KATE DRAGGED HERSELF to her office a few hours later, coming to the conclusion that she’d finally lost the boundless energies of her youth —the vigor that allowed her to easily overcome any interruption of her normal sleep pattern. Evidently, when the pendulum had swung back after their two hard years of campaigning where sleep was a luxury rather than a necessity, she’d gone from surviving effortlessly on a couple hours of shut-eye to needing as much as possible in order to function the next day.
When had forty-five become ancient?
And when did a couple of kisses keep her from falling back to sleep, especially when she was exhausted? Once Kate had arrived home, she’d stayed awake for another half hour or so, suffering from a persistent, non-erasable memory loop where she relived the kiss and tried to interpret what it might mean to her and to Nick.
But now that she was at work, her attention was drawn fifteen or so different directions simultaneously. One of those directions was the weather.
Winter had been alternating between “colder than usual” and “warmer than usual,” bypassing “usual” as quickly as possible when fluctuating from bitter to dreary to mild and back to bitter again. Although the White House had been monitoring severe weather around the U.S. and dealing with the aftermath of heavy snowfalls in the upper Midwest, record rainfalls in California, and wildfires in the Rockies, it was the building storms in the Atlantic that threatened to affect the White House on two different levels. Question one: What sort of economic impact would potentially dangerous weather have on the East Coast? And question two, the more highly personal: What happens if it hits Washington as hard as they’re predicting?
I don’t have time to worry about the weather, Kate told herself as she hurried to the first of six back-to-back morning meetings. Nevertheless, she instructed her aides to give her weather updates between each meeting. As the chief of staff, she would have to adapt the president’s schedule to accommodate the foul weather, perhaps postponing a trip on Marine One to Andrews, where Emily was scheduled to welcome back returning troops. Then again, chances were equally good that the troops would be either delayed or rerouted due to the weather.
By eleven o’clock, the decision was made to reroute the incoming flight to McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey, thus relieving Emily of that particular duty.
In the midst of her next meeting, Kate felt her phone vibrate twice, signifying an incoming text message. Surreptitiously she opened it to read the not-too-cryptic message:
Although Kate didn’t really expect any burden to lift from her shoulders, somehow she felt slightly more encouraged when she got Nick’s news. But that feeling dissipated once Emily got her behind closed doors between meetings four and five.
“Congratulate me. I got rid of one more complication in the ongoing saga of Dozier Marsh.”
Kate tried to hide the fact that her heart had jumped straight up into her throat. “What complication?”
“Something you, Jack, and I failed to consider when we were talking about correcting our problem. We skipped right over that part.”
“What complication?” she repeated.
“Maia was blackmailing Dozier, right? But we never asked ourselves how. What actual evidence or proof or such did she hold over his head?”
This time Kate failed to hide her reaction.
Emily watched her carefully. Too carefully? “See? It could have been a critical error —a loose end that could have tripped us up. But luckily we found it.”
“We?” Kate found her voice and knew a certain amount of opposition would be expected. “Do you have some plumbers I don’t know about?”
Emily raised one eyebrow. “Very funny. Don’t ask questions if you don’t want to know the answers.”
“Emily . . .”
The president dropped to the couch and made a show of propping her feet on the coffee table, a position that no one in their right mind would attempt in the Oval Office but her.
The message?
“At my insistence, our investigators —well, actually your investigators; good ones too, may I add —found the proof in, of all places, Maia’s cell phone. She had one that could record video and audio, and turns out she’d made a recording of Dozier bragging about how much he stood to earn when he exercised his option. She even had him explaining all about long call stock options and the intricacies of hiding assets in offshore accounts.” She shook her head. “Poor old fool.”
Kate’s head felt as if it would explode with the possible implications. “What makes you think she didn’t send a copy of the video to somebody else? a hundred somebodies, at that?”
