I Do Solemnly Swear (3 page)

“I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,” McDermott said. “I was merely
suggesting
that you not make waves just yet.”

“Charles, this administration is going to make a lot of waves, and you’re going to be paddling right beside me.”

She was tempted to share Elizabeth’s warning with him, curious what his reaction might be, but her instincts warned her to take a different approach.

“Hypothetically, Charles, let’s presume that Weinberg’s incorrect, that David didn’t have a heart attack.” She studied his face with concealed curiosity.

He sat forward. “What do you mean?”

She couldn’t say the word without shuddering. “Suppose there are...questionable circumstances surrounding his death.”

She could see the questions pooling in his saucer-like eyes. “Are you trying to tell me something, Madam President?”

“No, no, Charles. This is merely a what-if conversation.”

He considered it, then shook his head. “One hell of a power struggle will begin.”

“Explain.”

“The justice department—more specifically, the FBI—will butt heads with the CIA. Both will want to control the investigation.
The FBI will claim that this is a domestic issue, and the CIA will insist that it’s international. Then Congress will get on the bandwagon. There are no specific laws outlining investigative procedures when a president dies in office under suspicious circumstances.”

“The Warren Commission investigated President Kennedy’s assassination, correct?” Kate asked.

“It was an executive order.” He tapped his index finger against his temple. “Executive Order 11130. Lyndon Johnson’s brainchild.”

“So the Executive Office doesn’t have to kowtow to Congress?”

“The commander in chief has complete authority to handle an investigation. Congress will bellyache, but legally, you’ve got the power.”

The last thing Kate wanted was to engage in a power struggle with Congress, the FBI, or the CIA. But it was comforting to know that she wouldn’t be forced into a submissive relationship with any branch of government if a thorough investigation were necessary.

“Why do I get the feeling that you know something you’re not sharing with me?” McDermott said.

“Just speculating, Charles. It doesn’t hurt to prepare for the unexpected.”

He pondered for a moment. “What can I do to assist you?”

“Coordinate some meetings for me. Arrange a one-on-one conference with Walter Owens. Time to put on my diplomatic hat. Also, I’d like to meet with Cabinet members, the Joint Chiefs, the majority and minority leaders, the director and deputy director of central intelligence, the director of the FBI, and the director
of the Secret Service. I’d also like to address the Senate and the House about two weeks after President Rodgers’s funeral.”

He scribbled hastily on his yellow pad. “Anything else?”

“Tell Bill Riley to be in my office at nine a.m. I want him to arrange a press conference so I can tell the media and the rest of the world about President Rodgers’s death.” She paused for a moment. “I guess I should also outline my future plans. Would you agree?”

“What
exactly
are your plans, Madam President?”

“Other than a thorough investigation of President Rodgers’s death, you and I are going to have to figure out the rest.”

***

On October 16, at ten a.m., an anxious, grieving country watched and listened as Kate Miles stood before Steven Cambridge, chief justice of the Supreme Court, and spoke these words:

“I, Katherine Anne Miles, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of president of the United States and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

She’d spoken these words before but not witnessed by over a billion people worldwide. The Blue Room was as quiet as a tomb.

Elizabeth Rodgers, former First Lady, grasped Kate’s hand and embraced her. Kate squeezed her eyes shut, a current of emotions sweeping through her. She wrestled with fierce internal struggles, her sentiments teetering between anguish and cautious excitement. She’d fantasized about the presidency but never foresaw achieving this goal through such a dramatic turn of events.

Peter gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Congratulations, Kate.”

“Welcome to the White House, my dear,” Elizabeth Rodgers said. Her eyes were red, and tears trickled down her cheeks.

Walter Owens firmly shook Kate’s hand. “Congratulations, Madam President. I look forward to working with you.” It always troubled Kate when a man’s eyes betrayed his words.

Kate turned toward Charles McDermott, expecting a handshake, a hug, a congratulatory gesture. She caught a glimpse of his flushed face as he hustled toward the doorway as if he were late for an urgent meeting.

Olivia Carter, executive assistant to the chief of staff for policy, hesitated a moment before knocking on McDermott’s door. Moisture dripped from her armpits, and she could feel the nervous sweat trickling down her sides. Often more intuitive than she wished to be, Olivia sensed that a major shake-up was in the works. She had no substantial evidence to support her premonition, but her gut welled with fear. President Rodgers had told her that she was his “shining star,” that her strategies and insightful recommendations had helped him make several important decisions. But she suspected, rightfully so, that her past performance carried little weight with the new president. She tried to remain calm, forcing deep, quivering breaths. Walking into the chief of staff’s office with terror in her eyes couldn’t possibly strengthen her position. She remembered the desolate look she’d seen in her father’s eyes the day his lifelong employer restructured upper management.

A new broom always sweeps clean
.

He had told her this on the day he was forced into early retirement. It was the only time she’d ever seen Raymond Carter cry.

After going through her entire wardrobe, trying on business suits, dresses, mix-and-match outfits, Olivia decided to wear her
cobalt-blue double-breasted Gucci. Her mother had given her this suit when Olivia graduated from San Diego State University and received an MBA. She’d never been superstitious, but she’d worn this suit to her successful interview with President Rodgers. If it had helped her get this job, she thought, perhaps its magic might assist her in keeping it.

Olivia was about to knock on McDermott’s door when she noticed President Miles walking toward the Oval Office. The young woman could feel her toes curling in her shoes. The president had a vibrant energy that Olivia admired. Her stride was like that of a confident fashion model cruising down a runway. Olivia felt an unexplainable connection to the president. Except that both were women, there was no logical reason for this connection. After all, Olivia didn’t really know the former VP very well. But when in her life had logic ever controlled her emotions? If today wasn’t the end of her political career, Olivia hoped that some of the president’s charisma might rub off on her.

