“I realize that!” Ben shouted. He took a breath and reined his voice back in. For all he knew, he was audible in the adjoining room. “So tell me already!”
The president looked at him reluctantly.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” Ben said. “Do you want to remain president? Because if you do, you need to tell me everything.”
“You—you don’t know what you’re asking of me, Ben.”
“No,” Ben said, looking directly into his eyes, “I don’t. But I know this: it’s your only chance.”
When Ben opened the door leading to the main room of the bunker, the buzz inside instantly disappeared.
Are we back in grade school? he wondered as he and the president entered. They gossip behind your back, then go all hush-hush when you return. Pretty soon someone’s going to suggest that the president has cooties.
“Right on schedule,” Cartwright said, glancing at the clock. “That’s the way I like it. Are you ready to proceed with your defense, Mr. Kincaid?”
“I am.”
“Please call your first witness.”
Ben nodded. “Let me say in advance that I beg the court’s indulgence—and that of everyone else in the room. We haven’t had a chance to prepare properly, obviously, and the next witness has no idea he’s about to be called.”
Several heads bopped up at attention. Who was he talking about? Could it possibly be me?
Ben let the suspense build for about a nanosecond. That was all the time he had to spare. “For our first witness, the defense calls Secret Service agent Max Zimmer.”
The people sitting at the table were surprised, even astonished—but there was no reaction from Zimmer, who was still sitting at the communications station, tapping on his terminal keyboard.
Ben realized he was still wearing his headphones, sucking in intel from the outside world. He hadn’t heard that he had been chosen.
Ben walked over to him and pulled off the headset. Zimmer instantly whirled around, an angry expression on his face, his hand on the barrel of his weapon.
“Keep it in the holster, Shane.” Ben smiled sheepishly. “You’ve been called to the witness stand.”
Zimmer looked at him as if he were some strange species of bug. “Me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Then it shouldn’t take long.”
Zimmer shook his head emphatically. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I have to monitor the situation outside. We’ve got a crisis situation here.”
“Can’t one of the other agents handle it? At least for ten minutes or so?”
Zimmer clearly was not happy about this.
“We know this is an inconvenience,” Cartwright said, “but this proceeding is of the utmost importance, so I would appreciate it if you would cooperate—immediately.”
Zimmer frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Gioia?”
Another agent snapped to attention.
“Take over. You’ve got a direct feed from the CIA, the NSA, Homeland Security, our embassy in Saudi Arabia, the disaster relief team at the Mall, and about a dozen other operatives.”
“Understood,” Gioia replied.
“If anything of interest happens, or any significant intel is uncovered, I want to know about it immediately.”
“You will, sir.”
“Thank you.” Still frowning, Zimmer smoothed out his suit, tucked in his tie, and looked around the small room. “So where do I sit?”
Ben directed him to the makeshift witness stand. After he was sworn in, Ben got his personal details out as well as the essential points of his résumé. After spending some time overseas, including in Kuraq, hopping from one job to the next, he’d finally returned to the United States. He had been with the Secret Service, now a division of Homeland Security, for thirteen years.
“How long have you worked at the White House?”
“A little over four years. I was first brought in during the Blake administration to guard the First Lady. At her request. She and I had, um, known each other many years before. After her untimely assassination, I was assigned to the president.”
Ben could see from the tiniest cloud in his eyes that the memory of the First Lady’s murder—when he was on duty and guarding her—still stung. “And do you still hold that post today?”
“I do. The incoming president, Roland Kyler, was kind enough to retain me on his personal detail.”
“Before we go any further, Agent Zimmer, let me ask you about politics. Do you approve of the president’s political positions?”
“To be truthful, I don’t know that much about them.”
“You must absorb something from being around him so much.”
“Not really. I try to stay out of the political fray altogether. My job is to protect the president, and I think I can do that most effectively if I remain uninvolved with political issues. My dedication can’t waver depending upon what position he’s taken on the latest hot spot or political issue. So I might as well not know.”
“Surely you have some thoughts about his position on Kuraq. Do you approve of U.S. troops being deployed there?”
“Haven’t really thought that much about it.”
“Come on.”
“I assume the commander in chief knows far more about it than I do and is in a better position to make a decision about such matters.”
“But you lived in Kuraq for a time, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“So you must have a good deal of insight about the country.”
“That was a long time ago. Before Colonel Zuko came to power. It was a different country. A different Middle East. A different world.”
“And I believe you indicated that while you were there, you lived with someone with whom you became… close.”
Zimmer’s eyes seemed to burn air in a direct line toward Ben’s. “Yes.”
“Have you remained in contact?”
“No.”
“And that experience didn’t leave you with any personal feelings regarding this nation?”
“No. Especially not when I’m on duty. I protect the president, period. Doesn’t matter who or what he says or does. If the people elected a baboon, I’d protect him, too. That’s my job.”
Ben took a deep breath. He could see he wasn’t going to get anything more just by pounding at the man. It was time to move in a different direction.
“How do you like working for President Kyler?”
“We haven’t had any serious problems.”
“Any minor ones?”
“Well, as I gather Sarie mentioned, he does have a bad habit of wandering off. That’s never going to go down well with your Secret Service detail.”
“I would imagine not.”
“As far as we’re concerned, any moment he’s not in our sight is a moment he could be in a sniper’s sights.”
Yes, Ben thought, especially if he’s sitting on the White House roof. “What have you done about this problem?”
“I sat him down—” He looked up at the president abruptly. “I mean, with his permission. When time permitted. Because, of course, he’s the boss. But we had a talk.”
“What was said?”
“I told him why it was unsafe and unacceptable for him to continue using various and devious means to ditch his security detail. I told him that if he needed some privacy, that could be arranged in a secure fashion. But a rogue president running amok just wasn’t going to work.”
