I Do Solemnly Swear (29 page)

“Madam President, I’m proud to be part of your administration. Your actions were gutsy. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you, Toni. Your support means a great deal to me. Have a safe flight.”

***

McDermott and Riley walked into the Oval Office at nine fifty-five a.m. The chief of staff again looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His haggard appearance was becoming mainstream. Riley’s swanky look never wavered: double-breasted Armani suit, hair impeccably groomed, and signature Chiclet smile. They exchanged good mornings with the president and sat opposite her.

“Have you made arrangements for the pilots at Bethesda?” Kate asked McDermott.

“Dr. Morris has assured me that they will be treated like war heroes.”

“They
are
war heroes,” Kate said. “As a matter of fact, as soon as the pilots have recovered, I’d like to invite them and their wives to the White House for an intimate dinner and a private award ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” McDermott said.

“I think both Lieutenants Stevers and Travis deserve a commendation for their heroism. Would the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal be appropriate?”

McDermott smiled. “It’s a bit over the top, but—”

“Then make it happen, Charles.”

McDermott nodded.

“How did the media respond to your statement, Mr. Riley?”

“Not even the most naive citizen believed Lieutenant Travis’s comments were not scripted. Everyone suspected it was a ruse. Based on the media’s response, I believe the headlines will be positive. Your Georgetown lecture could not have come at a more favorable time.”

She’d forgotten about the lecture.

“Bill and I have discussed it at great length,” McDermott said. “Your lecture will attract tremendous media coverage. You’re a
national hero, Madam President. We feel strongly that this is the perfect opportunity for you to introduce the Healing of America bills. Your remedies in the Middle East have endeared you to Americans. You have their ear. Now is the ideal time to reinforce your political posture and clearly define your administration’s objectives.”

“I might be a hero today, but if Iran chooses to do something crazy, my prowess will be short-lived.”

Riley said, “That’s why you have to ride the wave for as long as you can. Opportunities like this don’t come very often. If you handle this lecture strategically, the benefits will be enormous. You’ve just disarmed an international time bomb. Now you can tell your fellow Americans how you’re going to fix the nation. It’s a political utopia, Madam President.”

Kate wasn’t yet ready to face political critics or millions of Americans and discuss her Healing of America bills. “I’ve barely caught my breath, gentlemen, and I’m supposed to stand in front of the world and outline the Healing of America bills? At this point, I’m not yet comfortable that the crisis in the Middle East is resolved. Can we postpone for a few days?”

“That would be unwise, Madam President,” Riley said.

“You have to strike while the iron’s hot,” McDermott said. “It doesn’t get any hotter than this.” McDermott leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Madam President, Bill and I will spend the rest of the day helping you organize your speech. We will not let you walk into that auditorium unprepared. I promise.”

Kate studied McDermott’s persuasive eyes. “OK, you’ve convinced me. Let’s get to work, gentlemen.”

Deputy Director Kramer hesitated outside Ellenwood’s office and sucked in a quivering breath. He’d reviewed the questions carefully because the “Silver Fox” did not react favorably to interrogation. Any stammering and the DCI was aptly capable of twisting the query around and placing Kramer on the defensive. He was a shrewd old bastard. To be sure that the heat of the moment did not distract him, Kramer had written down his questions on three-by-five index cards. He flipped through them one last time, moving his lips as he read. He folded the cards in half and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. The DCI’s door was slightly ajar. Kramer pushed it open as he gently knocked.

“Hi, Boss.” He stepped into the office. “Can you give me a couple of minutes?”

Ellenwood looked at his watch. “Make it quick. I’m meeting Owens for dinner before we head over to Georgetown.”

“Georgetown?”

“The president’s speech. Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China. I hear it’s going to be a pisser.”

Kramer closed the door, ambled toward his desk, and sat in front of Ellenwood.

“You’re welcome to join us, Carl.”

“No time. The president has backed me in a corner because I’ve made little progress with the assassination investigation.”

“Anything I can do?”

“You can answer a few questions for me.”

The DCI steepled his fingers and set his elbows on the desk. “What’s on your mind, Carl?”

“I need some information on Agent Jack Miller.”

Ellenwood’s forehead furrowed. He sat silently for a moment, and Kramer could see his jaw pulsing. “Mr. Miller is no longer an agent.”

“I’m aware of that. Explain to me, please, why he was exempt from the department’s policies and procedures.”

Ellenwood removed his glasses, held them up to the light, and wiped them on his white shirt. “Hiring him was a mistake. That’s why he’s no longer with the CIA.” He set down the glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“His assignments haven’t been documented in the system. Where did he get his orders?”

“Don’t push this one, Carl.”

“
I’m
not the one pushing. Miller’s activities have raised suspicions with the president, Victor, and
I’m
the one in the hot seat.”

“He no longer works here, and that’s all you and Miles need to know.”

Kramer’s face got hot. “Don’t dismiss me like a fucking child.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

Kramer took a deep breath. “Victor, I don’t want to place myself in a compromising—”

“Then leave it the
fuck
alone.”

Kramer wagged his index finger at the DCI. “I’m not gonna do that, Victor. Not until you tell me what’s up with this guy.”

“Mr. Kramer, forget that I’m your boss, and take some advice from a friend: if you don’t forget about Miller, it’s going to bite you in the balls—hard.”

Ellenwood wasn’t budging. Not yet. Kramer folded his arms across his chest and lowered his voice. “How do you expect me to pacify the president?”

“Give her a good fuck. It might be just what the frustrated bitch needs.”

Never had he heard Ellenwood speak with such blatant disrespect. At least not directed toward the president.