Emily’s smile bordered on predatory and she rose and walked toward Kate. “You told me you selected the company because they were thorough but discreet. And they were both. They said they checked her phone as well as her phone records. She never sent any files to anyone because she didn’t have the capacity on that unit, and that would have been the only way to upload it elsewhere.” She clapped Kate on the shoulder as if to congratulate her on their joint triumph.
Kate’s skin stung at the site of the contact.
Emily continued, unaware of anything but her own sense of accomplishment. “I just thought you might like to know that there will be no loose ends. Jack is taking care of our paperwork problem. He got out before the storm and is flying to Panama City even as we speak.”
Kate feigned ignorance. “Florida?”
“No, the other one in Central America. That’s where Dozier evidently did all his offshore banking.” At Kate’s look of confusion, Emily shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. He did a decent job of hiding his assets in a dummy corporation, owned by a dummy foundation. We’ll just clean everything up a bit. Jack’s going to arrange for a couple of save-the-whatever charities to be the beneficiaries of the foundation. Dozier’s name will never be financially connected to Pembrooke again.”
She lowered her voice as if worried anyone could hear beyond the soundproof walls. “Nothing is going to stop Operation: Energy Independence. Nothing.”
By this point, Kate had made the transition from being simply scared by her friend to being practically overpowered by panic on an almost absurd level.
“Good.” She tried to appear relieved but was afraid she wasn’t pulling off the look. Her voice was too high, her hands threatening to shake. “Anything else?” she added with as much of a casual air as she could conjure, clutching the file folder in her arms for dear life.
Emily shook her head. “Nope. I just wanted to keep you up to speed.”
“Thanks.” Kate headed for the door and was only a few steps away from uncertain freedom when Emily spoke again.
“Oh, but there is one more thing.”
Kate turned slowly, waiting for an anvil to drop on her head or a red dot to center itself on her chest, right over her heart.
“The investigators think they found the connection between Maia and Tim Colton. Evidently she used that same favorite cell phone to record a conversation she had with him when he was very, very drunk. He was comparing our campaign with Charles Talbot’s and how they dealt differently with ‘disloyal’ members of their staff. In her recording, he bragged about how he and two buddies —” she used finger quotes —“‘took care’ of Nick.” She shook her head in mock sympathy. “I didn’t realize he’d been knocked around that hard. At one point, they were even afraid they’d killed him.”
Emily released a theatrical sigh. “Oh, well. Better luck next time.”
This is not happening. This is not happening, Kate repeated to herself like a mantra. She did everything she could to maintain her facial expression while she searched for an appropriate response. Finally she settled on “Good to know” as being flippant enough to appeal to Emily’s sense of inappropriate whimsy and few enough words for her to utter without breaking into a scream.
Once outside the Oval Office, its solid curved door closed behind her, Kate leaned against the wall of the corridor, trying to catch her breath and calm her heart and do both without attracting undue attention from the Secret Service agent who guarded the door.
Headache, she mouthed, massaging her temple. The agent gave her a terse but sympathetic smile.
Kate headed for her office with such determination that staffers automatically stepped out of her way, very much like they did when Emily stalked through the halls. White House Handbook Rule #5: Never stand in the way of or try to stop and talk with a president on the move.
Once back in the relative safety of her office, Kate groped blindly in her desk drawer, finding her bottle of aspirin and taking three. She chased them down with half a bottle of lukewarm water she’d opened early that morning but not touched after that. But aspirin alone wouldn’t be enough to calm her pounding head, much less provide her the instant wisdom or courage that she so desperately needed.
There was only one way to address both. She dropped into her chair, planted her elbows on her desk, held her throbbing head, and prayed.
I don’t know what to do, Lord. Is there really such a thing as doing the wrong things for the right reasons? Emily had nothing to do with Dozier’s greed, and I can understand why she wants to preserve his dignity and reputation, even after death. She loved him like a father.
