Oath of Office (16 page)

“Yeah? Name one?”

“Uh … how about, God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can—”

“—and the wisdom to know the difference,” Emily said, finishing the Alcoholics Anonymous Serenity Prayer that Lou had long ago imprinted on her. “Okay, but that’s different. You had a problem and you dealt with it. I’m talking about rules like what you fight against at the Physician Wellness Office all the time.”

Lou’s chest did a double-clutch. How much had Renee told her? Did she know about his suspension—that Filstrup blamed him for what Meacham had done?

God grant me the serenity …

“What about the PWO?”

Emily shrugged. “Just that you say you’re always fighting with your boss because you know that you’re right and he’s wrong about something. You don’t play along just to play it safe. You fight for what you believe. And I believe if David can have a laptop in his room, I can have one, too.”

Lou quickly decompressed. She knew nothing. But, he decided, it was time she did. “That’s not always a winning strategy,” he said. “There are times you can be wrong, even though you’re right. Does that make any sense?”

“No.”

“What if I told you that because of my tendency to trust my judgment
more than
the rules, that I’m currently not employed with the PWO.”

Emily went pale. “You got fired?”

“Not fired exactly, but I’m not in good standing right now with our board of directors.”

“What’d you do wrong?”

“Let’s just say that if I listened to my boss and some others who didn’t feel as strongly as I did, things might not have gotten so drastic so fast.”

“So if you hadn’t always been trying to prove that you were right, you might still be working there. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that, yeah. Listen, I don’t want to see you complicate things with Steve. Give him a chance. Don’t fight him at every corner. Show him that you at least respect his judgment. Ask him what you could do to earn the same privilege that David has. Maybe the answer will surprise you. Maybe it will turn out to be something simple.”

“Now you sound like Mom.”

“Well, your mother is a very intelligent woman.”

“And beautiful.”

Lou nodded. “Yes, and beautiful.”

“Very beautiful,” Emily said.

“Very beautiful.”

“And incredibly talented.”

Lou sensed something was afoot. “Yes, your mother is very talented. She’s a great cook and fabulous dresser.”

“You forgot to mention a brilliant psychologist.”

“One of the best around.”

“And that you’ll never meet a woman who’ll compare to her.”

“Quite possibly so. It’s true your mother has set a very difficult standard to meet. And I say my nightly prayers of thanks that you inherited so many of her wonderful qualities.”

Emily was smiling—beaming was more like it. Then Lou realized that she was looking past him. He twisted around.

Renee was standing in the doorway, her set of his apartment keys in her hand. “Oh please, guys,” she said. “Don’t stop on my account.”

CHAPTER 21

Kim Hajjar beamed at the orderly behavior the children from the inner city Young People’s Chorus exhibited as they passed through White House security at the southwest entrance. No pushing. No horseplay. No yelling.

A darn fine start to the day.

Looking like a mother duck with four dozen ducklings in tow, she led the children to the Rose Garden via a series of well-marked paths that took them around the back side of the West Wing. The chaperones flanked the line and brought up the rear of the procession.

Hopefully, over the years,
she thought,
some of these kids will visit the White House again. After that, who knows?

The morning was already quite warm, and the cloudless sky guaranteed it would get even warmer. Forecasts had predicted rain throughout the day, so Kim saw the cooperating weather as a sign that the event would proceed without incident.

The buses had shown up on time. One hundred and fifty folding chairs were in perfect rows on the Rose Garden lawn, facing the podium and a set of risers. Refreshments were being served. The green, white, and orange Irish flag stood to the left side of the podium and the Stars and Stripes to the right. There was a buzz of conversation from the assembling crowd, many of whom were from a guest list that she had help to compile.

And the best part was that Martin Mallory would, in all likelihood, not be a no-show today. Kim, working with the president’s chief of staff, had assured herself of it. Just the same, she breathed easier when she saw Martin standing beside Darlene, chatting with some dignitaries. Despite his expertly applied makeup, the president looked drawn and haggard. By contrast, Darlene was radiant in a simple white Christian Dior dress and cloche hat adorned with a silk bow and rosettes.

