Two starched Marines marched behind a manacled Eli Grazier as a secret service agent opened the rear coach door of the waiting black Lincoln. The agent placed a hand on Grazier’s head to ensure he didn’t bump it on the doorframe.
As the door slammed shut, Grazier was able to turn his head and see Bill Stevens, smile barely hidden on his thin lips. Stevens actually waved goodbye when the Lincoln pulled forward.
Then the limousine slowed, allowing Eli plenty of time to observe the arrival of a black Mercedes sedan as it pulled up at the White House side entrance. One of the Marine guards stepped forward, leaned down, and opened the rear door.
The tall woman—dressed in a form-fitting gray suit—emerged like some graceful swan. Her tawny yellow hair had been professionally coifed. Grazier watched her fix incredible blue eyes on Stevens, saw the man swell like a peacock under her attention. The Chief of Staff was reaching out to take her hand when Grazier’s Lincoln finally accelerated down the curving drive toward the iron gates.