Drone Threat by Mike Maden Page B

Grafton that had planted the idea in Chandler’s head, part of the plan the two of them had engineered. “What you are proposing is quite brilliant, actually.”
    â€œDo you think Titov would be supportive of a mutual alliance between our governments?”
    â€œYes, wholeheartedly. I have even heard him mention the possibility. But not until the sanctions are lifted.”
    â€œThat’s unfortunate.”
    â€œIt seems we’re at an impasse.”
    â€œI’m sure we can figure something out.” Chandler crossed over to a replica vintage vending machine. “Another water?”
    â€œI’m still working on this one, thank you.”
    Chandler swiped a White House debit card and selected another Coke. “If we can’t put our boots on the ground, perhaps our Russian allies will do it for us. I have several friends in the Senate who would support a quid pro quo like that.”
    â€œOur forces have trained for just such an eventuality. No one has a longer history of fighting these cockroaches than we do, with the possible exception of your own government.”
    â€œIt won’t be easy to pull it off. The moralists and the isolationists don’t understand what’s at stake.”
    â€œA war between civilizations,” Tarkovsky said. “A war between modernity and brutality.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œHow shall we proceed?”
    â€œLet’s start by having a chat with the president. Feel him out. Maybe we can tie our proposal into his Asia security initiative. Part of a new, comprehensive, global strategy.”
    â€œBut if the president disagrees with our assessment?”
    Chandler sighed. “Then we must do whatever it takes to get both of our governments moving in the right direction.”
    Tarkovsky nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

14
    WASHINGTON, D.C.
    It was Pearce’s turn to cook tonight. He fried a couple of steaks in olive oil and pepper and whipped up a mess of cauliflower mash, trying to keep the carb count down for both of them. He finished out the meal with a spinach salad dressed in a light balsamic vinaigrette and a 19 Crimes cab sauv for her. He was never great in the kitchen, but he was learning to enjoy cooking for the woman he adored. He’d been accused of many things in his life, but domesticity wasn’t one of them.
    Pearce and Myers were halfway through the meal, the bottle of wine, and their usual chitchat before she turned the conversation in another direction.
    â€œHow was your meeting with Chandler?”
    â€œHe’s a piece of work.” Pearce cut into his steak. It bled onto his plate, just the way he liked it.
    â€œHe’s very smart and a skilled politician.”
    â€œSo was Stalin.”
    Myers nearly snorted wine out of her nose. “Please.”
    â€œYou like that guy?”
    â€œNo, but I respect him. Chandler was one of the few Democrats who supported my budget freeze. He’s never lost an election and never received less than sixty percent of the vote when he ran four times for Congress and twice for the Senate.”
    â€œChandler’s nothing but ambition and self-interest,” Pearce said. He’d never told Myers about his experience with Chandler in Iraq.
    â€œLike most politicians. But he was the best-looking horse at the gluefactory and Lane was in a tough spot. The DNC threatened to run a third-party candidate unless he agreed to put Chandler on the ticket.”
    â€œSounds familiar.” Pearce knew that Myers had gone through a similar meat grinder when she won her presidential primary as a libertarian Republican.
    â€œSometimes arranged marriages work out. Sometimes they don’t. But Chandler isn’t stupid, and he knows if he bides his time and plays the game he’ll probably be the next POTUS.”
    â€œThat sailboat is sounding better and better. Have you picked out a color yet?”
    â€œDon’t get your hopes