The children filed into the Rose Garden as orderly as they had passed through security. Kim enjoyed seeing the awe in their faces as they took in the grandeur and beauty around them. The crabapple trees were no longer flowering, but the roses, tulips, primroses, and grape hyacinth were in spectacular bloom. The constant chirping of birds added a natural accompaniment to the quartet of professional musicians playing traditional Irish music.

Kim and Darlene’s eyes met.

The brief exchange said much. At least for this morning, Martin had come through, and there had been no word from Double M—the name they had chosen for their mystery man. After reading the handwritten note on the back of the Bar None coaster, Darlene felt intrigued and vindicated.

“I knew it. I just knew it,” she had said once, then again during their closed-door meeting in her office.

“But why would somebody go after Evans?” Kim asked.

“You remember what he said to us at the Bar None? His office impacts local food producers, major growers, environmentalists, even the manufacturers of fertilizers, pesticides, and seeds. His policies affect millions of lives and probably trillions of dollars. Any number of his positions might put him in someone’s crosshairs.”

Kim thought back to their conversation with Evans—his frustration and almost palpable frailty. She warned herself not to jump to conclusions about his innocence. She wasn’t connected to him as intensely as the First Lady was, and needed to remain objective. Double M claimed to have proof. For Russ Evans’s sake, she hoped the man would not stay hidden for long.

The folding chairs were rapidly filling. Kim signaled to the head of the Young People’s Chorus that the children should take their positions on the riser. The kids looked super, and no doubt, Darlene was imagining what it would be like going from exam room to exam room in her office, taking care of every one of them.
You can take the pediatrician out of the practice,
Kim was thinking,
but you can never take the pediatrician out of this woman.

She straightened out a couple of chairs and patted two of the younger kids on the shoulder.

It was showtime.

From the podium, with the emblem of the presidential seal facing the crowd, she instructed people to take their seats. There was a rustle of movement and the dwindling murmur of voices as the guests settled in. Darlene was seated to the left of the podium. President Callaghan’s husband was seated to the right. Both presidents had musical cues that would instruct them when to enter.

“Is POTUS in position?” Kim spoke into her radio.

A crackled reply came back, “Ready to go.”

“Good.”

Kim nodded to her assistant, and moments later the musicians began to play the Irish march, “Wind That Shakes the Barley.” President Callaghan emerged through the Oval Office French doors to enthusiastic applause. She stood in front of the podium, waving to the powerful and influential guests, many of whom had Irish heritage, strong ties to her country, or both.

Scanning the crowd, Kim stepped away from the podium and listened from the lawn nearest to the risers. She was startled by a light tap on her leg and looked down to see a mocha-skinned girl with ebony pigtails, wearing the plaid pinafore and black tights of the girls, smiling up at her shyly. Kim knelt down.

“Honey, you’re supposed to be on the riser with the others,” she whispered. “Your song is right after President Mallory makes his entrance.”

“But I need to tell you something,” the child said in a honey-sweet voice.

“Me? What is it, sweetie?”

“A man said to tell you that your present is in your purse.”

Kim took in a sharp breath.

I’ll be in touch.

“What man?”

“The one who came up to me right after I got off the bus.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“He had a red and white Washington Nationals hat on. They’re my favorite team.”

The crowd was settled, and Kim realized that the director of the chorus was looking over at them.

“Everything okay with Simone?” he said in a stage whisper.

“Fine,” Kim said. “You did good, Simone. You did perfect. Now, go back with the kids and give us a terrific concert.”

A Washington Nationals cap.

Double M seemed to be an expert at disguise by diversion. Give a person like the bartender and this child something easy to focus on, and in all likelihood, that would be all they recalled.

Kim glanced quickly around the Rose Garden, just as she had that night in Bar None. The results were the same.

