11 May Senator Fiero picked up a photograph from the fireplace mantel. It was a picture of Vice President Diele leaning against the Oval Office desk, talking down to President Greyhill seated on the couch. Very telling. “You’re confusing the hell out of me, Barbara. Yesterday, you were busting our balls on national television about our failure to address the terrorism threat, and now you’re here asking us for a favor.” Diele poured himself a scotch from a crystal decanter. The cold ice cracked beneath the warm liquor. He didn’t offer her one. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure why that’s confusing to you. You’ve read the same reports I have. This terrorist Mossa is a dangerous new threat in the region. I want him stopped. So do you.” She set the photo back on the mantel. “I know you, Gary. You want this guy’s scalp as badly as I do.” Diele and Fiero had served together in the Senate for years. Diele took a thoughtful sip of scotch.
