The Fallen: A Derek Stillwater Thriller by Mark Terry Read Free Book Online Page B

keep up. Derek said, “What’s the biggest problem?”
    “If you people were doing your job, there wouldn’t be a problem! What kind of incompetents are you? Why is my kitchen such a disaster area?”
    Derek waited, unruffled by O’Grady’s tantrums. “What needs fixing first?”
    “You shouldn’t have to fix anything! It should have been working properly! If you would—”
    Derek glanced pointedly at his watch. “What’s first?”
    “The gas ranges, three and four. They’re always on high. How can we cook if we can’t turn down the heat? Have you ever heard of simmer? Have you ever heard of low? Have you—”
    Derek pushed past O’Grady and walked over to where a handful of cooks were struggling with a dozen saucepans. “Which ones are three and four?”
    One of the cooks, a round-faced kid with hazel eyes and a shock of thick brown hair, said, “These two. Can’t turn ’em down.”
    “Yeah? Probably the switch contacts are shorted shut. We’ll need to close it down, then I can fix them in no time.”
    “Hurry!” screamed O’Grady.
    Derek rolled his eyes. “Let’s get it shut off, dude, so I can get you back to work.”
    He patted the poor cook on the shoulder and headed out into thehallway to retrieve his toolbox, feeling guilty for the amount of verbal abuse the guy was receiving. Derek had sabotaged the ranges and the freezer the day before so he would be in the building when the summit began. He didn’t want to leave it to chance that something might go down in one building while he was stuck in another. As much as possible, events were proceeding the way he had intended.

Chapter 16
    Secretary Mandalevo stared at the computer screen, reading through all the documents and conclusions Akron had e-mailed him. Fingering the computer keyboard, he gazed out the window of Air Force One, noticing a broad expanse of river below them. Probably the Mississippi, he thought.
    A heavyset blond guy appeared in front of him. “Secretary Mandalevo?”
    Mandalevo quickly snapped the computer screen shut. “Yes?”
    The guy stuck out a pudgy hand. “Frank Arlen. Washington Post. Mind if I sit down?”
    Before Mandalevo could say anything, Arlen flopped into the seat across from him. Arlen flipped open a notepad. “Thought I’d just get some notes before we hit Colorado. Naughty, naughty, the way you’ve got all the press segregated from the summit.”
    Mandalevo shrugged. “I’m not part of those arrangements.”
    Arlen swept a greasy lock of blond hair off his forehead and fumbled in his coat until he found a pen. “Just want to confirm a few things. You started your career with the State Department, right?”
    Mandalevo stared at the reporter. He did not like dealing with the press. He never had, and in his recent position as National Intelligence Director he liked it even less. He was a career bureaucrat. He started as an intern at the State Department, worked his way up to a series of postings around the world at U.S. embassies including Greece, England, Germany, Saudi Arabia, Kenya, Russia, and Argentina. He spent three years at the Central Intelligence Agency in the Intelligence Directorate, four years with the United Nations, then was made ambassador to Spain, then ambassador to the U.N.
    “Are you writing a profile on me?”
    “No, no. Just background.”
    Mandalevo cocked his head. “How about instead of dancing around like this you just come out and ask me whatever it is you planned on asking me after you asked all the stuff you already know.”
    Arlen gave an aw-shucks shake of his head that didn’t even come near being sincere. “Hey, ya got me. What I want to know is whether or not you think the creation of the Office of the National Intelligence Directorate actually did what it was created to do. I mean, it’s supposed to be nonpolitical.”
    Although not a politician, Mandalevo understood the use of political capital and the way in which information was coin of the realm and a