The Echo of the Whip Read Online Free

it is Ed Whelan wants from her?”
    “According to Galia, no. And Galia’s very good at hearing words that don’t ring true.”
    In the chief of staff’s job, she had to be, McGill knew.
    “So the real job here for me is to find both the kids on ice and whatever it is Whelan wants.”
    “Yes.”
    “You could have just come to me, you know,” McGill said.
    “Galia’s intercession is your cover.”
    “Yeah, but you could have whispered the story into my ear.”
    “I wasn’t sure I wanted you involved at all.”
    A rueful grin crossed McGill’s face. “But then I threatened to beat up all of Congress, if necessary, and things changed.”
    The president nodded. “Yes, I took that as a sign.”

Chapter 3
The Verizon Center — Washington, DC, Saturday, March 21, 2015
    Jean Morrissey, the vice president of the United States, wore an ice hockey uniform from her alma mater, the University of Minnesota. She’d outbid everyone else for it in a silent auction. While the uniform was new, her skates were the ones she’d worn during her collegiate playing days. Some women concerned themselves with keeping the same dress size from their younger years; Jean contented herself that her skates still fit. Her dress size, no big deal to her, had actually gone down a notch.
    She’d lined up a half-dozen pucks on the blue line, facing an open net. The Washington Capitals, the NHL team in town, had graciously agreed to let the vice president rent an hour of ice time whenever they were on the road. The blue line was 64 feet from the goal line; the puck centered in front of the goal net was the shortest and most direct shot. The others to the right and left were longer shots with more oblique angles.
    Jean started her rush, skating full speed, out of the opposite end of the rink. In college she had played defense, but she’d patterned her game on that of Bobby Orr. He’d not only won eight straight Norris Trophies as the NHL’s best defenseman, he was also the only defensive player ever to win two scoring championships. He’d accomplished his all-around excellence with great skating speed and nearly magical stick-handling ability.
    When she was an adolescent player, Jean had wanted to marry Bobby Orr. As she matured, she realized that was just a fantasy, but she always wore the same number he did — 4 — in his honor. Word of that had apparently gotten back to Orr. After a game against Wisconsin in which Jean had scored a hat trick — 3 goals — she’d gotten a note from Boston.
    Jean, you’re too cool for school. — Bobby
    The future vice president immediately had the message framed.
    It hung on a wall of her office in the White House.
    Zipping past the only other skater on the ice, Jean hit the puck on the right end of the blue line with a resounding slap shot. The black disc became a blur rocketing through the air. It hit the upper left inside corner of the net. Not pausing to admire the shot, she skated backward to the next puck, flicked a wrist shot just inside the right post of the net. Working her way down the line of pucks, she alternated slap shots and wrist shots. All of them found the back of the net.
    Adding a twist, she took the last shot backhanded.
    It, too, flew into the goal.
    FBI Deputy Director Byron DeWitt glided up to Jean. Not possessed of an athletic uniform, he wore hockey skates, blue jeans and a sweatshirt with the Bureau’s logo and the legend: G-men never sleep. We keep the bad guys up all night.
    He said, “I think you might have a gift for this ice hockey stuff, Ms. Vice President.”
    “Yeah, well. It’s harder when there’s a goalie in front of the net and and a lot of other people flying around between you and her.”
    “Your scoring record leads me to believe otherwise.”
    DeWitt smoothly skated away, backward and smiling.
    Jean laughed and followed him. “You move like a figure skater.”
    “Should I get that other kind of skates?”
    She closed the distance between them. “You