mystery person you dragged me out here to see?”
    “He assured me it was in your best interest.”
    A scowl of irritation fell across McMahon’s leathered face. “Why in the hell would I want to spend two minutes with a political whore, especially a Republican one?”
    Kennedy looked at her watch and ignored the question.
    “Why the hell didn’t he just come see me at the Hoover Building?”
    Before Kennedy could answer, there was a knock on the door. A second later it opened and Cap Baker entered. If it weren’t for his signature shock of gray hair they might not have recognized him. They were used to seeing him on TV wearing suits, expensive shirts, and fancy ties. He was rumored to charge eight hundred dollars an hour for his advice and lobbying skills. This morning he was dressed in boots, khakis, and a plaid flannel shirt. A puffy winter jacket was held under his right arm. A second man, wearing a suit, followed him into the room.
    “Sorry we’re late,” announced Baker in his deep baritone voice. “The roads are horrible.”
    Kennedy stood to meet the visitors. “That’s all right.” She extended her hand. “Cap.”
    Baker took it. “Thank you for seeing me. I know this is a bit unusual.”
    McMahon stood but stayed silent. Baker turned to the FBI man. “I promise you, Special Agent McMahon, this will not be a waste of your time.” As if he could sense McMahon’s disdain, Baker didn’t bother to offer his hand. Instead, he gestured to the man who had followed him into the office. “This is my attorney, Charles Wright. He won’t be staying long. Sit.” He motioned with his hands. “Sit.”
    McMahon and Kennedy took their seats, and Baker and his attorney grabbed two smaller chairs opposite McMahon. Kennedy gestured to the tea and coffee service on the table, but before she could speak, Baker declined.
    “No, thank you. I have a plane waiting to take me to Vail. I need to get the hell out of this town before all the crazies start showing up for the inauguration.”
    “Vail,” McMahon said with feigned excitement, “I would have taken you for an Aspen man.”
    Baker smiled. “Aspen is a Democratic ski town, Agent McMahon. Vail is where us Republicans go.”
    “Life must be rough,” replied McMahon.
    Baker stared at the FBI man for a moment. The smile on his face was one of amusement. “I like you. You’re an open book. You don’t know me, but you don’t like me, and that’s fine because in about five minutes I’m going to walk out that door and we’re never going to see each other again.”
    “Is that right?” asked an amused McMahon.
    “Yep…and you’re never going to forget this meeting.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because what I’m about to give you is going to change your life.”
    “Is that right?” McMahon didn’t sound too convinced.
    “Yep, but before we get started, there’s one piece of business we need to take care of.”
    Baker looked to his attorney and nodded. The attorney opened his large briefcase and extracted