On the other hand, I honestly believe that Operation: Energy Independence is a very important program, and I don’t want the greed of one man to stop the program from being put into place.
All I want to do is protect Emily from herself. But now I’m having to lie to her —or at least sidestep the truth —and I don’t like doing it. I need your help, Lord. Please help me preserve the truth without creating new lies. Guide me, please. In Jesus Christ’s name, amen.
She picked up her briefing and headed to meeting number five. They had barely started when a Secret Service agent stepped into the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I must ask you to relocate. We’re under a tornado warning. They just spotted a funnel cloud on radar near West Springfield, headed this direction. They think this storm is likely to spin off a couple more tornadoes.”
Kate rose from her seat, knowing that her composure would be instrumental for a calm evacuation. Soon after they started working there, the staff had participated in several emergency preparedness drills —covering natural and man-made threats to the White House and its occupants. Thanks to their training, everyone knew what to do and where to go. Her position was with Emily in the PEOC, the presidential emergency operations center located under the East Wing. The PEOC was the designated shelter for natural and man-made disasters due to its reinforced walls and ceiling, which made it a securable, self-powered capsule within the building.
One of its greater advantages was that, despite threatening weather, the president could continue business as usual, thanks to the room’s vast array of communication equipment. It was essentially the president’s technologically equipped on-site underground bunker.
When Kate was cleared into the room, Emily had already been hustled there by her Secret Service detail and was being settled into the private conference room with a cup of coffee.
“Lovely weather we’re having here,” she quipped.
They sat around the inner conference table, facing a polished wood panel at the end of the room that had been pulled back to expose a large flat-screen television, which featured the up-to-date eye on the weather, including live shots of flooded streets and one intrepid cameraman showing a funnel cloud as it touched down near George Mason University.
Any ideas of conducting the nation’s business faded as they all played spectator to nature’s fury on the big screen. According to the reporters, the path of this particular storm was tracking from Fairfax toward Alexandria and seemed to be headed for their general area.
Fifteen short minutes later, the storm hit. Thanks to their internal, protected location, they couldn’t hear the fierce roar of wind or the rain pelting the bulletproof windows of the aboveground floors. The lights dimmed twice but never quite went out.
“The generators just kicked in,” Kate said, not quite sure why she was whispering.
After a few more minutes, they stepped out of the executive briefing room and into the larger portion of the center, where the staff was already functioning as an information clearinghouse, collecting and assessing damage reports.
“Early reports say that the tornado touched down on the Virginia side of the Potomac, went up, and passed over most of the District without touching down. We have reports of trees uprooted and some downed power lines but no real damage here. But looks like parts of Fairfax County were hit hard.”
Kate spoke before Emily could. “Where in Fairfax?”
The briefer pulled up a map on the largest screen, where a traveling cursor was depositing red stars to mark confirmed locations of damage. Kate realized her own home was directly in the path between stars.
Emily recognized the problem as well. “Buster’s home alone, isn’t he?”
Kate nodded, feeling too numb to accept or discount any particular possibilities. But it was Emily who reflected the emotion that Kate wanted to release.
Concern creased her friend’s features. “We’ve got to find out if he’s okay, if your house is okay.” She turned to the briefer controlling the screen. “I want someone to contact the chief of police in Annandale or someone from the Fairfax sheriff’s department —whoever you can reach. I want a report about Kate’s house ASAP.”
Although Kate appreciated Emily’s concerns, in her mind, there was something fundamentally wrong with redirecting manpower to serve one person when there might be hundreds, if not thousands, who needed more help.
When Kate tried to say this, Emily cut her off. “It’s my prerogative as president and I’m going to use it. All they have to do is drive by your house. If the place is intact, then that’s all we need to know.”
Kate shook her head. “Before you call out the troops, let me try my neighbors first.” She punched in the number, and after several clicks and a few extra noises, the phone rang on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Darlene? It’s Kate. So is everything okay there?”
