THE PRESIDENT 2 (13 page)

Gina could feel Dutch squeeze her hand tighter.
 
She, too, was bracing herself.
 

“One night, at the White House, the President of the United States, the leader of the free world, raped me.”

It felt as if a bomb had just exploded and the press didn’t know what hit it.
 
The cameras started flashing as if they were being handled by wild tabloid paparazzi, and questions started being hurled as if it was now a free-for-all.
 
The mood became so frenzied that Jennifer’s attorney, who stood alongside her, had to step in and refuse to answer any questions until the press settled back down.

The silence in the Roosevelt Room proved a startling contrast to the mayhem on the television screen.
 
Dutch and Gina sat as if they were frozen in time, neither able to move, to speak, seemingly to breathe.
 
Max, Allison, and Christian also stood mute.
 
Until one of their cell phones began to rang, and then another cell phone rang, and then all three were fielding phone calls from congressmen, senators, and worried supporters about this amazing turn of events.
 
Even LaLa and Dempsey hurried into the room, asking if they were watching Jennifer Caswell and her remarkable allegation.

Finally, the press conference was allowed to continue and one reporter, Nora Tatem, asked the obvious question.
 
“Are you, Mrs. Caswell, accusing our sitting President of rape?”

“That’s exactly what I’m accusing him of,” Jennifer said, “because it’s the truth.
 
He raped me.
 
He raped me because I would not leave my husband.”

“Did you report this rape?”

“Of course not!
 
He was the president.
 
Nobody was going to believe me over the president!”

“Why are you coming forward now?”

“Because I believe he purposely let my husband die.”
 

Another bombshell.
 
Another flurry of camera flashes and numerous questions being hurled all at once.
 
The attorney had to step in again, and then the press conference continued:
 

“Are you saying, Mrs. Caswell, that President Harber purposely allowed your husband to be killed by those terrorists?”

“I believe he’s still so angry with me for leaving him that he did nothing to help my husband!”

“That’s not the same thing, ma’am.”

“It is the same thing.
 
My husband is dead and Dutch Harber is probably sitting up in that White House gloating because of it.”

“All because he still can’t get over the fact that you left him for another man?”

“That’s the truth.
 
He begged me to stay with him.
 
He still begs me.”

“Are you saying the president still wants you?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But what about the First Lady?
 
Why would he want you, when he has her?”

Jennifer almost laughed.
 
“The answer to that question is self-evident.
 
Look at her, look at me, there’s your answer.
 
Next question,” she said and many more questions came.
 
But at the end of the day all of them had the same answer: Dutch Harber has committed not only a serious crime, but an impeachable offense.
 

And nobody in the Roosevelt Room at the White House, least of which Dutch Harber, could find the words to counter an accusation like that.

***

Dutch and Gina managed a little time alone later that afternoon.
 
Dutch had been huddling with his national security team, and then his White House staff, and then his team of private lawyers, and barely managed to get away long enough to spend some time huddling with his wife.
 

They sat out in comfortable chairs on the Truman balcony, overlooking the South Lawn of the White House, the beauty of crabapple trees, primrose, and grape hyacinth surrounding them in stark contrast to their hectic day.
 

Gina looked at Dutch.
 
He had his suit coat gaped open, his tie askew, and his hands resting on the arms of the chair, a glass of wine in one of those hands.
 
Considering the firestorm that now swirled around him, he looked remarkably calm.

“Who were you meeting with?” she asked him.

Dutch wanted to shake his head in disgust with the fact that he had to meet with anybody at all, but didn’t.
 
“Who wasn’t I meeting with might be a shorter list.”

“Beyond your staff and cabinet, I mean.”

“Well let me see.
 
I’ve met with the White House Counsel, the Attorney General, the Secret Service, the Capitol Police, and my own private attorneys.”

“The Capitol Police?” Gina asked and Dutch nodded.
 
And it was only then did she realize he was actually near tears.
 
“What did they want?” she asked him.

He shook his head.
 
“They weren’t sure themselves.
 
But since the crime occurred here at the White House, and I had once been a senator, I don’t know.
 
They just heard rape and wanted in.”

“Rape my eye,” Gina said.
 

Dutch looked at her.
 
In a lot of ways, he knew she was all he had.
 
“Right.
 
So she claims.
 
Listen, Gina,” he said, “I haven’t had a chance to say this to you, but . . . I didn’t rape that woman.”

Gina frowned.
 
