I Do Solemnly Swear (15 page)

Rodgers grasped McDermott’s hand and pumped his arm vigorously. “Well, Charles, we did it. You are a fucking genius! So what’s next for you?”

“It’ll take a month for me to unwind. Thinking about the South Pacific. Then I guess I’ll sign up for unemployment.”

Rodgers reached inside his jacket, removed an envelope, and handed it to McDermott.

McDermott tore the end and looked at the cashier’s check. A spurt of adrenaline coursed through his veins. “We agreed on a million.”

“Consider it an advance.”

McDermott examined the check again to be sure the number hadn’t changed. “Am I missing something?”

“You’d make a hell of a chief of staff. Why don’t you join me in Washington?”

***

Guenther drove the rented Chevy Malibu to the Georgetown campus. As he’d been told, a parklike area with wooden benches and manicured grounds bordered the front of the library. He parked in the visitor’s lot and sat in the car for a few minutes, observing herds of students scurrying in every direction.

He made his way to the center bench facing the library and adjusted his Redskins cap. A light mist hung in the air. Gusty wind whirled multicolored leaves across the grass. The sun winked through the gray sky.

He waited.

A man sat next to him. Guenther fixed his eyes on the maple tree across the sidewalk. The man smelled like a damp basement.

The man said, “Nice day for a white wedding.”

“Yes it is,” Guenther responded.

The man pushed a small brown package against Guenther’s thigh. He picked it up and set it on his lap. He turned to look at the mysterious person and watched as he scuffed away.

Guenther rushed back to the hotel room. When he tore open the box and saw the chrome Colt .45, it was like staring into bright sunlight. His eyes burned with memories.

He had killed his father with a similar Colt .45. Shot the bastard six times. Twice in the face and two times in each kidney. Without feeling an ounce of remorse, not a hint of self-reproach, Guenther had watched his father’s bleeding body twitch and convulse, and the thrill was so intense that he wished he could kill him again.

The juvenile courts ordered a thorough psychological evaluation. Dr. Wagner determined that he was a deeply disturbed young man. An abused child. Big surprise.

Guenther wondered why they needed a shrink to figure out he was fucked up. He was confined to the Maplewood Institution for criminal teenage boys. The abuse didn’t stop. Older inmates had their way with him more than once. But it was better than having his belly branded with Dutch Master’s cigars. Better than a two-hundred-pound dickhead pummeling his piss-filled kidneys. Most important, he had spared his brother, Derrick, from further physical and emotional abuse.

Guenther met his first true friend at Maplewood. Wilbert Altbusser explained the ways of the twisted world to Guenther. White America had become infested with blood-sucking, welfare-stealing, lazy bums. But an elite group of Aryan whites, descendants of Adolf Hitler, saviors of the master race, would terminate the epidemic of inferior ones.

When Guenther Krause completed his five-year incarceration at Maplewood, Altbusser sponsored his membership into the Disciples of the Third Reich.

As his fingers caressed the handle of the Colt .45, Guenther Krause smiled for the first time since leaving New York. He pressed the release button and the ammunition clip fell out of the handle and bounced on the bed. He picked it up, flicked out a bullet, held the hollow point between his thumb and index finger, and examined it adoringly. He kissed the end of it and felt inexplicably aroused. A feeling almost as intense as when he’d killed his father.

Kate’s emotions teetered between joy and vexation. It was the same feeling she’d experienced dozens of times as a child while anxiously awaiting her father’s return from a business trip. It had always been a bittersweet reunion. Part of her loved him unconditionally and cherished every moment they shared. But she could not suppress the anger or resentment she felt for all the lonely nights she had cried herself to sleep.

Since taking the oath of office more than two weeks ago, she’d spoken with her father on the telephone several times but hadn’t seen him. Hoping to spend as much time with him as her hectic schedule allowed, Kate had made arrangements for her father to stay in one of the guest suites on the third floor. Except for her urgent early morning breakfast meeting, Emily had cleared Kate’s calendar for the day. She could barely imagine an entire day without endless meetings on everything from policy to protocol.

