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AFTER CATCHING FOUR hours of sleep, Zander rose at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning and drove into D.C. He arrived at the White House near 4 a.m., making his unauthorized entry through the West Wing’s staff entrance on the west side of the building.
The cleaning staff were hard at work that time of morning, but Zander moved around them with more ease and confidence than he would have yesterday. He sped through the West Wing’s floors and offices while the nanomites checked for additional unauthorized listening devices. Finding no new devices in the West Wing, he then tackled the East Wing and the remainder of the White House proper.
He had cleared most of the East Wing before the earliest staff arrived and slowed his speed of progress. By 6:45, the nanomites had declared the East Wing free of threats and unauthorized listening devices—and by that time, the White House cleaning crew were clearing up their work. They switched off the vacuum cleaners, hauled them out of sight, and stowed their cleaning supplies. Then they, too, disappeared, and the daily life of the White House began.
Zander selected an aide in the White House communications department to transmit the “flu” to, a young woman who assisted in the daily press briefings. Minutes later, as he exited the West Wing to the West Colonnade, a member of the press corps left the White House Press Room on his way into the West Wing. The veteran journalist was not a fan of Robert Jackson and had devised more than one unprofessional “hit” piece on him since taking office.
Zander pressed himself against the West Colonnade wall as the journalist strode by.
I probably shouldn’t do this, but . . .
Zander waited in the Rose Garden until the President’s National Security Briefing was concluded. As the National Security Advisor left through the door leading to the West Wing’s main corridor, Zander slipped inside. He did not make himself visible.
“Mr. President?”
Jackson turned toward the sound of Zander’s voice. “Anything to report?”
“I came in early, swept the house and both wings, and found no devices, sir. For now, at least, the White House is clean.”
“Thank you—I’m relieved.” Jackson sat down at his desk, picked up a sheet of paper and—with unpresidential snarkiness—said, “Listen to this. ‘From the White House Medical Unit to all White House Personnel. Please be advised that five cases of suspected norovirus have been reported since yesterday. Norovirus presents with nausea, stomach and intestinal distress, low-grade fever, and muscle ache.
“‘We wish to remind White House personnel that norovirus is highly contagious. The most effective means of preventing the spread of norovirus is through regular washing of hands with an antibacterial soap. In addition, if you are sick, we urge you not to return to work until seventy-two hours following the cessation of all flu-like symptoms.’”
The President’s chuckle grew into a full-on belly laugh. “Best news I’ve read in weeks. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure, Mr. President. I’ve ‘infected’ another White House staffer to further the myth and . . . um, you may also hear of someone in the Press Pool coming down with the bug.”
“Oh? Well, if you’re going to infect a member of the press—only for the valid purpose of distracting our enemies, of course—I hope it’s that pompous windbag from CNN.”
Zander smiled to himself. “Of course, Mr. President. Now, if you have nothing further for me, I’ll leave for the day. The nanomites are monitoring the ‘sick’ agents’ communications. We’ll let them recover just enough to report in to their handlers—and we’ll be there to listen in.”
***
“GOOD MORNING, NORA.”
“Mr. President.”
Jackson welcomed the Secretary of Energy, Nora Mellyn, with a light kiss on the cheek. “Maddie sends her love.”
“Please tell her the same, Mr. President. It has been too long since we spent any time with the both of you.”
“The genesis of my campaign seems an age ago. So does the precious time to spend with good friends.”
“Speaking of precious time, thank you for seeing me.”
“Breakfast awaits us. Shall we talk while we eat?”
They tucked into the scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. Jackson waited for his Secretary of Energy to bring up the reason for her visit. She had been superb on the campaign trail, a seasoned politician who left the other party to support Jackson. A friend whose loyalty to him had been proven over two grueling years as they inched toward the White House.
Those two grueling years had earned her the hatred of her former party when Jackson eked out a win over their candidate.
“Mr. President, may I ask a personal question?”
“Of course, Nora.”
“Have you made your Vice-Presidential selection?”
“No, and I am very sorry it could not be you.”
They locked eyes in frank respect.
“Because of the bad blood on the other side of the aisle over my defection?”
“Yes, although ‘eternal malignant animus’ might be a more apt description. You have earned yourself a spot on their wall of top public enemies.”
She laughed softly. “It’s not that I’m unhappy at Energy or ungrateful for the appointment. I truly think I could be the partner you want and need.”
“I agree and think it’s a shame, Nora, but it’s not to be. At least for now.”
Mellyn toyed with her fruit. “I understand, Mr. President.”
***
A MEMBER OF THE PRESIDENT’S security detail opened the Oval Office door and allowed the President’s party leaders to enter. Jackson greeted the Party Chairman, the Minority Leader and Minority Whip of the House, and the Minority Leader of the Senate.
“Please. Be seated. It’s always a pleasure to meet with the party leaders.”
“Thank you for making time to see us, Mr. President,” said Party Chairman Stover. “We know your time is at a premium, so we’ll get straight to the point: We’re growing a little concerned over the time it is taking to replace Vice President Harmon. The longer Friese is the next in line, the more nervous the party grows, particularly our biggest donors.”
