I Do Solemnly Swear (32 page)

“I swear to God, it was not my intention to be part of this insanity. I had no choice but to look the other way, Carl. That makes me just as guilty as the assassins, doesn’t it?”

“And what about the assassination attempt on President Miles? Were you sitting on the sidelines on this one too?”

“As
God
is my judge...” Ellenwood’s hands were trembling like an alcoholic going through withdrawal. The DCI’s shoulders curled forward, and he swallowed with a painful grimace. His
eyes welled and his voice was shaky. “I was horrified when they assassinated President Rodgers, but my hands were tied. They had me right by the balls and wouldn’t let go. The bastards
assured
me,
convinced
me, that President Miles would resign. I swear to you, I
never
thought they’d try to kill her too.” The DCI pressed his palms against his eyes and shook his head. “Twenty-seven years, Carl. What the
fuck
am I going to do?”

“Victor, I don’t know what to say.”

“I didn’t really give a shit about myself. But my grandchildren...” Ellenwood glanced past Kramer’s face and focused his eyes on a distant object. He massaged his temples with his fingertips. “Things are not as they appear. You, me, the president—we’re all fucking pawns.”

***

While Kate sat on the examination table trying not to jump, Dr. Hawkins poked and prodded her knee.

“Nothing more than a contusion, but I’d like to get a series of x-rays and an MRI. I can give you something for the pain, if you wish.”

“As long as it’s not a shot—I
hate
shots! And don’t give me something that will make me drowsy.”

“I’ll have a nurse bring you some extra-strength ibuprofen right away.”

The doctor departed, and Kate asked the two agents to give her some privacy.

She lay on her side, curled into a fetal position, and wedged her clasped hands between her knees. Her arms sprouted goose bumps. The room was cold but not enough for her to tremble so uncontrollably. Maybe her thermostat was on tilt again? Lying quietly, she could almost taste the antiseptic odor hovering in the air. Hospitals had such a sterile smell. More offensive than clean.
Kate rolled on her back, sat up, and supported her body with arms stretched behind her. For the first time since the assassination attempt, Kate was coherent enough to fully comprehend the evening’s dramatic events.

“Somebody tried to kill me,” she whispered.

Kate could hardly swallow. It felt as if insects were crawling on her skin. The sedative powers of shock, merciful and humane, had temporarily numbed her emotions. But suddenly, the harsh reality of what almost happened dominated her thoughts. Unfamiliar rage assaulted her mind. Kate wanted to scream like a maniac, hurl something across the room, anything to release the welling currents of anger surging through her. A lunatic had pointed a gun at her with intentions of ending her life. She pivoted on her butt, carefully bent her knees, and let her legs hang off the side of the examination table. Kate pressed her palm to her breastbone and could feel her heart hammering.

Why did this stranger try to kill her? And what gave him the right to threaten her?

Even at times of irrational behavior, Kate was not a violent person. But at this particular moment, she wished that the assassin were alive. In all her civilized grandeur, she wanted to hurt the bastard. Her hands curled into shaky fists, and her fingernails dug deeply into the white sheet covering the table. A quick death had been far too merciful. He had swindled her out of the sweet rapture of revenge. Who was this monster? Could it be that the same people who conspired to kill President Rodgers had targeted her as well? Or perhaps Ahmadinejad had not quietly and submissively gone away. Maybe he was the mastermind behind the whole assassination attempt. From what she knew about him, she had little doubt that he was perfectly capable of such an act. But today was not her day to die.

A light knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Albert Cranston entered the room. He looked at Kate with haunted eyes.

“Please don’t tell me Charles is...”

“They’re taking him into surgery. The bullet’s very close to his heart.”

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t look good, Madam President.”

“Is he going to die?”

“That’s not a question I can answer right now.”

“Then who can answer it?”

“Not even the doctors.”

“Who’s performing the operation?”

“Dr. Stuart Blackman.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He’s the chief of cardiothoracic surgery. Supposed to be one of the best in the country.”

“He better be.”

She eased her body off the table and limped over to Cranston. “Talk to the chief administrator and ask if he might accommodate me until Charles gets out of surgery. Perhaps there’s a waiting room or lounge where I can have some privacy and not have to worry about the press or noisy staff members.”