“I was hoping you’d call! We were worried. Yes, everything’s fine here. The big tree at the corner fell down and landed on the Fortenberrys’ car, but that’s the only big-ticket damage. You may be missing a few shingles, but your roof is okay. I hope you don’t mind, but when we heard the warning, Carl went right over and got Buster and brought him over here. We didn’t want him in there by himself.”
Kate felt the tension fade from her body. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”
Emily tugged at her arm. “Is everything okay? How’s Buster?”
Darlene’s voice grew hushed. “Is that . . . the president?”
“Yes, it is. Darlene, I just want to thank you and Carl so much for taking care of Buster. I wasn’t as much worried about the house as I was about him.”
“Your neighbors got Buster?” Emily released a relieved sigh. “Thank heavens.” She reached for the phone. “Let me talk to them.”
Kate knew that there was no option but to hand Emily the cell phone. Emily covered the mouthpiece and said, “What’re their names again?”
“Purcell. Darlene and Carl.”
“Mrs. Purcell? This is Emily Benton. Do I understand you’ve got Buster safe with you? You don’t know how much we appreciate hearing that. Kate would probably deny it, but he’s a pretty important person around here, maybe even more important than her.”
Polite laughter ensued. Kate reached for the phone but Emily swatted her hand away.
“Was there any damage to your place?” Emily listened and made the appropriate clucking sounds of sympathy. “Well, we just wanted to check and to say thank you so very much. Oops . . . Kate has another call coming in. Yes, well again, thanks.”
Kate reached for the phone again, but Emily grinned and turned away as if playing a particularly annoying game of keep-away, answering the next call herself. For one panicked moment, Kate worried that the call might be from Nick. That coincidence could set off a chain of events that could end in explosions of the worst kind.
Emily’s smile broadened. “Hey, Miz R. No, she’s here. We were just checking on Buster and her place. Both are fine. Did you have the same bad weather down there? Really? How’s Mr. R.? Always good to hear. Wait, here she is.”
Emily held out the phone and Kate snatched it from her hand. “Mom? Are you and Dad okay?”
She learned that the storm cell that had spun off funnel clouds in northern Virginia had done much of the same in central Virginia. Although her parents’ home had been spared any damage, her father’s workshop thirty yards away had lost its roof and one wall, and they had been without electricity for over an hour.
In the grand scheme of things, they’d been spared from the worst, and for that, Kate sent up a prayer of thanks. But she’d just as soon see them for herself to be assured that they weren’t playing their “We won’t tell her how bad it really is” game. Maybe she could juggle her schedule so that she could take the time to drive down to check on them the next morning. After all, the next day was Saturday, and she had only two meetings scheduled for the morning, and Emily had a quiet weekend planned.
Emily easily read her mind. “Take off the weekend,” she said with her usual autocratic manner. “After all, you’ve probably not had more than a few hours to yourself since the inauguration. You deserve some time off.”
“But —”
“We’re talking about one lousy weekend, Kate. You have two deputy chiefs who can cover your responsibilities for two days. Plus I know you’re going to check your e-mail every hour on the hour, anyway. You don’t have any meetings that can’t be rescheduled.”
Kate raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll head down to see Mom and Dad tomorrow.”
Emily made a brushing motion with her hand as if saying, So, get out of here already.
Kate wasted no time in heading back to her office, where she put her escape plan into motion. Rescheduling wasn’t as difficult as she’d anticipated, and with two deputies to call upon, her duties would be well covered for forty-eight hours or so.
However, getting home that night was an adventure thanks to the flooding that had closed several streets and even a few underpasses. Even though the threat of tornadoes was long gone, rain continued to fall, which exacerbated the flooding situation. Kate had driven to work that morning, which meant she had to drive home on a gridlocked interstate. As she headed home, Kate saw the end results of the high winds and heavy rains —billboards ripped to shreds, tree branches scattered across sidewalks and driveways, trash heaped wherever the torrential rain flowed and receded. More than a few traffic lights swung at awkward angles, having been knocked askew by the winds. Her efforts to avoid the traffic turned into a series of waterlogged detours that meant she didn’t reach her home until almost seven o’clock, despite the fact she’d left the White House far earlier than usual.
