PERKS OF THE POSITION のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 201 - チャプター 210

GERALD A war fought on two fronts was difficult enough.A war fought in the gutter of the international press was something else entirely.I stood at the head of the war room, both hands braced against the dark granite table as forty screens displayed the unfolding operation in Zurich.Everything was moving according to plan.Our operatives were slipping into position around Christopher's financial network. Satellite feeds tracked every relevant movement. Silver's code had already infiltrated the system, sitting quietly beneath layers of encryption and waiting for the final command.Then Norton entered the raised command platform.There was something wrong with his expression.He held his slate in one hand, the screen displaying an unauthorized civilian broadcast."Mr. President," he said. "We have a leak."I turned toward him."An intelligence breach?""No, sir."He hesitated."It's Amalya Volkov."My jaw tightened."What has she done?"Norton tapped the screen.The central monitor

SILVERThere was probably a mathematical formula for maintaining peace in a household.Unfortunately, nobody had bothered to write one for mine.Normally, the Haven Ranch operated with almost unnerving efficiency. My father, the President of the Sovereign Trust, could sit through breakfast while monitoring satellite feeds and discussing international threats as casually as other men discussed the weather.My mother was worse.She could read a classified intelligence report, drink tea, and calculate exactly how many ways she could incapacitate an armed man without spilling a single drop.Together, they somehow made domestic life feel almost normal.Then someone had the brilliant idea of inviting Sienna Louis to breakfast.I sat at the dark mahogany dining table in a gray cashmere sweater, my clear-lensed spectacles balanced neatly on my nose.To my left, Mother was reading an encrypted tactical briefing on her tablet while cutting a piece of toast with a silver knife.Across from her,

VERONICA Shopping in public has always been a security headache.Shopping privately, however, is apparently a military operation.The Valentino boutique on Bond Street had been closed to the public for the afternoon. Four armored SUVs were parked outside. Eight Eagles operatives were scattered among the staff and nonexistent customers, while two sniper teams occupied rooftops overlooking Burlington Arcade.All this because three women needed to buy clothes.I sat in a velvet armchair inside the private salon, my dark navy trousers perfectly pressed, a glass of sparkling water sitting untouched beside me.My tactical slate rested on the table, displaying the latest movements of our Zurich teams.Across the room, Catya stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing an ivory cashmere trench coat.She rolled her shoulders.Twisted at the waist.Raised one arm.Then frowned."The shoulder mobility is acceptable," she announced. "But I don't like the buttons."I glanced up."They're button

VERONICA A secure satellite connection might not carry a scent, but somehow, tonight, the room still seemed to reek of stolen power.I sat behind the obsidian desk in my underground briefing vault, my back straight, my navy suit immaculate. To my left, Alexander stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking every inch like a mountain carved from shadow.Julian sat at the terminal on my right, monitoring the encrypted bridge. His job was simple: make sure nothing we said tonight could be traced, recorded, or retrieved from either government’s public archives.“The bridge is secure, Mother,” he murmured. “The Kremlin communications office accepted the Tier-0 diplomatic request. You’re connected to the Executive Office.”“Put it through.”The wall-sized glass monitor flickered.A moment later, the dark screen came alive with the interior of the Grand Kremlin Palace.Dmitry Voronin sat behind the enormous oak desk reserved for the Russian presidency.He had already discarded the c

VERONICA Power in Russia had never really been about the title on a gold-embossed card.It was about who had access to the person sitting at the top.When Dmitry Voronin seized the presidency in his swift, bloodless coup, his first major move had been carefully calculated. He needed the public to believe that Russia was entering a new era; something modern, progressive, and respectable.So he appointed Sofya Romanova as his Vice President.The Western press loved it.London called it a sign of reform. Paris called it a historic step forward. Headlines praised Voronin for bringing a woman into the highest levels of the Russian government.I didn't believe a word of it.I had spent too many years watching governments dress corruption in expensive suits.I sat in the high-backed leather chair inside our Zurich safe house, my navy trousers perfectly pressed, silver-rimmed spectacles resting on the bridge of my nose. A porcelain cup of Earl Grey sat on the glass table before me, sending a