“Madam President, I urge you to let me escort you to the White House. I’ll leave explicit instructions for Dr. Blackman to contact you the moment Mr. McDermott is out of surgery. You’re not going to help him by placing yourself in an uncomfortable situation.”

“I’m not leaving this hospital, Mr. Cranston. Would...you...
please
talk to the chief administrator?”

“Yes, Madam President.”

***

Kate was sound asleep when Cranston shook her arm. “Sorry to bother you, Madam President, but—”

“Is Charles OK? Is he out of surgery?” Her eyes were halfopen, but her body jittered like she’d drunk two pots of Italian espresso.

“There’s no word as of yet. Carl Kramer would like to see you if you’re up to it.”

She rubbed her eyes and surveyed the unfamiliar twelve-by-twelve room. There was a soda machine humming in the corner, a Bunn-O-Matic coffeemaker sitting on a table, wooden chairs with powder-blue vinyl seat cushions. The cocktail table was covered with magazines.
People. Time. Reader’s Digest
.

Kramer shuffled in. He looked like he’d been wearing the same suit for a week. His five o’clock shadow was about eight hours shy of a beard. He sat next to her on the plaid sofa.

“Madam President, I am unable to find the appropriate words—”

“It wasn’t necessary for you to come to the hospital, Carl.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Are you OK?”

“My knee’s banged up, but I’ll be fine.”

“I haven’t been able to catch my breath since I heard,” Kramer said. “Any word on McDermott?”

“He’s in surgery.”

Kramer’s knee bounced up and down, and he nervously scratched his stubble. “I have some rather disturbing news. I would have waited until morning, but...Do you need a few minutes, Madam President?”

“It’s been a rough day.” She reached for the ceiling, stretched her arms, and rotated her knotted neck. She covered her mouth and yawned. “What’s this all about, Carl?”

“Victor Ellenwood has made a startling confession.”

“A confession to what?”

“He had prior knowledge that President Rodgers would be assassinated. But he did not intervene because he claims he was being blackmailed.”

“Victor could have prevented David’s death and did
nothing
?”

“Yes, Madam President.”

“Who is powerful enough to blackmail the director of central intelligence?”

“I pressed him, but he’s too frightened to tell me. My guess? Jack Miller. His real surname, by the way, is Mueller. The missing bottle of wine that allegedly killed President Rodgers, the wine that
Victor
had given him, well, the blackmailer threatened that if Victor did anything heroic, the FBI would miraculously find the half bottle of poisoned wine and the hypodermic needle. And guess whose fingerprints would be found on both?”

“Victor’s?”

“Precisely.”

“Did Victor know there would be an attempt on my life?”

“He was told you’d resign. Vehemently swears they assured him you would not be harmed.”

Kate’s half-awake brain rushed with a dose of adrenaline. “You said Miller traveled to both Topeka and Long Beach and that there was no record of what he was doing at either place?”

“That is correct.”

“He was in Topeka privately speaking to my husband. Check the date of Miller’s trip to Kansas, and I’ll bet it was a day or two before October twenty-sixth. Miller must have scared the daylights out of him because when Peter returned to Washington, he tried to convince me to resign.”

“Do you know why Miller was sent to Long Beach?” Kramer asked.

“He was interrogating one of my old college friends. Probably hoping to dig up something incriminating. Miller must have tipped off the
Post
right after Peter and I secretly separated. He hoped to create a scandal.”

Kramer said, “Miller’s questionable activities and the fact that he once worked for the Chicago Scuba Squad could be a relevant detail.”

“It may fill in a few blanks, yet it doesn’t explain who killed President Rodgers or who tried to kill me and why.” Kate did not want to divulge her Ahmadinejad theory. Not yet, anyway.

Kramer blinked nervously and swiped his hand across his forehead. “I haven’t told you everything yet, Madam President. You’ve been so involved with the Middle East—”

Albert Cranston popped his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt, Madam President, but Dr. Blackman would like to have a word with you.”