While sitting in the formal dining room casually eating breakfast, Charles McDermott, Secretary of State Toni Mitchell, and Secretary of Defense Richard Alderson briefed Kate on the latest developments in the Middle East.

“Our deepest fear may be coming to fruition, Madam President,” Alderson said.

“Iran is up to no good. President Ahmadinejad deployed a massive platoon—our sources estimate ten thousand—and an arsenal of artillery into Jordan. They’re assembled about twenty miles from the Israeli border. Given the fact that the Iranian president has stated more than once that Israel should be wiped off the face of the Earth, I think there’s good reason for us to be alarmed.”

Kate dropped the rye toast on her plate. “Is there conflict with Jordan?”

“No, Madam President,” Alderson said. He looked at McDermott with his deep-set eyes.

McDermott set down his fork and swiped the linen napkin across his mouth. “The Israeli ambassador has informed us—quite candidly, I might add—that further movement toward their border will be interpreted as a hostile act.”

Kate gripped the armrests and leaned forward. “What exactly does that mean, Charles?”

“The Israeli Air Force is standing by on full alert.”

It was the last thing Kate wanted to hear this morning. She filled her mouth with Mint Medley herbal tea; her stomach was in no mood for coffee. “Why would King Abdullah allow Iranian troops into Jordan?”

“We’ve tried to contact the Jordanian ambassador to ask him that very question,” Alderson said, “but he can’t be reached.”

McDermott rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “It would be appropriate to call an emergency meeting of the Joint Chiefs.”

Kate glanced at Alderson. “Do you agree, Richard?”

The fifty-five-year-old retired Army colonel nodded. “The situation is volatile, Madam President. We need to take immediate action. Historically, Jordan has remained neutral during conflicts between Israel and other Middle Eastern countries. But
since King Hussein’s death in ’99, his son, Abdullah, has not demonstrated the same peace-keeping qualities as his father.”

Kate looked at her toast and decided she wasn’t hungry. “How quickly can we convene the Joint Chiefs?”

“By the end of the day,” Alderson said.

“We should contact King Abdullah,” Toni Mitchell said. “Maybe send a representative to Jordan?”

“Richard,” Kate said, “make arrangements to fly to Jordan. Track down King Abdullah. Find out what the hell’s going on. In the meantime, Charles, alert the Joint Chiefs. Schedule a meeting for first thing tomorrow morning. And, Toni, try to reach Prime Minister Netanyahu. We don’t need the Israeli Air Force dropping bombs on their neighbors.” She thought for a moment. “What’s the Iranian ambassador’s name?”

“Ahmad Habib,” McDermott said. “A real seedy character.”

“Has anyone been in contact with him?” Kate asked.

Alderson shook his head. “No, Madam President.”

“Ask him to fly to Washington.” Kate said.

McDermott and Alderson eyed each other.

Alderson said, “No Iranian has set foot on Washington soil for over a decade.”

“I want to change that policy,” Kate said. “Invite him to the White House.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Alderson said.

Kate glared at him.

Toni Mitchell sat forward and cleared her throat. “Madam President, Middle Eastern culture defines a woman’s role in society as completely subservient. Ambassador Habib will regard your invitation as an insult.”

Kate didn’t need a history lesson in Middle Eastern culture. Did the secretary of state think she was
that
naive? “Perhaps it’s
not a coincidence that this offensive began shortly after I became president.”

Alderson said, “It’s possible that Ahmadinejad wishes to test your resolve, Madam President.”

McDermott nodded. “I agree.”

“Contact Ambassador Habib, Toni. Ask him in the most emphatic terms to come to Washington. Don’t take no for an answer.”

“I’ll give it my best,” Mitchell said.

“Give it more than your best.” Kate’s face hardened. “Tell Mr. Habib that the future of his country may be in jeopardy.”

Alderson and Mitchell left the room, but McDermott remained.

