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Blake had propped the iPad in front of the hotel flat-screen. The flat-screen was connected to a small Apple TV box. Blake was using the hotel's Wi-Fi to stream Airplay to the Apple TV so the image on the iPad played on the large flat-screen. The iPad camera caught most of the group. Three sets of parents, King, Blake, and MJ. MJ was in a pair of pajamas and didn't care that everyone else was still dressed as they had been during the day.

“My name is Kelli Isaac,” the woman on the screen said in a crisp, no-nonsense professional voice. “Thank you all for agreeing to have this conversation. Before you meet him, as you probably know, the accepted way to address the president is as Mr. President.”

“Yeah, right,” Jim Watt mumbled. Blake's father was trim with thinning blond hair. “The president. This is a joke.”

“I'm sorry,” Kelli said from the television. “I couldn't quite hear that. Perhaps anyone who wants to speak should step forward from the group.”

“It's all good,” Mr. Watt said, raising his voice. Then lowered it. “If you like practical jokes.”

Mrs. Watt elbowed him.

King could tell his own father was skeptical too. Mack's arms crossed his chest.

“You're undoubtedly wondering why the president would like to speak with you. But first I need a verbal agreement that what is discussed will not go beyond your three families, and I also need a verbal agreement that if you break the confidentiality, the CIA will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law. I must stress, this
is
a matter of national security.”

“Cow patties,” MJ's father whispered. “That's what this is. Cow patties. Like we're really going to talk to the president.”

“Is that a verbal agreement to both, Mr. Johnson?” Kelli asked from the screen.

“Um, yes,” Mr. Johnson said. Then he glared at Blake and spoke from the side of his mouth. “How sensitive is that iPad microphone?”

Not much earlier, a courier had shown up to deliver the Apple TV box, cables, and a microphone.

“Mr. Johnson?” Kelli asked. “Further comments?”

“No,” Mr. Johnson said and glared at Blake again.

Blake shrugged.

“Verbal agreements from the rest of you, please,” Kelli said. “If you don't mind, do it one at a time, calling your name as you do so. For full disclosure, I am obligated to let you know that the conversation will be recorded. Let's begin with William King and then Michael Johnson.”

King stepped forward, seeing himself in the small corner box of the television screen of the FaceTime conversation.

“My name is William Lyon Mackenzie King,” King said. “And I agree to the conditions of this conversation.”

He stepped back, and MJ went next. The seriousness of the situation was so heavy that MJ didn't clown around.

After MJ, each person did the same.

“Good,” Kelli said. “The president is in the room with me, and I'm going to switch to the rear camera so he can address all of you. I will, however, be in this room at all times, and when your conversation with the president is finished, I will give you final instructions. Are we clear? If so, just nod.”

King found himself nodding with the others.

“Excellent,” Kelli said. “And here is the president of the United States.”

She leaned in as she touched the screen to flip to the rear camera.

“Hello,” said the president of the United States. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. Parents, I hope I can change your minds because I need the help of your three sons.”

CHAPTER 33

“First,” the president said, “I'd like to thank Blake and Michael and William for doing their best to assist agents Evans and Moore during the past few days.”

It
was
the president's voice; it
was
the president's face. He was sitting in a chair in a spotlight that put the focus on him, blurring the background into vague darkness. He was wearing a casual shirt and dress pants.

King felt slightly dizzy. Even though Kelli Isaac had prepared them for this, it was still too unreal.

“Blake,” the president said, “would you mind waving at me? I've been given photographs of each of you, so I know who you are. But since I can't shake your hand, I hope a wave in return will suffice.”

Blake waved, standing proud and tall. The president waved and saluted him.

“Michael?” the president asked. “I see you are dressed for the occasion.”

“I'm sorry about my president, Mr. Pajamas,” MJ said. In his jitters, he barely managed a wave. The president smiled indulgently, probably accustomed to people getting nervous around him, and waved and saluted MJ.

“William?”

King waved and in return received the same dignified wave and salute.

“Parents,” the president then said, “you should be proud of your sons. Despite what you might have heard from Deputy Inspector General Mundie, Evans and Moore are not rogue agents. They are working directly for me and were sworn to secrecy.”

The president paused to let that sink in.

“Yes,” the president said. “They are not even allowed to let the inspector general know of my presidential directive. Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to step in and get them released, or that will reveal something I'm in no position to reveal, which is the very reason that Evans and Moore will remain in lawful custody until this can be resolved.”

He gave them a grave, presidential smile. “This puts me in a very difficult position. I need—and I stress, I really need—for the mission that I put into the hands of Evans and Moore to be successful. So parents, let me speak to you first. Blake and William and Michael are in the best position to continue. It's of utmost national security that they spend the next two or three days as a replacement team for Evans and Moore.”

Mrs. Watt had raised her hand. The president nodded. “Yes. Charlene Watt, right?”

“Mr. President,” she said, her voice quivering, “you'll understand that as parents, we are extremely concerned about the safety of our sons.”

“Ms. Isaac has fully briefed me on the security logistics,” the president answered. “We have a full team in the suite across the hallway from you. They have complete surveillance of the lobby, stairwells, and hallway.”

Mr. Watt raised his hand.