She held up her index finger. “Hold that thought, Carl.” Kate carefully stood and tried to brush the wrinkles out of her skirt. Her knee awakened with a dull throb. She fluffed her hair the best she could and attempted to make herself look presentable. The doctor walked in and removed his green surgical cap. His black hair was thick, slightly graying at the temples. His green eyes smiled as he extended his hand toward the president. She noticed his cleft chin.

“I’m Dr. Blackman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, President Miles.”

Terrified of what the doctor might say, Kate could feel her heart flutter in her upper chest.

“Mr. McDermott is a very fortunate man. A few millimeters to the left and the bullet...Well, there’s no reason to speculate. He’s lost a great deal of blood, but he’s a fighter, and his vital signs are strong. I expect a complete recovery.”

Kate closed her eyes for a moment. She grabbed Dr. Blackman’s hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, Doctor.”

“And I thank
you
, Madam President. It’s about time this country had a leader of your caliber. I’m honored to meet you.”

“I appreciate your kind words.” She took a deep breath. “May I see Charles?”

“He’s in recovery. I don’t expect that he will require a stay in intensive care, so you can visit him when he’s taken to his room. About two hours, I’d guess. Expect him to be quite sedated.”

When the doctor left, Albert Cranston came back into the room and handed Kate a cellular telephone. “Your father called the White House. He should be calling you directly in about thirty minutes.”

“Does he know I’m OK?”

“Yes, Madam President.”

Cranston left the room and closed the door behind him.

Kate sat next to Kramer. She squeezed her eyes shut and could feel her throat tightening. “Sorry, Carl. It’s just that...” The emotions had reached a point beyond Kate’s ability to suppress them. Her eyes welled with tears, and a few trailed down her cheeks.

Kramer held her close and gently rubbed the center of her back. His embrace was like a healing ointment. He handed Kate a handkerchief. She blotted her eyes and blew her nose.

“I’ll buy you...a new one, Carl.” Her voice was still quivering. “You were telling me there are more pieces to the puzzle?”

***

After Kate and Kramer finished their conversation, the DDCI went back to the White House. He told the president that he wanted to contact Private Investigator Jake Carson, to see if he’d uncovered any additional data on Jack Miller/Mueller. Kate tried to sleep, but menacing thoughts whirled through her mind. When she’d spoken to her father, he promised to be on the next flight out of Phoenix. She tried to discourage him, asked him not to come back until the convention was over. But her father insisted he’d see her by nightfall.

Cranston knocked on the door and pushed it open. A nurse stood behind him. “Madam President, Mr. McDermott is in his room,” Cranston said.

Forgetting about her knee, Kate stood up quickly and almost fell backward.

The stubby nurse rushed toward Kate. “Would you like a wheelchair, President Miles?”

“How far do I have to walk?”

“Mr. McDermott’s room is just around the corner.”

“I’ll be OK.”

The nurse, along with two Secret Service agents, led Kate down the corridor to room 338. Kate swung open the door and limped into the private room. McDermott’s bed was in the corner, near the window. She could see a dressing around his left upper arm, heavy bandaging on his chest. An IV was attached to the back of his black-and-blue hand, and an oxygen hose hung from his nostrils. He appeared to be sleeping, so she quietly tiptoed toward him. She stood by the bed and looked down at him. His eyes opened just a slit.

“You really know...how to give a lecture...Madam President. Can I be...excused from the next one?”

“You’re my new best hero, Charles. You saved my life.”

“I think...It’s in my job description.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Did they get him?”

“He killed himself.”

“Good. I hope the bastard suffered before he died.”

She pulled a chair from the corner, slid it next to the bed, and sat down. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“How about a raise?”

Kate smiled. “Dr. Blackman tells me you’ll be playing tennis in no time.”

“Then I suppose I should take lessons.” He licked his chapped lips. “May I have some water, please?”

Kate poured ice water into the plastic glass and held it while McDermott sipped it through the flexible straw.

“Can you handle a few questions, Charles, or should I wait until morning?”

“I’m a bit groggy, but that’s OK.”

Kramer had asked Kate, without offering an explanation, not to disclose certain facts to McDermott. So Kate repeated most of what Carl Kramer had shared with her about the blackmail plot against Ellenwood, Miller’s questionable activities, and the conspiracy to force her to resign. McDermott’s eyes grew more alert with each word.