He needed to speak with Clifford Knox.
square feet of carefully designed space on three levels, including a suite for the president, an office, staff accommodations, even an operating room. Usually when the president traveled, an entourage tagged along with him including a doctor, senior advisers, Secret Service, and the press.
But the deck was devoid of anyone.
He wondered if Daniels had been brought here for treatment and everyone cleared out.
He followed Davis, who led him through the empty mid-deck to a closed door. Davis turned the knob to reveal a plush conference room, its exterior windows shuttered closed. At the far end of a long table sat Danny Daniels. Unscathed.
“I hear you tried to kill me,” the president said.
“If I had, you’d be dead.”
The older man chuckled. “On that you’re probably right.”
Davis closed the door.
“You okay?” he asked the president.
“No holes. But I got my skull popped when they threw me back into the car. Luckily, as many people have noted through the years, I have a hard head.”
He noticed the typewritten note from the hotel room lying on the table.
Daniels stood from the leather armchair. “Thanks for what you did. Seems like I’m constantly owing you. But as soon as we learned who they had in custody, and I read that note you were carrying, supposedly from Stephanie, we knew the shit had really hit the fan.”
He didn’t like the tone. This conversation was leading somewhere.
“Cotton,” Daniels said. “We have a problem.”
“We?”
“Yep. You and me.”