“Yes, Jim,” the president said.

“To me that kind of security detail suggests they are in danger. What kind of attack are you expecting?”

The president's smile was warm. “That's the same question I would ask about my children. I'm sorry to have alarmed you. We are expecting no danger. Your sons will be continuing the same kind of cyber investigation they began. However, my directive is that your sons are to be as safe as if they were my own children. I want to be as prepared as possible.”

Mack raised his hand. This, it seemed, had become protocol for the conference.

“Mr. President, what kind of cyber investigation?” Mack asked.

“Mr. King,” the president answered, “here is where I hope you can trust the word of the president. I am not at liberty to tell you. If you agree to let your sons assist me, they will be briefed by one of my representatives. They will be allowed the option to decline the operation, but either way—involved in the operation or refusing the operation—they will also be sworn to secrecy and not permitted to divulge anything of what they learn, not even to the six of you parents.”

“I'm not sure if I like that,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Oops.”

Mrs. Johnson put up her hand and waited for permission to speak. “Mr. President, I'm not sure if I like that.”

“I understand completely,” the president answered. “I wouldn't either if I were you. Unfortunately, those are the conditions that must be in place.” Then he smiled. “However, I think I can safely put a ten-year limitation on the binding oath of secrecy. When those ten years have passed, they can tell you what they did and why it was vital to national security.”

From the flat-screen, the president surveyed all of them and said nothing more.

Mack put up his hand again, and when the president nodded, Mack asked, “Could the parents leave the room for a few minutes for a discussion?”

“Of course,” the president answered. “My time is short, however. I hope you can appreciate that.”

“I'm okay with it,” Mr. Johnson blurted. He looked at his wife. “Right, honey? I'm okay with it?”

“Yes you are,” she said.

“Um,” Mack said, “this seems to me an all-or-nothing situation. If any of us aren't okay with this, I'd rather not have to point the finger at anyone for refusing the president's request. Much better to come back with a group decision.”

“The Watts are okay with it,” Mrs. Watt said. Beside her, Jim nodded.

Mack sighed. “Well then. Ella?”

Ella nodded.

“Then the King family is okay with it,” Mack said.

“I am grateful,” the president said. “Very grateful. My regret is that our fellow Americans will have no idea what they owe you. My representative will be dispatched immediately from DC and should arrive in Seattle within hours. Young men, will you be ready and alert by five a.m. for your briefing?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” King and Blake said, accidentally in unison.

“I would always be ready for briefs that come from you, Mr. President.” MJ colored as he realized how that could have be misinterpreted. “Not briefs, like, you know, briefs. But…”

MJ stalled out of embarrassment and said, “I am so sorry, Mr. President. My brain has hiccups sometimes.”

“Please don't apologize,” the president said with a laugh. “Getting called Mr. Pajamas was hilarious. My wife is going to like that story. Thank you again, and I hope to speak to you in a few days after a successful mission.”

The camera switched back to Kelli Isaac.

“Thank you,” she said. “You'll be seeing me at zero five hundred tomorrow. I'll be sleeping on the plane, and I suggest you get as much sleep as possible while I cross the country. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

The screen faded to black.

“Who called the president Mr. Pajamas?” MJ asked with indignation. He looked at the parents and his friends. “Really—who would do that?”

CHAPTER 34

King was awake at three a.m. His parents were asleep in the bedroom that adjoined the hotel suite.

King wanted to sleep. He was exhausted. He'd tossed and turned but really hadn't found slumber.

His brain would not shut off. He couldn't shake the image of Amanda tied to the chair and a chamber that would be filled with water. To him, that reason to continue what Evans and Moore had been doing was far more compelling than a presidential request.

Although, wow. The president!

Hard to believe, but King seemed to have no choice but to believe. In a few hours, he expected, things would be clearer.

That was another reason he couldn't sleep. A combination of excitement, anticipation, curiosity, and worry.

For the hundredth time, King speculated on what the president needed that was so crucial and classified that Evans and Moore had to keep it from the rest of the CIA—and what all this had to do with Delamarre and Amanda.

As King began to turn over some questions in his mind for the hundred-and-first time, a new thought hit him.

Strange.

He turned the new thought over a few more times.

Really strange.

He reached out in the darkness and bumped his hands on the table a few times until he felt his smartphone.

He sent a text to MJ.

Let's meet in the lobby. Now.

It didn't take long for a response. His phone vibrated in silent mode.

Sure
.

You didn't ask me for the code phrase
, King texted back. The night before, all three families had agreed to use a code phrase to identify each other in cyberspace or through any other messages.

The return text from MJ's phone was short.
You woke me up to test me on using the code phrase?

King was even shorter.
No. But still need it
.

MJ responded.
Who do we work for?

As King read the code phrase, he could hear MJ sighing.

King sent him back the answer to prove nobody else but King was using the phone.
We work for Mr. Pajamas
.

King smiled in the dark. Nobody was going to let MJ forget his first words to the president of the United States.

Yes we do
, MJ replied.
I'll go to the lobby.

King slipped into his clothes. Using the light from his phone to see in the darkness of the room, he scribbled a note on a piece of hotel stationery and placed it on his pillow in case his parents woke up and wandered into the suite.