“That’s terrific! Who better than a good Oklahoma boy to advise the president on energy concerns?”
“Well, he knows we have to shift over to natural gas, the sooner the better. Our dependency on foreign oil is killing this country on numerous fronts. And we simultaneously need to develop alternative energy sources—”
Christina held up her hands. “Hold on, tiger. I’ve already heard the speech. Save it for the president.”
“Right. Sorry. But isn’t that great news?”
“Terrific.”
“So what’s your news, huh? Go ahead and try to top a presidential commission appointment.”
She batted her long eyelashes. “I’ve signed LexiCo as a firm client.”
Ben’s lips parted. “No.”
“Yup. We’re their counsel for all litigation matters, civil and criminal.”
“No!” Ben knew LexiCo was a huge East Coast technology firm that Christina had been courting for months. Having them on the firm roster would not only generate much revenue but start a precedent. Where LexiCo went others would surely follow. Ben had been concerned about the firm and its nascent D.C. satellite office, especially after he went “Of Counsel” so he could take the White House appointment. Now it appeared that Christina had landed a client who could keep the firm busy well into the future. “That’s fantastic!”
“Yup. I’m hiring a new associate. Just in case I want to take some time off.”
“Good thinking.”
“And?”
He sighed. “And your news is bigger than mine.”
“Like I said, never say never.” She pulled him close once more.
“Can we make a date to watch
Jeopardy
together tonight?”
She made a small moue. “Because you’ve read, like, every history book ever written? I don’t think I can stand to hear you ace all the history questions again.”
“Hey, at least you don’t have to listen to someone talking about how sexy Alex Trebek is.”
“I only did that once!” She squeezed him all the tighter. “It’s just ‘cause he reminds me of you, you smarty. So tell me the truth—do you like me a lot, or do you really truly love me, Mr. Kincaid?”
He hugged her with all his heart and soul. “Yes.”
As it turned out, Ben’s estimates were all wrong. Traffic was so jammed as he left their K Street apartment that it took him forty-five minutes to get to the White House, but only twenty-five minutes to pass through all the security protocols and get to his office. It worked out the same. Only a few minutes after he reached his office, the president’s chief of staff knocked on his door. “The president is ready to see you.”
Ben rose to his feet. He knew Sarie Morrell didn’t like it, but his mother had taught him to always rise when a woman entered the room, and old habits died hard. Sarie was the president’s chief of staff, one of the few females to ever hold that position. Her crisp efficiency, not to mention her good looks and snappy dress, often reminded Ben of his wife. Sarie was a blonde, with long, straight hair that stretched past her shoulder blades, but she shared with Christina that most valuable of all assets: the ability to get things done. Other White House staffers dithered, changed their minds, vacillated, but not Sarie. Once she made a plan, she stuck to it and pushed to make it a reality. In the short time he’d been in the White House, Ben had seen what an asset she could be to President Kyler, whom he believed to be a good man with his heart in the right place.
“Do I need to bring anything?”
Sarie was an Alabama girl and spoke with a pronounced southern accent. “Just a notepad and your razor-sharp brains.”
“I think I left them at home.”
“Then fake it. That’s what the rest of us do.”
Ben grabbed his legal pad and followed her into the corridor. She moved fast, and he had to make an effort to walk with her, rather than in her wake. The legal office was at the far edge of the West Wing, near the elevator the First Family used to get to their personal rooms. The corridors were crowded today, but then, they almost always were. He was amazed by how much business, in so many different arenas, was conducted in the White House on a daily basis.
Ben still considered this sprawling mansion, which insiders called “the Residence,” a large Greek labyrinth. He had learned to negotiate his way by noting landmarks. In a few moments they passed the Red Room, a favorite of his because he knew it was a favorite of Eleanor Roosevelt’s and had been refurbished under the direction of Jacqueline Kennedy. Barely a half minute later, given Sarie’s brisk pace, they were whizzing by the Green Room and the Blue Room, both of which he knew had been substantially improved by Pat Nixon. Her husband had covered up FDR’s swimming pool and added a bowling alley. Pat had brought in more than six hundred fabulous artifacts and artworks. How did those two ever live together?