Their eyes met. The president smiled and waved. Olivia returned the gesture. She tried to read the president’s body language, watching closely to see if she could sense negative vibes. The president hesitated before entering her office and gave Olivia a quick glance. Was she saying good-bye?

Olivia knocked on McDermott’s door.

From behind the door, he yelled, “Come in, Olivia.”

She opened the door and stepped inside. The office—at least three times bigger than Olivia’s—was abundant with windows. It was a vast space of dark wood walls, neoclassic bookcases, and brass accents. A masculine domain. McDermott, sitting behind his bulky mahogany desk, looked like a dwarf. Tucked in the corner was a sitting area with a chocolate-brown leather couch and
two bone-colored wing chairs. Oriental rugs all but covered the gleaming parquet floors.

He glanced at his watch. “You’re six minutes early.”

Olivia thought reprimands were more appropriate for being late. “I can come back.”

He pointed to the sitting area. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She sat down, crossed her legs, and set her briefcase on the floor beside the chair. The office smelled like leather and stale cigarettes. A glass, half-f of a pale amber liquid, sat on the corner of the cocktail table. It looked like whiskey or apple juice diluted with melted ice cubes. She noticed water rings on the table—a dozen, maybe more. The COS apparently entertained associates who weren’t considerate enough to use coasters under their glasses. Or perhaps McDermott himself was a thirsty man.

McDermott stood, removed his reading glasses, dropped them on the brown folder, and walked toward her. Expecting a handshake, she wiped her clammy hand on her skirt and offered it to the COS. Ignoring her gesture, he sat next to her, closer than she thought appropriate. His legs were spread wide, and his blue paisley tie hung down past his beltline. His knee pressed against hers.

She caught him glancing at her legs for an uncomfortable period of time. She’d been told that she had great legs but didn’t appreciate McDermott’s unwelcome confirmation.

“I thought you’d be happy to know that I convinced Miles not to clean house.” He smiled. “So, congratulations, you’re still employed.”

She could hear the air drain from her lungs. “Thank God. Thought I was getting my pink slip today.”

McDermott leaned forward and touched Olivia’s knee. “God had nothing to do with it.”

He left his hand on her knee long enough for Olivia to feel ill at ease. His hands were sweaty. Again, his eyes wandered to her legs. Longer this time. For an instant, Olivia thought about grabbing the glass on the corner of the cocktail table and whacking him in the side of the head. Maybe she could knock some sense into his perverted mind. She didn’t figure that a moment’s pleasure would be a fair exchange for her career, so she dismissed the wild notion. She uncrossed her legs and tucked her skirt securely under her lower thighs.

Men. The little head’s always thinking for the big one
.

“What do you think of President Miles?” McDermott asked.

If ever there was a loaded question, she thought, this was a doozy. At first, she envisioned a tape recorder hidden somewhere in McDermott’s office. But that didn’t make sense. What could he gain from setting her up?

Careful, Olivia, he’s fishing for something
.

“I don’t know her well enough to have a strong opinion.” She wanted to shut her mouth, but the words spilled from her tongue. “My instincts tell me she’s gonna kick ass.”

“Huh. I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“You getting a different vibe, Charles?”

“She seems...a bit tentative.”

“Perhaps she needs some time to get her bearings. She didn’t enter the White House under the most favorable conditions.”

He touched her knee again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but America’s not ready for this—a woman president, I mean.”

She sensed a macho lecture forthcoming. “How could anybody know that? We’ve never had one.”

“Men have kept the world progressing for centuries.”

“They’ve also started every major war, invented the A-bomb, and a lot of them enjoy beating the crap out of their wives on a regular basis.”

“That’s feminist sensationalism, Olivia.”

“Women haven’t made contributions to the world?”

“Look, I didn’t make the rules or author history books. Men control business and politics. Women are better at other things.”

She eyed the glass for just an instant. “Like staying barefoot and pregnant?”

“Like staying out of the Oval Office.”

“It sounds like you’ve given up on President Miles already.”

“Just being realistic.”

“With all due respect, your point of view seems rather medieval.” She’d never been this outspoken, couldn’t believe these words were coming so effortlessly. McDermott was her
boss
!

“I just don’t believe she’s going to make it.”

Had she taken a moment to evaluate the volatile situation more carefully, she might have been able to stifle her roused emotions. But as a dedicated feminist, she could not control her fury.

“Are you going to lead the charge for her impeachment?”

McDermott’s eyes burned through her.

She felt closer than ever to losing her job. “Shouldn’t we give President Miles a chance to get her feet on the ground before we jump to any startling conclusions?”

He seemed to be heedfully weighing her words. “Perhaps you’re right.” McDermott fondled his tie and smiled. “I was merely testing the water, Olivia. You and I
are
on the same team, right?”

Another provocative question. “Of course.”

Olivia’s face felt feverish. Her body broke out in another cold sweat. If she wished to preserve her job, Olivia had to end this
conversation. “Was there anything else, Charles? I have a full plate today.”

“Bill Riley, Victor Ellenwood, and I are meeting for a cocktail tonight.” His voice was edged with tension. “It would be a good idea for you to join us.”

It was politically correct to accept. She knew that. To decline would make her a rebel rather than a team player. But even if she didn’t suspect less-than-honorable motives, Olivia couldn’t imagine what she had in common with any of these men. Charles, obviously, had other intentions. Riley was an egoistic ass. And...
Ellenwood
? To her, the director of central intelligence was a reptile. He had crocodile eyes. Always watching, waiting to pounce.