DURING THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, the Internet rumor mill kept the deaths of Timothy Colton and Maia Bari on page two —and well below the fold. Speculations flew but no real accusations, at least not ones strong enough to keep the story as a continuing front-page headline. Everyone had their theories, but nobody knew anything for sure. But the usual rabble-rousers continued with their paranoid views of the situation, suggesting that the deaths of Colton and Maia were a government cover-up to hide much more serious crimes.
Kate didn’t think she was paranoid, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that was possible.
Somewhere deep inside of her, Kate agreed that there had been some sort of cover-up, but not necessarily by the government. The problem was, she wasn’t sure whose crimes were being protected. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Her daily prayers now included a request for God to help her to see and think clearly and to not let the mudflingers of the political world obscure her vision or her mission. The words “Lead me not into temptation” had never meant more to her than now that she worked in the heart and hearth of American democracy.
Meetings crowded her calendar, and what little private life she had dried up. To add to Kate’s workload, Emily took her first out-of-the-country trip to Mexico, where she presented her Operation: Energy Independence program and, in a separate discussion, her immigration plans to President Moreno of Mexico. It was no accident that both topics came up in the same trip. They all hoped the latter would help influence the Mexican president to be amenable to the former.
Three days later, Emily and entourage traveled to Canada to speak with Prime Minister Stevens in hopes of creating a North American alliance for the energy program.
But the preparation for two back-to-back international trips had been daunting for a first-time chief of staff. Working closely with the Advance Office as well as the Travel Office, they pulled together a two-day visit to each country, coordinating everything from transportation, accommodations, and food to security logistics and protocol.
An American president didn’t just show up.
There were advance teams coordinating every aspect of her trip, covering every eventuality. Even though planning such a trip was a full-time job, Kate still had her normal duties on top of that. While they were out of the country, she’d act as a conduit for White House operations so that matters of state would continue to be addressed, despite the president’s absence from the Oval Office.
It was no wonder that after surviving the two back-to-back trips, Kate came down with a whopper of a cold. Flying back on Air Force One, she commandeered a seat in the private section away from the press corps and slept fitfully. Her sinuses throbbed along with the rhythm of the engines, and in terms of her headache, the only thing worse than the takeoff was the landing.
Once home, she didn’t even undress and instead, fell into bed, one arm draped across Buster, who must have sensed her fatigue and managed to temper his usual enthusiasm at her return.
The next day, she dragged herself to the office, receiving such encouraging responses as “Are you okay, ma’am?” and “Maybe you ought to go home and get some rest.” And “You look hideous!”
The last remark was from Emily. Kate had met her before breakfast in the workout room, located on the third floor —the private residence. While on the trip, Emily had mentioned how she missed their friendly competition on the treadmill, so Kate had foolishly agreed to an early morning workout, not knowing that she’d come down with a world-class cold. But she showed up anyway, hoping that a good workout might burn away her ills.
Emily was already hard to work on the treadmill when Kate arrived. She even managed to deliver her scathing assessment of Kate’s appearance in rhythm to her thundering steps.
Kate grimaced as she approached the second machine, setting it to her usual start-up speed. Then after a second thought, she dropped the pace to something much more sedate.
“You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“Give me a break,” Kate complained, punctuating her statement with a sneeze. “I’m sick. That’s why I look bad.”
“No kidding. Oh, and by the way? If you give me that cold, I’ll have you hunted down and hung at dawn.”
“Hanged. Curtains are hung; people are hanged.” Kate sneezed again. “Nice to know the powers of your exalted position aren’t going to your head.” She stepped onto the treadmill and started what resembled more a brisk walk than a run.
“Why don’t you stop in the clinic downstairs and get some good drugs.”
“Because good drugs will make me a lousy chief of staff. You know how antihistamines knock me out.”
Emily punched the controls, taking her speed up a notch, an obvious ploy to demonstrate her superior conditioning. “You always were a lightweight when it comes to those things.”
“I’m sick, so shoot me. Anyway, it’s all your fault. You’re the one who decided we need to enjoy our coffee on the balcony, overlooking the city lights of Ottawa.”
“Lightweight.”
“Slave driver.”
“Wuss.”
“Harpy.”
Despite Kate’s malaise, she was heartened by the bantering, seeing it as a sign that they could get back to their old friendship and leave their professional relationship beyond this one door. In all other parts of the White House, they would be the president and her chief of staff, but here, just M and K, in constant competition to be the queen of the treadmill.