They turned right into the main corridor and almost collided with Dr. Henry Albertson, the president’s chief physician, who entered at the same time from the opposite side. Ben was surprised to see him. He knew the White House medical office was located at the far opposite end of the corridor.
Ben nodded at the doctor. “You’re walking briskly this morning.”
Albertson was an avuncular man in his mid-sixties, his hair still brown and his cheeks the color of radishes. “You do anything else in this joint, you’ll get trampled.”
“Not on your way to an emergency, I hope.”
“No. Just headed for the Oval Office.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Now? Are you involved in the offshore drilling case somehow?”
“No, no. I just like to drop in from time to time. To observe what’s going on.”
“You mean with the president?”
“Just every now and again. Whenever Sarie thinks it’s a good idea.”
Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw a look pass from Sarie to the doctor. The expression on Albertson’s face gave him the distinct impression that she thought he should close his mouth. He did.
As Ben continued walking down the corridor he attempted to break what had become an uncomfortable silence. “Any progress with the Speaker of the House, Sarie?” President Kyler was a Democrat, but the Republicans controlled the House, and as a result, Kyler had been unable to pass any of his major objectives so far. The Speaker, Congressman Wilkins, was extremely charismatic and high-profile, probably nursing presidential aspirations of his own. “Surely there must be someplace they can compromise.”
“If so, I haven’t found it. And believe me, I’ve tried.” She flashed him a quick smile. “I’ve turned on all my southern-girl charm and then some. Even offered to come by the House cafeteria and whip up a batch of my grandmama’s hominy grits. He didn’t go for it.”
Ben shook his head. “The man must be made of steel.”
“Well, he’s from New Jersey. They don’t know what good food is.”
“Wait a minute,” Dr. Albertson said. “I’m from New Jersey.”
“And have you ever eaten my grandmama’s hominy grits?”
“Well, if the opportunity arose…”
“I brought some to the potluck at Vice President Swinburne’s house last month. And I made careful note of who partook and who did not. You were not among the partakers.”
Albertson cleared his throat. “Well, I would’ve been.” He patted his stomach. “But that darned spastic colon of mine was acting up.”
Sarie gave him a long look. “Do tell.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had grits,” Ben said.
“Well, you’re a man of culture and refinement,” Sarie replied. “I feel certain you would adore them.”
“Doesn’t that pretty little wife of yours fix you breakfast?” Albertson asked.
“She does,” Ben replied. “She makes a fantastic spinach omelet. When she has time.” And when she didn’t, he did not add, or when she wasn’t looking, he dug into his secret stash of Cap’n Crunch. Living with a health food nut could be so challenging at times.
A deep, gravelly voice cut into the conversation. “This must be the Three Stooges. On their way to tell the emperor he’s got no clothes.”
Ben veered left and saw his least favorite person in the entire White House, Admiral Wilson Cartwright, the head of the White House Military Office. He was a stocky older man, about a foot shorter than Ben, but if you judged by his bearing and manner, you would think he must be at least three feet taller.
Ben had never been very good with the military. But Cartwright seemed to have an absolute antipathy for lawyers. Whenever possible, Ben just tried to stay out of the man’s way.
“We’re off to see the wizard,” Ben answered.
Cartwright made a guttural growling sound. “Then you can follow me.”
Of course. It would have to be that way. Cartwright led the way down the corridor.
“Are you interested in offshore drilling?” Ben asked.
“Oil reserves are first and foremost a military concern,” Cartwright replied in a tone that suggested Ben was a total idiot for asking.
“Yes, but this is a legal matter. The injunction—”
Cartwright’s eyes moved closer together. “Maybe you’ve been too busy chasing ambulances to notice what’s been going on in the Middle East for the past fifty years or so, but it’s the greatest threat to this nation, so I don’t have the luxury of looking the other way.”