“What’s on your mind, Charles?”

“If Habib does come to Washington, are you personally going to meet with him?”

“That’s my plan.”

“With all due respect, Madam President, you should not be directly involved in any negotiations at this level. Alderson and Mitchell should handle it.”

“So when do you suggest I get involved, when Iran and Israel are engaged in an all-out war?”

“All I’m saying is that you have a well-qualified staff and they—”

“I appreciate and respect your advice, Charles. But maybe the reason we’re in this situation is because, historically, past presidents weren’t involved in a crisis soon enough. I intend to change that.” Her eyes met his, and she could see a wounded look. Once again, she ignored his advice. Maybe it was time for her to reconsider her resolve. What benefit did she gain from her advisors if she never followed their advice?

***

Escorted by two Secret Service agents, Trevor Williams walked in the front door of the Presidential Suite. Kate was standing in the foyer waiting. Cordially nodding their heads to the president, the agents left with Trevor’s luggage. Kate’s father greeted her with a firm embrace. He rubbed her back and pressed his lips to her cheek. His burlap-like skin was rough against her face, but she didn’t care. Kate hadn’t been held like this for an eternity. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the closeness. For a moment, she thought of Peter. The familiar smell of Old Spice awakened her memories. Trevor stood back and grasped Kate’s upper arms with both hands, appraising her thoroughly, like a critic examining fine art.

“Let me look at you,” he said. He studied her face. “You’re not sleeping well, are you?”

His uncanny perception never ceased to amaze her. “There are lots of things to toss and turn about, Daddy.”

They went into the study, a small room off the Oval Parlor, and sat next to each other on the Victorian sofa. He held her hand loosely. There were many things she wanted to discuss with him but could not disclose anything that would compromise the confidentiality of the presidency. It was an unsettling feeling, as if her silence betrayed him, insulted his integrity. The words hung in the back of Kate’s throat. She’d always been free to share everything with him. She’d shared her most intimate secrets, yet she couldn’t talk about the Middle East or President Rodgers’s assassination or anything that might breech her oath of office.

“Where’s Peter?” he asked.

The question caught Kate completely off guard. “He had some important business back in Kansas.” That’s all Kate wanted him to know at this time and hoped he’d let it go.

“How are you adjusting to the White House?” he asked.

“When my term is completed, I’ll be a qualified firefighter. As soon as I extinguish one blaze, two more ignite.”

“Maybe you could use a good hook-and-ladder man.”

It sounded like a riddle.

“How would you feel about me getting an apartment close to DC? Maybe Virginia or Maryland.”

“Are you talking about selling the
ranch
?”

“Heavens no, my dear. This would be a place for me to hang my hat once or twice a month with hopes that a lonely father might get to see his daughter now and then.” He grinned. “I know that you have more important priorities, so I won’t set my expectations too high. Ten minutes here, twenty minutes there. Maybe dinner once in a while. Just as long as I can see you when it’s convenient.”

There was nothing he could have said that would have blindsided her more. She teetered between disbelief and excitement. “But what about the ranch? Who will tend to the horses and stay on top of the maintenance?”

“Well, I’m sure that Maria will find ways to keep busy. And I know at least a dozen people who would be willing to take care of the horses.”

“Are you sure this is something you really want to do?”

“Only if you’re on board one hundred percent. If you think it’s a bad idea, just say so. It won’t hurt my feelings. Honest.”

Kate’s only hesitation was knowing that her insane schedule might make their visits few and far between. “I’d love for you to be closer to DC occasionally, but—”

“You don’t even have to say it, Kate. I know that I’ll be on the bottom of a long list of priorities. I won’t be offended if running the country takes precedence over spending time with me.”

Kate realized that a backlash resulting from this decision was inevitable. All her critics, no doubt, would make the case that she
was so insecure she needed her daddy close by. Well, maybe that was the case. But had she ever made a decision that wasn’t heavily scrutinized—even how she styled her hair? There was no way for the president to please everyone. It was an occupational hazard.