Qingchen stared for several moments at the shorter Li. Just then, the door opened and a soldier stepped onto the roof. It was one of the members of the general’s personal security detail. Qingchen nodded to him, then subtly waved him over. Li glanced at the soldier as he approached. He held a carbine, which he had strapped across his chest, aimed at the ground.
“Mr. Premier, I have a riddle for you,” said Qingchen as the soldier approached. The soldier stopped a few feet away from them, then trained the muzzle of the rifle at Li.
Li was silent.
“What is more powerful,” asked Qingchen, a smile appearing on his face, “information or strength?”
“I don’t know,” said Li.
Qingchen’s face adopted a sinister stare.
“If you can’t answer my riddles, Mr. Premier, what good are you to me?” asked Qingchen, nodding at the soldier.
“Wait,” said Li, eyeing the muzzle of the soldier’s rifle. “The answer is neither.”
“What do you mean, neither?” asked Qingchen.
“Neither information nor strength, General, is as powerful as luck.”
“This meeting only becomes more amusing,” said Qingchen, laughing. “Your weakness and stupidity confirm whatever plans I had to remove you from power, Qishan. The answer is strength. After all, you have enough information to hang me, and yet, it is my strength that will now determine not only my fate, but yours as well.”
“It’s luck,” said Li. “If you don’t believe me, ask the soldier.”
Li pointed at the young soldier, then reached out and politely moved the muzzle of his weapon so that it was aimed at Qingchen.
“How else could you possibly explain how my nephew came to serve on your personal security staff?” asked Li, smiling. “Is it not luck, General? In fact, I feel so lucky I think I’ll go to Macau this weekend and play some blackjack.”
Li walked away as the sound of a gunshot echoed across the rooftop.
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
Dewey was brushing his teeth when the door to the bathroom opened ever so slightly. He pulled it open as he brushed, looking around. He saw nothing. He looked down. Sitting there was the Calibrisis’ German shepherd, Lizzie. She looked up at him with a kindly look, her tongue out, a dog’s version of a smile.
He finished brushing, then walked down the hall to the guest bedroom. When he went to shut the door, Lizzie was standing there. Dewey leaned down and scratched her gently. She was an old dog, and some of the hair around her eyes and mouth was gray.
“Good dog.”
The old German shepherd put her nose in the crack of the door when he went to shut it. Dewey smiled and let her in. He climbed into the king-size bed. When he went to turn out the lamp on the bedside table, Lizzie was lying on the floor, next to the bed, curled up.
Dewey was tired. He’d eaten three helpings of turkey, two pieces of pecan pie, and drank down a respectable amount of beer along with a glass or three of whiskey. He’d watched football, gotten mauled several times by Daisy in Scrabble, and taken his revenge on the basement Ping-Pong table.
He put his hand behind his neck, smiling, staring at the moonlight-crossed ceiling.
Suddenly, he heard Lizzie rustling beside the bed. He turned on the bedside light. The dog was sitting obediently next to the bed, looking at him. She took her paw and reached up to the bed.
Dewey smiled. He pulled the covers aside and climbed out of bed. He lifted Lizzie onto the bed, then climbed back under the covers and turned out the light. He again lay down, his arm behind his head. Lizzie inspected the bed for a minute or two, then found a spot next to Dewey. She curled up against him.
“So what do you think I should do?” Dewey asked the old dog.
He put his arm under the dog’s head, patting her chest. He looked up at the white and black pattern made by the moonlight across the ceiling. Soon, he heard the soft wheezing of the old German shepherd as she drifted off to sleep.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Dewey.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing the acknowledgments is one of the best parts of writing a book. It means you’re done. All that’s left now is to sit back and wait for the book to hit the bookstores, then cross your fingers and hope everyone likes reading it as much as you enjoyed writing it. So let me start by thanking some people without whom I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, be writing.
First, there’s you, my readers. As I write this, I’m on a plane, heading out west for a few weeks with my family. Out the window, I can see the green and blue land of America, spreading so perfectly to a black line at the horizon. I know many of you are down there. Knowing that makes the land, seen from up here, five miles up in the sky, feel like I’m looking across the town square in my hometown. Thank you for doing that, wherever you happen to be. Let me tell you, it’s an amazing feeling for me to look down and know I’m among friends.
Next, I want to thank America’s veterans. A gentleman wrote to me a few months ago and asked if I’d send a signed copy of one of my books to his son, who is at a veterans’ hospital; he lost his right arm in Afghanistan. His father was worried about him, and thought I might be able to cheer him up. He said I was his son’s favorite author. Though that should’ve made me happy, I found myself picturing a young soldier, a kid really, lying in a bed somewhere, his arm gone, his spirits, too, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to lose it. I’m not sure you could ever adequately thank our veterans, but for what it’s worth, I write these books for you guys.
Writing a book is truly a team effort, and I’d like to thank the big team who helped me with Eye for an Eye.
Aaron, Nicole, Lisa, Lucy, Frances, Arleen, Melissa, and John, my “kill team” at the Aaron Priest Agency: you guys are the best. A special thank-you to Nicole Kenealy James; you somehow find a way to be amazingly gentle and brutally tough; you’re my fiercest advocate and I’m grateful to have you on my side.
To Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear, Keith Kahla, Matthew Baldacci, Paul Hochman, Nancy Trypuc, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, Anne Marie Tallberg, George Witte, Jeff Dodes, John Murphy, Hannah Braaten, Stephanie Davis, Loren Jaggers, Phil Mazzone, Rafal Gibek, Malati Chavali, and everyone else at St. Martin’s Press: thanks for your patience, guidance, and confidence. A special thanks to Keith, my editor: your patience is surpassed only by the diplomatic skills with which you deliver your “suggested” changes.
Thanks to: everyone at Macmillan Audio, including Mary-Beth Roche, Robert Allen, Brant Janeway, Samantha Edelson, and Esther Bochner; Chris George, my man in Hollywood; Caspian at Abner Stein and Trisha at Pan Macmillan in London; Lizzie, Lora, Alyssa, and Andrea at Scratch.
As with every book, I needed the help of experts to nail some of the subject matter in Eye. Thanks to: Michael Murray, James Lacey, Rod Gregg, and Charlie Speight.
The kitchen cabinet: Shortsleeve, Miguel, Michelle G., Rorke, Alex, Sam A., Tad, Ed Stackler, Ranger, Mabel, Ray L.
Last but not least, thanks to my family. This time, I decided to let my four kids each write their own acknowledgment. I cannot in good conscience vouch for the accuracy of the following, but it did come from their mouths:
To Esmé, you are a great sharer to your friends and a great example to your mean brothers and a great hockey player on your team. Oscar, you’re an amazing hockey player who is also skilled with guns and knives. Teddy, you are a great cook, a football genius, and you like a nice pair of slacks. Charlie, you’re a nice guy who should be allowed to do whatever you want.
To Shannon, thanks for your tremendous support, excellent advice, true friendship, and undying love (I wrote that—and it is 100 percent accurate).