Washington, D.C.: 5 June 6:55 P.M. Eastern time
“How you doing, Jason?” said Clark Westlake to the man who occupied the desk outside President Randolph’s office.
“Just fine, thank you, sir.” The President’s special assistant nodded toward the Oval Office. “He’s expecting you.”
Reaching for the door handle, Clark felt a familiar rush of adrenaline mixed with a cocky kind of pleasure. He’d been coming here to the White House for the better part of ten years now, yet he still felt a thrill of excitement every time he entered the Oval Office. This was the summit of all power. This was the center of the universe.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Bob Randolph stood at the window overlooking the rose garden. Clark could tell by the set of the man’s shoulders that he was in a petulant mood. “I had a troubling talk with the Vice President this afternoon,” said Randolph, not bothering to look around. “I’m afraid he’s not proving to be much of a team player. I don’t think we can rely on him to stay on message. He’s going down to New Orleans tomorrow to give this keynote address at the American Legion Conference, and I can just hear him making some crack about needless sacrifices and wasted lives. Or worse.”
“Mr. President, I can assure you that’s not going to happen.”
Randolph glanced at him over one shoulder. Clark could see the President’s brows arc suggestively.
It was classic Randolph style. The President told his subordinates in vague terms what he wanted to happen, then left it to them to turn his wishes into realities. He neither specified nor wanted to know the details. He simply surrounded himself with people ruthless enough to do whatever was necessary to achieve his visions. That was enough.
“You can assure me of that?” said Randolph.
“Yes, sir.”
Randolph swung to face the window again. From where he stood, Clark could see the barricades that kept the public well back from the White House’s perimeter. It seemed hard to remember that there’d once been a time when tourists lined that fence and no one thought anything of it. A faint smile curled the President’s lips.
“That will be all, Clark.”
Clark smiled and bowed himself out like a courtier groveling before a king.
Someday, it would be his turn.