When she finally reached her neighborhood, she saw evidence that the usual roving bands of Good Samaritans who lived there had been busy, cleaning up behind the storm. Her neighbors were one of the main reasons she didn’t want to move closer to the city. Years ago, she’d lucked into an older part of Annandale —just a couple of streets actually —where somehow, old-fashioned traditions had curiously survived. It was a place where neighbors watched out and even took care of each other.
Some kind soul had already cleared away a heavy branch that had fallen near or perhaps even across her own driveway. She now had a neat pile of firewood stacked beside her garage thanks to someone’s thoughtfulness.
When she knocked on the Purcells’ door, she heard Buster and their border collie, Barkley, both howling with delight. After again expressing her undying thanks to Darlene and Carl, she presented them with a box of cookies baked by the president herself along with Emily’s handwritten note of thanks.
She thought Darlene was going to hyperventilate.
After thanking them once more, Kate tucked Buster under her coat to protect him from the rain that had picked up again. Once inside, she made a quick circuit around the house, making sure there had indeed been no leaks in the roof, no windows broken by flying debris.
It appeared that the electricity had been off at some point during the storm, but the house was still intact. Relieved, Kate nuked a frozen dinner and sat at the kitchen table, watching the local news coverage of the death and devastation that had swept up the East Coast from South Carolina to New York.
She glanced at the 0 on her answering machine, staunchly saying there had been no new messages. She’d learned the hard way the last time the electricity had gone out that an interruption in the power would reset the counter, even if there were new messages. She pushed away from the table and crossed to where the machine sat and pushed the Play button.
“You have six messages. Message one —today at 2:26 p.m.”
The call was a hang-up, as were the second and third calls.
“Message four —today at 4:09 p.m.”
“Kate, it’s Nick. I sent a text message but I’m not sure you got it. I got that information we were waiting for. Give me a call and we’ll talk.”
“Message five —today at 5:14 p.m.”
“It’s Nick again. I tried your cell, but the weather is playing havoc with the coverage. When you get this, give me a call.”
“Message six —today at 6:58 p.m.”
She looked at her watch and decided the message must have been left while she was picking up Buster. There was static in the background of the call, so much so that she had to listen intently to make out Nick’s words.
“It’s me. I’m okay. I’m headed over to the place I mentioned to stash stuff there. I’ll —”
The call ended abruptly and she listened to the silence, waiting for the next message, but heard only “End of messages.”
Kate scrambled through her purse and pulled out her cell phone, confirming she’d missed several calls. She hit Redial on the last missed call and waited, tapping her fingers between unanswered rings.
“Kate?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? Did your apartment get damaged?”
“I’m okay. The apartment got messed up a bit. The high winds took out a window and some of the roof. So there was some water damage. Nothing major, just annoying. I just grabbed my clothes and I’ll be staying in a hotel in Crystal City until I can find a better place.”
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said, making no effort to disguise her relief. She told herself she was only displaying simple human compassion, but it was hard to ignore the dramatic decrease in her heart rate at the same exact moment she heard his news.
“I’ve got the file with me and . . . well . . .” There was a catch in his voice. “You need to see it.”
Her momentary sense of relief faded. “Why?”
“I don’t want to try to explain it on the phone. Can we meet somewhere? There’s a twenty-four-hour coffee shop here at the hotel. I want to get your take on things so we can figure out what to do next.”
The question begged to be asked. “Is it worse than we thought?”
“Oh yeah. Far worse.”
Kate had a sinking feeling his assessment meant only one thing. Emily wasn’t covering up for Dozier’s sake.
She was trying to hide her own involvement.