Chapter 10
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Erin Delaney was exhausted. Stumbling into her Georgetown townhouse, she kicked off her shoes and dropped her travel bag just inside the front door.
She was looking forward to a stiff, predawn drink, a hot bath, and a few solid hours of sleep before having to get up and head back to work.
If only her friends in Wisconsin could see her now—especially the ones envious of her “jet-setting, international lifestyle.”
A senior staffer for Indo-Pacific Strategy at the National Security Council sounded a lot more glamorous than it was.
She shared a tiny White House office with three other “experts” who helped shape the administration’s region-wide strategy.
Signature minilateral partnerships were their specialty.
They included the Quad—a foreign policy dialogue among the United States, Australia, India, and Japan focused on promoting a free and open Indo-Pacific region while countering China’s growing influence—as well as the American-Japanese-Korean trilateral pact, which aimed to strengthen deterrence against North Korea and counter regional threats from China and Russia.
Her department pushed for lots of initiatives.
Chief among them were joint military exercises, intelligence sharing, and high-level consultations.
It was a largely thankless position that the majority of Americans didn’t even know existed. You were on call 24/7 and the only thing worse than the hours was the pay. Nevertheless, Delaney loved it. She was not just a good fit, she was perfect for the job.
The higher the stakes, the harder she dug in.
While others folded under stress, unable to make decisions, she came alive.
She was smart, sharp, and ambitious, with an instinct for spotting angles others missed.
She had a master’s in Asian studies, but she wasn’t an academic.
She was a hands-on practitioner who understood how power actually moved.
The National Security Council, and the nation, were lucky to have her—particularly at this moment.
The situation with the Chinese had gotten worse.
Because of her value to the Indo-Pacific team, not to mention her reputation as the “fixer” for urgent briefs and crisis memos, she had been flown up to Camp David with her boss and other key NSC members for the weekend.
The President was urgently trying to craft a strategy and wanted his most important hands on deck.
The People’s Liberation Army was moving substantial assets within striking distance of Taiwan. It had all been done under the cover of a pre-announced military training exercise.
This one, however, felt different. Too much was being moved. And too openly. Specific pieces of hardware and tech, which the Chinese had previously gone to great lengths to keep under wraps, were now showing up on U.S. satellite passes.
It had the same feel as Russia’s “joint exercises” with Belarus just before the Ukraine invasion. Some on the NSC were even making comparisons to the Nazis and their 1939 “border protection exercises” before invading Poland.
What Delaney knew for certain was that despite past Chinese saber-rattling, this was unprecedented. The United States was seriously concerned. And with good reason. So was she.
But the world’s problems would have to wait.
Right now, all she wanted was that drink and that bath.
Maybe a book, though she doubted she’d stay awake long enough to get through a single page.
The latest Clémence Michallon thriller would unfortunately remain in her bag, untouched, for at least one more night.
She pulled out her hair tie and let her long red hair fall loose. Amazing, she thought, how kicking off your shoes and freeing your hair can make you feel human again.
She walked into the kitchen without turning on a single light. Rocks glass from the cupboard. Bourbon from the bar cart. Ice from the freezer. Muscle memory. She could have done it all blindfolded.
Which was why the ice being in the wrong place sent a chill down her spine. Someone had moved it. Someone had been in her house.
Her heart began to pound in her chest as she fumbled for the switch.
Then she heard it—a man’s voice—low, strained, coming from the pitch-black dining room.
“Erin… don’t turn on the lights.”