Ben would’ve loved to have been present for that conversation. “Was the meeting productive?”
“Very. He finally told me why he had been disappearing.”
“Why?”
Zimmer squirmed slightly. “I don’t think we need to go into that. It’s not relevant. The point is, once I knew what it was about, it was easy to arrange some privacy for him in a safe manner.”
Swinburne jumped up. “I object, judge. That question was posed by the defense lawyer to a friendly witness. It needs to be answered.”
Cartwright harrumphed. “The witness will answer the question.”
“No,” Zimmer said. “Actually, I won’t.”
“Agent Zimmer, you swore an oath to this court.”
“I realize that. But I also swore an oath when I joined the service. I won’t reveal the confidences of those I’m protecting. Goes against the very nature of the job.”
Ben knew Swinburne wouldn’t be satisfied with that. “Can you at least give us a hint what this was about?”
Zimmer appeared supremely uncomfortable, but he eventually answered the question. “Suffice to say that there were times when the president wanted to… do things… without his wife knowing about it.”
Ben’s lips parted. Damn. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. The president was sneaking around on his wife? It sounded as if the president was doing something unlikely to endear him to anyone.
Ben decided the best thing he could do was to ignore it and move on.
“Agent Zimmer, I know the vice president is keenly interested in whether the president has engaged in any unusual behavior, so I’ll just save him the trouble by asking you myself.” Meaning that if this incriminating testimony had to come out—and it did—Ben would rather it happened while he was in control of the examination. If Swinburne tried to delve back into it later, he could object on the grounds that the question had been asked and answered. “Have you observed any unusual behavior by the president?”
“On occasion, though nothing like what we saw earlier today in the bunker. Very mild by comparison.”
“Such as what?”
Zimmer reflected for a moment. “I recall one evening he got a call on his private cell. He didn’t say but I assume the call was from his daughter, Jenny. He didn’t give the details, but it sounded as if she were in some kind of trouble. After the call ended, he began talking about how he had failed as a father. He was very emotional about it.”
It was a strange business, almost comic, Ben thought, listening to a man testify virtually without emotion about someone else being emotional. “Did he seem despondent?”
“I suppose. He thought he had failed in the parenting arena. I didn’t know what to tell him. I’ve never had children. Don’t know anything about it.”
“Did he talk about killing himself?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
Thank God. “Any talk about flying? I mean, without an airplane.”
“No. Never. He talked about losing his freedom—but who wouldn’t? The president lives on public display, with vultures circling around waiting for him to make the smallest slip. It’s no life for anyone. I wouldn’t want it.”
Yes, but the vice president does. Which was why we’re here. “Any other instances of unusual behavior?”
“Not really. Well, unusual is a matter of opinion, I suppose. There was that one conversation about streaking.”
Ben blinked. “Streaking?”
“Yes. I was the only agent in earshot. We were making our way across the south lawn. And he mentioned that he would like to rip off his clothes, unchain himself from the suit and tie, and race stark naked across the lawn.”
“I see. Did you think he was serious?”
“Not at first. But he wouldn’t let it go. He continued talking about how freeing it would be, how he’d like to just take off and feel nature embracing him. He started rubbing his hands all over himself, getting this euphoric expression on his face. Tugging at his necktie.”
“Did you find this disturbing?”
Zimmer shrugged. “All in a day’s work.”
“And did he in fact remove his clothing?”
“Nah. I talked him out of it. I reminded him that out on the lawn, it was impossible to know who might have a cell phone camera at the ready. The last thing any president needed was to be up on YouTube stark naked, showing the whole world his shortcomings.”
Ben bit down on his lower lip. So the stoic Secret Service man did have a sense of humor after all. That was good to know.
“Any other remarkable incidents?”
“No. And honestly, I don’t know how remarkable those are. I’ve seen some seriously weird stuff go on at the White House in my time. I think it’s inevitable when you live in a goldfish bowl like the president does. And the First Lady. And really, the entire White House staff.”
“So there was never a time when you thought the president might be insane?”
“Absolutely not. Though I’m not sure I would find that particularly remarkable. I think it’s a miracle anyone can put in four years at this job without going insane.”
“And you’ve never observed any behavior that made you think the president might be incapable of performing his duties?”
“No. To the contrary, even on the days when I observed the incidents I just recalled, I saw him functioning very well.”
“Have you observed any pattern or frequency to these odd incidents?”
“Not really.” He pondered a moment. “I guess, now that you mention it, both of the main incidents I described occurred just after he returned.”
“Returned? From what?”
“From one of those… privacy moments I mentioned.”
Ben was perplexed. Was the man meeting an intern in a private room while his wife wasn’t looking? Ben could see where that might stress him out. In which case, why didn’t he stop?
“Your honor,” Ben said, “could I have a moment to confer with my client?”
“Didn’t you just do that? I gave you five full precious minutes.”
“I need more. Just one minute will do.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. In another world I’d probably say yes. But we just can’t afford all these time-outs. Please proceed.”
Ben looked at the president and hoped he could read minds. The message he was sending was: Write me a note. Explain. Unfortunately, his telepathy must be waning, because the president did not begin writing.
He would have to proceed in the dark.
“Agent Zimmer, have there been any other occasions when the president took you into his confidence?”
Unlike the other witnesses, Zimmer was not bashful about looking where he wanted to look. On this occasion, he was looking at the president.
He was seeking permission.
This message the president seemed to understand. He gave a firm nod. Zimmer returned it, though the expression on his face was grim.
“And,” Zimmer said, “you understand the consequences?”
It took Ben a moment to realize Zimmer was talking to the president, not him. Swinburne was slow on the uptake, too. He was just getting ready to object when the president answered.