A Necessary Kill by James P. Sumner

real is this threat?”
    There was another pause on the line. “Sir, I strongly advise you to increase your security.”
    Cunningham stood and paced back and forth behind his desk. He looked at Heskith. “What do you think?”
    His chief of staff shrugged. “It’s sound logic, sir. Given everything we know about this guy, I’d take Matthews’ advice on this one. At least until the next phase is underway. Then it won’t matter what he does.”
    Cunningham nodded. “Make the arrangements, would you?” He looked back at the phone. “Is there anything else, Tom?”
    “Sir, there is one more thing. The other name on the list that we recognize… he’s an assassin we’ve had our eye on for a while. We liked him for a hit a couple years back in Moscow but never got enough solid intel to back up the suspicion. If Adrian’s planning on recruiting him, it would definitely be cause for concern.”
    “So, what are you suggesting here, Tom?”
    “Mr. President, I have an idea that could do away with our Adrian Hell problem once and for all. It’s risky, and I wanted your blessing before going ahead with it.”
    Cunningham looked up at Heskith. “You know about this?”
    Heskith nodded. “I do, sir, and it’s a solid plan—if it works. If it doesn’t, it could leave us wide open. I suggest you keep your distance and know as little about it as possible. But, it’s your call.”
    Cunningham stroked his chin, feeling a day’s worth of coarse growth on his palm. He had very little faith left in Matthews’ ability to do anything. He believed the pressure of being so involved in 4/17 had become too much for Matthews to handle, which made him a liability. That said, he was eager to remove Adrian Hell from the picture, and if Heskith believed this plan was a viable option, that was good enough for him.
    “Tom, do what you have to,” he said, finally. “You officially have my blessing. You’re to liaise with Gerry on this one. I don’t want any details beyond whether or not it’s worked, do you understand? Use back channels when communicating, and above all else make sure the White House is kept out of it. Am I clear?”
    “Absolutely, sir. You won’t regret it,” he said, sounding excited.
    “This is your last chance, Tom. If this doesn’t work, and it blows up in your face, you will not receive any support from this office.”
    “I understand. Thank you, Mr. President.”
    The line clicked off, and the room fell silent for a moment. It was Heskith who spoke first.
    “What’s next, sir?”
    “I need to read through these papers,” he tapped the pile of reports on his desk as he spoke, “and then speak to Secretary Fielding to finalize things before the next phase goes live. In the meantime, I want you to find out everything you can about Adrian Hell. I want his entire life story—there might be something we can use against him.”
    “Don’t you think Matthews can get the job done?”
    “Let’s just say his track record does little to inspire any confidence. I want this done as a precaution.”
    “Yes, Mr. President. I’ll see to it personally.”
    “Thank you, Gerry.”
    Heskith nodded, then walked back toward his office, closing the door gently behind him, leaving Cunningham alone.
    The president walked over to a small table against the wall and took the stopper from the crystal decanter that held a sixty-year-old single malt. He lifted it to his nose and took in a deep, appreciative breath. The coarse, burning aroma of the whiskey, which had been a gift from the prime minister of the United Kingdom when he took office some two and half years ago, lingered in his nostrils. His mouth watered, and he poured himself a generous measure into a matching tumbler in front of him. He cradled it in his hand for a moment before taking a large sip and walking back to his desk. He sat down in his chair, carefully placing this drink on a coaster with the presidential seal printed on it. He took the first report