“You don’t have to tell me anything like that.
 
I know you didn’t rape her!
 
Nobody’s going to rape a woman like that and she not give them hell, come on.
 
And I know rape happens and I know all kinds of women are the victims of it, I know all that.
 
But Jennifer Caswell?
 
That force of nature?”
 
Gina shook her head.
 
“I’m not buying it, sorry.
 
Besides,” she said as she touched his arm, “I know I didn’t marry that kind of man.”

Although Dutch was still reeling from the day’s bombshell to manage any outward smile, he did smile inwardly.
 
And thanked God Almighty for giving him a woman like Regina.
 
“Thank-you,” he said.
 

But then that gazed, stormy, teary-eyed look came over him again, and he looked out onto the South Lawn.

“It’s just hard you know?” he said.

Gina rubbed his arm.
 
“I know.”

“The press is treating her baseless allegations as if they were gospel at a time when we’re already dealing with that dangerous hostage crisis, a crisis that by its very nature is already making me seem ineffectual because I can’t do a damn thing about it.
 
Now I’m supposed to be a rapist to boot.
 
And not just any rapist, but I supposedly raped the wife of a man who was one of the hostages, a man who was just murdered by his captors, and I supposedly raped her in the White House of all places.
 
In the people’s house.”
 

He shook his head.
 
“I knew they would throw the kitchen sink at me, Gina.
 
I knew there were forces in this country who hated me, who hated my liberal policies, who hated the fact that I didn’t marry a member of the elite class, although most of them aren’t even members of that class themselves.
 
But I never would have imagined that this kind of sickening charge would be thrown my way.”
 

Then he looked at Gina with a look so pathetic, so filled with fear that it broke her heart.
 
“How am I going to prove the negative?
 
I didn’t rape her.
 
But how can I prove I didn’t?”

“You can’t prove it,” Gina said.
 
“But if you go before the American people and tell them the truth, tell them everything you know about your relationship with Jennifer, including the fact that that woman is still, to this day, in love with you, then I think they’ll believe you and put this craziness to bed.”

Dutch stared at her.
 
He knew she had always been a straight shooter.
 
“You actually believe that if I simply say it isn’t so, that that will put a charge like this to rest?”

Gina exhaled, that same stormy look now crossing her tired eyes.
 
“We have to believe it, Dutch,” she said.
 
“We have to pray and trust that God will make this entire world believe it.”

Dutch stared back out at the South Lawn.
 
“So all we have is a prayer?” he asked her.

“Sometimes, Dutch,” Gina said, tears forming in her eyes, “a prayer is all we need.”

Christian Bale stepped out onto the balcony.
 
Looking his usual nervous self, Gina thought.

“Hello, Chris,” she said

“Hi,” he said with his ever-present smile.
 
“Please excuse the interruption, sir, ma’am, but Mr. Bergmann and Mrs. Rice are here.”

But this declaration only heightened Dutch’s tension.
 
“Can I at least have a few private moments with my wife?” he snapped.
 
Then he calmed back down, especially when he saw Chris’s face blush red.
 
“Sorry about that, Chris.
 
I’m just. . . Bring them out.”

“Are you sure, sir?
 
They can come back later or--”

“It’s okay, Christian,” Gina said.
 
“They can come.”

Christian bowed slightly and went to get the two attorneys.
 
Peter Bergmann, the White House Counsel, and Chandra Rice, the Attorney General, crossed the Truman balcony and made their way up to the president and First Lady.
 
Once they were offered seats, yes, and drinks, no thank-you, they got down to business.
 

“First of all,” the Attorney General said, “there is such a thing as presidential immunity while you remain in office, although it’s not completely settled law yet.
 
But generally speaking, you should be immune from prosecution while you’re in office.
 
The proper authorities can investigate, but that’s about as far as it should be able to go.
 
Now, as to Jennifer Caswell’s rape charge.”

“Why is she making it?”

“Because Ralph Caswell’s children, who are around the same age as Jennifer herself, plans to file a lawsuit barring her from collecting a dime of their father’s billion dollar estate.
 
She signed a pre-nup and they intend for the courts to stick to that agreement, an agreement that basically gives her little of nothing.
 
They planned, in this lawsuit, to accuse her of basically being a gold digger, of marrying their aging father so that she could live the high life.
 
And they say she’s already squandered millions, including forcing their father to give outrageous amounts of money in her name to politicians she sleeps around with.”