Ben knew it was foolish to even reply. Anything he said would be twisted around to fit into the man’s monomaniacal worldview. But the perverse imp within Ben wouldn’t let it lie. “I still don’t understand why the military needs to attend a legal strategy session.”
“Well, I don’t know why Robert Griswold appointed you to his staff. A man that age normally has more sense. But I do know this: as soon as we enter the Oval Office, you’ll do your bleeding-heart routine about the environment and you’ll oppose every sensible approach to reducing our dependence on foreign oil. Someone with some perspective has to be there.”
So that was what this was all about. “I’m all for reducing our dependence on foreign oil,” Ben said. “But I won’t sacrifice our natural resources for another basin of oil or two. The only long-term answer is alternative—”
“I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on so-called long-term solutions. I have to deal with the threats that confront us in the here and now.”
“I still don’t understand—”
Cartwright stopped abruptly. “You don’t have to understand, Mr. Kincaid. All you have to do is file your little lawsuits and stay out of the way of the men who are doing the real work to protect this nation. You understand what I’m telling you? Stay out of my way.”
Ben tucked in his chin. “You may have been confused by my snappy attire, but I am not in the military. I am not under your authority and I do not take orders from you.”
“Everyone in this building takes orders from me, mister.” To some extent, Ben knew that was true. As head of the White House Military Office, Cartwright was in charge of the entire building and everything that transpired within, including communications, food, medicine, emergency procedures, and all forms of executive transportation. If the president wanted something done here, it went through Admiral Cartwright. And if Cartwright wanted to attend this meeting, there was no way that Ben could stop him. “So my advice to you is to stay out of my way. I do not like enemies and I do not treat them kindly.”
“Oh, look,” Dr. Albertson said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve arrived. What a shame this engaging conversation will have to come to an end.”
Ben noted that Sarie had to bite down on her lip to keep from smiling.
They approached the northeast door to the Oval Office. Ben knew there were four entrances to the executive office. The northeast door opened onto the president’s secretary’s office; the northwest door led to the main corridor of the West Wing; the west door connected to a small study and a dining room; and the east door led directly to the Rose Garden. This was the primary way in for visitors, perhaps because it made it easier for his secretary, or the chief of staff if she was available, to prevent unwanted intrusions.
They were greeted by the press secretary, Alden Meyers, a tall man from Connecticut whose background was in advertising.
“The president may be delayed,” he told them in a hushed voice. “There’s a crisis. We’re preparing a statement.”
Ben immediately thought of the Speaker of the House and the legislation now being debated. “A legislative crisis?”
Meyers lowered his head gravely. His voice dropped at least an octave. “No. A nuclear crisis.”
Admiral Cartwright moved rapidly to the forefront. “Nuclear? Has there been an detonation?”
“No,” Meyers replied. “Not yet, anyway. But a nuclear suitcase bomb has disappeared from a secret Arlington armory. The CIA has some leads and they’ve been tracking suspects.”
“Terrorists.”
“That would be the worst-case scenario. It’s always possible it was misplaced—”
“Someone misplaced a nuclear bomb?”
“—or relocated. One of those left-hand-doesn’t-know-what-the-right-hand-is-doing situations. But the circumstances suggest theft by foreign agents, so the CIA has been investigating.”
“Have they apprehended anyone?”
“Not yet. There’s an agent in the field who thought he had something important, but we haven’t heard anything back from him yet.”
“Are we going public with this?”
“The president says yes, even though he knows there will be negative fallout. It will undoubtedly cause panic and criticism. But the people have a right to know. And he’s afraid that if he doesn’t and a bomb goes off, he’ll look like he didn’t know what was going on.”
“I think that’s a mistake,” Cartwright grunted, looking at the Oval Office door. “But I guess I can tell the man myself.”
“Look,” Ben interjected, “my little meeting can wait. Sounds like the president has more important things—”
“No,” Meyers said. “Your meeting may be brief, but he wants it to happen. The president wants to continue doing business as usual. It’s important not to let a possible terrorist threat interfere with the work of governing. And we don’t know at this time that there’s any immediate threat.”