They pounded together, Emily’s footfalls at almost twice the speed of Kate’s. For once, Emily didn’t make any overt gibes about the difference in their speeds and her superior athletic condition.
After several minutes of congenial silence, Emily waited until Kate was taking a swig from her water bottle before speaking. “So, you talk to Nick lately?”
Kate almost choked, soliciting a wide grin from Emily.
“Dad always said timing is everything.” She laughed at Kate’s discomfort and efforts to wipe away the water that dribbled from her chin.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Kate complained, mopping up her mess with the towel slung around her neck.
“It’s so easy to jerk your chain. So how’s the Baton Rouge boy wonder? Or is he the Louisiana loser? I can’t remember.”
“Ooh, the venom is running early this year. Usually you don’t crank up the vitriolic sap until closer to your anniversary.”
Emily upped her pace. “Of what? The date of my marriage or of my divorce? Oh yeah, they’re the same day. Brightest thing I ever did —make sure our divorce was finalized on our anniversary,” she quipped with a deadpan delivery. She waited a moment for the sarcasm to drip away. “So, have you talked to him recently?”
“No. You?”
“Me?” She snorted. “I want nothing to do with him.”
“Then why are you asking about him? And why assume I know anything?” Sure, Kate and Nick had talked briefly by e-mail a week or so previous, but no one, especially not Emily, needed to know about that.
Her friend shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seemed to . . . I won’t say hit it off, but you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Kate’s mind raced twice as fast as her feet. Just the presumption that something might occur between her and Nick contained plenty of pitfalls. The last thing she needed to admit to was that she found him the least bit interesting or pleasant or —
“You’re not going to start dating him, are you?”
“Date him?” Kate sputtered. “Where are you getting this stuff from? I’m the one who’s probably delirious with a fever. What’s your excuse?”
“I can read between the lines.”
“What lines? You’re imagining lines. There are no lines.”
Emily’s shrug was a bit more dramatic than called for. “Okay. If you say so.”
Perturbed, Kate dialed up her speed, trying to work off her frustration with increased exercise. Although her sinuses ached and her lungs screamed in pain, she quickened the pace to the point where she almost matched Emily’s blistering speed.
After a moment, Emily kicked her pace up a notch or two dozen and gave Kate a sly grin. “Now that’s more like it.”
Revelation hit Kate like a concrete block against the side of her already throbbing head. All of Emily’s questions and veiled comments had been nothing more than her way of egging Kate into being a competitor on the treadmill.
Manipulation at its best. Or worst, considering your perspective.
Kate reached up, switched off her machine, stripped the towel from around her neck, and left the room without saying a word. As she stepped into the hallway, she heard Emily call out from the room behind her.
“C’mon, Kate. Don’t go away. Best two out of three, okay?”
Kate stuck her head back into the room. “You don’t play fair.”
“You don’t play anymore!”
“That’s because I’m working day and night. I don’t have time for play.” She stifled a sneeze with the end of her towel. “I don’t even have time to get sick.”
Emily dialed her machine back to a sedate pace. “When’s the last time you went home to see your parents? Or better yet, why don’t you invite them to come visit us here?” She made a wide, sweeping gesture with her palm. “Trust me. We have enough room.” Her face brightened. “Your mother would love to spend a night or two in the Lincoln Bedroom. She all but told me that the last time we talked. Find a good time and invite them up here. We’ll give them the best of the dog and pony show.”
“They’d love the idea,” Kate said, tempering both her enthusiasm and her doubt as they mixed together in an unattractive mishmash of emotions. On one hand, Kate appreciated Emily’s insight into what would honestly thrill her parents, but she wondered if it was merely another form of manipulation.
“Good. So if you’re not going to continue to race me, then leave me alone so I can finish my six before breakfast.”
Duly dismissed, Kate stepped into the bedroom next door that Emily had designated for Kate’s occasional use and where she typically showered and changed after using the workout room.
In many ways, Emily and Kate had retooled the role of chief of staff, but the changes were more reflective of their longtime friendship along with Emily’s role as a single president with no permanent family living with her in the private residence.
Luckily, Emily didn’t lack for temporary company. Benton kin had been coming and going since the inauguration, depending on their assignments, both official and unofficial. As she came out of the bedroom, Kate almost ran into Maggie, who —judging by her exercise clothes —was designated as Emily’s next opponent.