Nothing.

Yet somehow, Double M had managed to slip something into her purse. The man was sharp, resourceful—and quick.

The Irish march was over, and the musicians had begun “Hail to the Chief.” With the first notes of the James Sanderson march, Martin Mallory emerged from the Oval Office to what Kim considered a polite standing ovation. As he waved to the crowd, she checked her shoulder bag. A small white box, held closed by a red elastic, rested on top of her clutter. It weighed no more than a couple of ounces. Nothing to be wary of.

Stepping backwards out of the line of sight of almost everyone, she pulled the elastic off. The box held six compartmentalized pieces of chocolate. It took Kim a few seconds to realize that only five of the pieces were real candy. The sixth small chamber contained something else.

Something not at all edible.

An earpiece.

“Hail to the Chief” was winding down, to be followed by the national anthems, but Kim could hardly hear the music. Her pulse was a kettledrum in her ears.

Ahead and to her right, the president was waving and smiling for the cameras.

Kim pretended to adjust her earring and fiddled with the small apparatus until it slipped inside her left ear. Immediately, she heard static, then a man’s tinny voice, probably electronically altered. Still, his words, even heard through her pulse, were quite audible.

“This is the end of the recording. It will loop for ten minutes more before its contents become permanently erased. Darlene Mallory must listen to this recording and agree to help.”

CHAPTER 22

Already on high alert, Darlene tensed even more when she saw Kim approaching. Something had happened between her chief of staff and the young girl from the chorus. And whatever it was, Darlene strongly suspected, had something to do with Double M. Then, when Kim stealthily brought out a small white box from her bag, opened it, extracted something, and quickly closed it again, she was certain.

Martin was at the podium now, waving to the crowd. God, but he loved his job. Each percentage drop in his popularity had been like a dagger in his heart.

Hard as his plummeting numbers were on him, both physically and mentally, he maintained an unyielding belief in his programs and in his vision for the future of America. But lately, reassuring him, deflecting his bullwhip temper, and validating his decisions had become something of a second full-time job for Darlene.

Then there was the matter of her pledge not to contact or mention Russ Evans to him again. It was for this reason Darlene had decided not to tell her husband about Double M—at least not yet. She never had much in the way of craftiness, and Martin generally could see right through her when she tried holding anything back from him. Revealing her connection with D.M., as she and Kim sometimes called the informant, had to be carefully orchestrated, and kept secret until she knew what the man was about.

Kim stood by Darlene’s right shoulder, blocking most angles, and bent down far enough to whisper in her ear. “It’s him.”

“Now?” The First Lady kept her gaze forward and her face expressionless.

“Lower your hand,” Kim said.

Darlene did as instructed, keeping her fingers curled to form a makeshift cup. The plastic object Kim placed there was smaller than a marble and surprisingly heavy. At the same moment, Martin began his address. A screech of feedback from the podium’s single microphone sent a flock of birds into flight, and the AV tech scurrying for his control knobs. Martin tapped twice on the microphone head.

“There,” he said in a voice now rich with electronic reverb, “the First Lady is always telling me to expect the unexpected.”

The laughter was prolonged and genuine.

“That feedback was probably caused by this earphone,” Kim said. “Very powerful. Double M knows his stuff.”

Darlene nodded, smiling for those still looking at her. Kim straightened up and stepped back toward the crowd.

“Thank you all for being here today,” Martin continued. “This is a wonderful opportunity to express America’s deep gratitude and appreciation to a country that shares so many of our values. Our bond is formed not only in the history we share, but in the perseverance that defines our two nations. And I say this not only as a president who can claim and document a deep Irish heritage, but also as a man who is extremely fond of a perfectly poured Guinness.”

The laughter this time was even more enthusiastic.

Darlene knew this speech well, and was prepared for the reaction to Martin’s Guinness joke. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. With the attendees distracted, she pretended to adjust her earring. The earpiece slipped into place without any difficulty.