“Thanks for your time.” It was the most sincere voice Kramer could muster.

The DDCI left Ellenwood, went into his office, and locked his door. He waited fifteen minutes to be sure Ellenwood had left, then he made a follow-up phone call to Private Investigator Jake Carson.

“Jake? Carl. What’s the scoop on Jack Miller?”

“You mean, Jack
Mueller
?”

***

Guenther Krause received the final telephone call. Never again would he have to hear the phrase
Nice day for a white wedding
. He sat on the bed in his underwear and studied the diagram of the auditorium. Although he’d tried to deny it, he had hoped that the president would have resigned and that his assignment would be aborted. From the start, he had understood that his was a suicide mission. Although his loyalty to the cause was uncompromising, he wasn’t ready to die.

Lingering thoughts of Ebony and Ivory fractured his concentration. After he’d finished with them, he removed their driver’s licenses, credit cards—all forms of identification—from their
bodies. Killing his hotel neighbors had been a risky yet gratifying adventure. He had been very careful removing their bodies from the hotel and placing them in their car. Their room was only a few steps away from the backdoor exit, and their Corolla was parked in a spot close to the door. Fortunately, his brothers had put him up in a second-class hotel. After midnight, the place was like a morgue. Guenther figured that by the time the police identified their mangled bodies and traced them back to the hotel, the president’s lifeless corpse would be lying on a slab in the morgue. And more than likely, unless through some divine intervention, Guenther Krause would be lying beside her.

In less than two hours, if everything went as planned, Guenther Krause would alter the future of the world. To be a hero, to be eulogized by his brothers as a great patriot for the cause, would fulfill a desperate longing. In his mind’s eye, he’d gone over the plan a dozen times, until it was embedded in his memory bank. But now that the moment of self-resolve was looming, a pang of uneasiness overshadowed his enthusiasm. Guenther had no doubts about ridding the world of an inferior one; she was a swine and deserved to be slaughtered. But what if he failed? He could not foresee the actions of the Secret Service, had no idea how many would accompany her, nor did he know where they would position themselves. Not even his contact in Washington knew. How could he be certain that he’d get a clear shot? The window of opportunity, Guenther deduced, might last for only five seconds—five heartbeats to draw his weapon and discharge as many rounds as possible before the Secret Service restrained him or blew his brains out.

Guenther hopped off the bed and stood erect in front of the full-length mirror. He closed his eyes, sucked in several full
breaths of air, and tried to stop his heart from racing. He held out his hands and spread his fingers. Why was he trembling?

Guenther slipped into his jeans, pulled Ivory’s oversized Georgetown sweatshirt over his head, and laced up his sneakers. He slid the admission ticket and college ID into his back pocket, and put on the Redskins cap. Ivory’s pink panties were sitting on the corner of the bed. He snatched them off the comforter, pressed them to his face, and inhaled their arousing scent. For good luck, he stuffed the panties in his front pocket and scurried out the door.

***

After trying on several outfits, most of which were heaped on her bed, Kate was uncertain which would be most appropriate for such an important event. Finally, and with great reservation, she selected a conservative charcoal-gray business suit and her favorite silk white blouse. She finished her ensemble with a white pearl necklace, matching earrings, and black pumps. Late in the afternoon, Kate’d had her hair cut and slightly restyled. The cut was not a radical departure from her conservative hairdo, but in spite of Emily’s comment that she looked chic, Kate wasn’t sure she liked it this short or if it was becoming of the president.

McDermott accompanied her to the main entrance of the White House, where two limousines waited. “You look exceptionally stylish this evening, Madam President,”

McDermott said. He hustled to keep pace with her. “Your new hairdo becomes you.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

In spite of several unresolved issues, Kate had grown fond of McDermott. She did not believe the malicious rumors she’d heard about him. Most were either untrue or overly exaggerated.
She could not deny that he was a bit egocentric, and he often displayed a giant chip on his shoulders, but he held one of the most influential and prestigious jobs in the world. How could anyone in this capacity not be high-strung?

“So you think I’ve got a chance at winning over the conservative crowd?”

“They’re going to make you an honorary alumnus,” McDermott said.

“I wish I were as confident as you and Mr. Riley.”

“Trust me, Madam President, tonight you’re going to make history.”

There was something unsettling in his voice.

To outline the security plan, Albert Cranston, director of the Secret Service, rode with Kate and McDermott in the presidential limousine. A second limo carrying eight agents led the way to Georgetown University.

Cranston said, “Before you go into the building, Madam President, we’ll make sure that everyone is seated and the main lobby is secured.” He pointed to the diagram. “You’ll enter the auditorium through the west entrance. Mr. McDermott and four agents will accompany you as you make your way down the aisle to the stage. When you reach the first row, Charles and you can sit with Walter Owens and Victor Ellenwood until Dean Whitney introduces you. When your speech is finished, leave the stage using the steps on your left, and the agents will escort you down the east aisle to the exit.”

“There’s a rumor that a photo of me is adorning every Iranian post office with a
Wanted Dead or Alive
banner hanging over my head. Should I be on the lookout for suspicious-looking characters?”

Cranston chuckled. “No one, not even the Pope, enters the building without proper ID or going through a metal detector. As an extra security measure, we’ll walk everyone through a second detector before they can enter the auditorium, and we’ll randomly frisk anyone even remotely suspicious. You’ll be as safe as the gold in Fort Knox.”

“Evidently, you’ve never seen
Goldfinger
, have you, Mr. Cranston?”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Madam President,” Cranston assured her. “You concentrate on your speech, and we’ll take care of everything else.”