After exchanging pleasantries, Kate headed downstairs, then crossed over to the West Wing, where she stopped by the Navy Mess to grab some coffee. Then it was another set of stairs back up to her office. As tempting as it was to grab something to eat, she had a breakfast meeting of advisers to attend and knew she’d be well fed in twenty minutes or so.
At 7:30 a.m. sharp, Kate walked into the private dining room down from the Oval Office, where five of the seven attending officials were milling around the table. The sixth, Dozier, was already seated, awaiting his breakfast with less than his usual sense of anticipation.
Burl Bochner, the vice president, leaned over to Kate and spoke softly. “I think Dozier’s a little under the weather.”
Under the weather or under the table? she thought. Dozier’s behavior and his health had been a bit more erratic lately, and Kate worried that he was drinking more than he should. At the moment, his eyes looked particularly bloodshot —more so than most mornings —and he didn’t join in or, in his case, override the conversation as usual.
“You think he’s okay?” she whispered back.
“I’m not sure. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Then Emily entered the room and the conversations halted and everyone stood a bit more erect, Kate included. Emily had done a good job of cultivating a commander-in-chief bearing, despite her lack of military experience.
“It takes everything I have to not salute her,” Burl whispered softly to Kate. His years in the air force showed in his bearing, his manner, and his predilection to wearing suits in varying shades of dark blue. The only concessions to his monochromatic wardrobe were his ties, each one more colorful and interesting than the next.
Emily did not immediately head for her seat at the table, indicating that some informal meet and greet would preface their working meal. As she spoke to the others, Kate craned over to take a better look at Burl’s tie, which was far less ornate than usual. She had to look twice to see that the pattern was actually tiny drawings of SpongeBob SquarePants dressed as Uncle Sam.
“Great tie. My brother would love that.”
His grin held a hint of bedevilment. “Can you believe it? It wasn’t from one of the kids. Melissa gave it to me for Christmas.”
His wife, Dr. Melissa Bonner-Bochner, had taken a sabbatical from her career as an engineering professor to move their family to D.C. and take on some of the duties usually reserved for the First Lady. Kate hadn’t had a chance to spend much quality time with her but both liked and respected the woman, especially when it came to the honesty Melissa and Burl demonstrated concerning the troubles they had been having with their eldest son.
Uprooted in the middle of the school year and suddenly dropped into a new life in a new town, Kevin Bochner was having some difficulty adjusting to the changes in his life and his father’s sudden prominence. The teen had already had one minor brush with the law, and both his mother and father had been adamant about him making treble reparations when most parents would have been grateful their child had received merely a slap on the hand.
“Wait until you see tomorrow’s tie. Kev made it himself. It’s great.” With a smile of paternal pride, he added, “I may have spawned a future candidate for Project Runway. He’s redirecting that overwhelming need to spray-paint graffiti on every available surface into much more acceptable avenues.”
“Good for him. I know you’re relieved.”
Emily had already started her circuit around the room, greeting the staff; then she reached Dozier, still seated.
She patted him on the shoulder with obvious affection. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you to stand when a lady enters the room, young man?”
He bobbed his white head. “She did indeed and she’d be rolling in her grave if she could see me now. I’m sorry, Madam President, but I’m just a little stove up this morning. If you’ll forgive an old man his frailties . . .”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “Consider yourself forgiven.” She stood beside his chair, her hand remaining on his shoulder and turned to address the room. “Now, if you all don’t mind, let’s get this meeting started.”
They took their seats and the waitstaff quickly brought in breakfast, served family style. Emily had mentioned to Kate that she liked the more informal atmosphere that was generated when people were passing around heaping platters of food. It brought out hidden personality quirks —who held the platter for the next person, who took too much, who took too little, and so forth.
Burl had seated himself at the corner of the table next to Dozier, who sat at the end. When the platter slipped from the old man’s hands, Burl caught it before its contents spilled.
Dozier’s gaze was somewhat fixed. His face was pale and waxy-looking.
“N-no, son.” He seemed to have trouble catching his breath. “I’m not feeling that good.”
At that moment, Dozier slumped over to the left and would have tumbled from his chair had Burl not dropped the platter and reached for the man instead.
“Give me some help,” Burl grunted as he lowered Dozier to the floor. “I think he’s having a heart attack!”