The Senate Minority Leader stepped in. “Yes, Mr. President. We understand the candidate has to be confirmed by both houses of Congress. However, we have proposed several candidates whom we feel would be confirmed. You have not found any of them to your liking?”
“No, I have not.”
“May we ask, sir, what you found objectionable?”
“I suppose I am looking for a partner who isn’t in the pocket of all those ‘biggest donors.’”
“Those donors supported your candidacy.”
“I understand and am grateful, but I don’t work for donors. I work for the American people. My vice-presidential pick needs to share my values.”
Stover’s mouth tightened. “Surely, the values of our donors and the American people are one and the same.”
“In some respects, yes. In others, no. I won’t sacrifice what is best for our nation because my party insists that I am beholden to special-interest lobbies or big-name donors.”
“You are beholden to them, Mr. President. You would not be here without them—and the next Vice President will need our support to be confirmed.”
“Mr. Stover, I would not be here without the vote and confidence of the American people. I would hope my party would support my choice—for the good of this nation and the advance of my agenda. The agenda you publicly approve.”
As the air of tension in the Oval Office intensified, the Minority Whip quietly interjected, “Mr. President, since you have found our selections objectionable, can you at least tell us who you are favoring?”
“No one, at present. I have considered many candidates in the last six months, but I have yet to find the right fit for my administration.”
Jackson stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “Now, gentlemen, I realize how busy you are and will let you get back to work.”
The Minority Whip answered, “Thank you, Mr. President.”
The others were silent as they filed out.
***
“CONGRESSWOMAN BALLARD, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Blair. Welcome, Congresswoman. Coffee?”
Regina Ballard had a warm, genuine smile, one she turned on Jackson. “Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll have a cup if you are.”
The waiting steward poured two cups, set them on a tray, and placed the tray between them. Jackson nodded, and the steward withdrew.
“Mmm. Thank you, Mr. President. It’s very good. A nice pick-me-up in the middle of a busy afternoon. Thank you, too, for squeezing me in today.”
“I was glad I could. I’m sorry we’ve not had the opportunity for a one-on-one before this. Was there something in particular you wished to discuss with me?”
She put down her cup. “Yes, sir. I know you’ve been pressured by both parties and likely numerous factions within the government to select their candidate as your next Vice President.”
“I have.” Jackson kept his response even-toned.
“Well, sir, I am not here today to put myself forward. Rather, I am here on behalf of a colleague and, I wish to make it clear, without her knowledge.”
“Oh?” Jackson was intrigued.
“She is the type of legislator who never puts herself forward, Mr. President, one of those rare politicians who puts her constituency above her political aspirations or even reputation.”
“I’m all ears, Congresswoman.”
“Kimi White Grass, Mr. President, a member of the Montana Blackfoot Tribe.”
“A Native American.” Jackson sat back and tried to recall what he knew about the congresswoman from Montana.
“Her father was Blackfoot; her mother was Hispanic. She would be the first Native or Hispanic to serve in such a high office. Congresswoman White Grass isn’t well known, so I took the liberty of assembling a dossier for you, sir.”
Jackson took the folder from Ballard. “Thank you. Your suggestion is much appreciated.”
***
“I AM SO HUNGRY.”
“I’m hungrier,” Zander insisted.
“Well, I’m going to start gnawing the dashboard if we don’t get to the restaurant soon.”
Our second-favorite buffet was minutes away, and my stomach was bellowing like a love-sick wildebeest.
My phone chimed, and I glanced at the caller ID. “Oh! It’s Macy.” I put the call on speaker. “Macy?”
“Jayda, hi! We wanted to let you know that our boys are here, and they are perfect.”
“Oh, my goodness, Macy. I’m thrilled for you both. Have you named them?”
“Yup. Denzel and Deshaun Uumbana—to go with my hubby Darius and our boy, Daniel.”
“I like! They are all good, strong names. And you? How are you doing?”
“Relishing the ability to turn over without the assistance of a crane.”
I laughed. “Well, when will you be home from the hospital and when would be a good time to bring some meals for the family?”
“I go home tomorrow. My mom is here until Friday. How about Sunday afternoon?”
I glanced at Zander, and he nodded.
“Perfect. Any likes/dislikes? Food allergies?”
“I only ask that you avoid spicy foods since I’m nursing the babies. Darius and Daniel will eat whatever you put in front of them. You just have to jerk their plates away before they start chewing on them.”
“Oh, I totally feel you. My husband is the same way. See you Sunday, Macy—and congratulations again. I’m so happy for you guys.”
I hung up just as we pulled into the restaurant parking lot. “Boy, I’m so glad we’re here. You know, we should ask restaurant management about frequent flier miles. A punch card? Bonus points? Something.”
“Right. And, please, be sure to jerk my empty plate away before I sink my teeth into it—because I’m the one who was threatening to gnaw on the dashboard five minutes ago.”
Laughing and holding hands, we ran to the restaurant doors.
~~**~~
