The Gemini Deception (32 page)

The White House

Next day, March 6

Shield entered the White House Press Room and surveyed the throng of reporters assembled for the impromptu press conference. Many were speculating on the reason for the gathering, and she herself was curious about what event might have transpired to prompt this last-minute addition to Thomas’s schedule. Something was brewing—the president had taken breakfast in her bedroom that morning and seemed even more preoccupied than usual during their silent journey from the residential quarters to the main floor.

They hadn’t talked at all since yesterday, when Thomas had told her to leave, and Shield honestly didn’t know what to make of her plea. Was she being asked to leave because Thomas was angry with her and didn’t want her prying in White House business? Or was it a warning? She had a feeling it was the latter.

But if the president was trying to warn her off, then why was Thomas so adamant about keeping dangerous secrets? And why was she so upset with Shield wanting to protect her?

Under other circumstances, when confronted with an attitude or lack of cooperation from some overinflated diva, Shield would have asked for a replacement. She had done it once before. But she couldn’t let go of Thomas. Something about this enigmatic president made Shield want to protect her out of personal concern, not duty. If only Thomas would let her.

White House aides admitted a few stragglers into the room and then closed the doors, indicating the press conference was about to begin.

Ryden’s nerves escalated as she stood outside the Press Room and heard the clamor from reporters inside. She was already on edge because this was to be her first full press conference. She’d managed to avoid having to answer questions during her only other appearance in this room—when she’d delivered the brief “I’m all right” statement scripted by Kenneth Moore after the assassination attempt. This time, she would have to face questions from the global press. Ratman had prepared her the best he could, with answers to every anticipated query, but unforeseen questions always popped up during these rare opportunities with the president that could catch even the real chief executive off guard.

Her makeup artist gave her a final once-over, then stepped back and nodded.

“Are you ready, Madam President?” the White House press secretary asked. He was a distinguished former journalist known for his coverage of conflicts in the Middle East.

Ryden nodded. “Go ahead, George.”

He went into the room ahead of her and told the assembled press to take their seats. Once the din had quieted, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States will be reading from a prepared statement and will then take your questions.”

Her cue. Ryden took a deep breath and straightened her posture as an aide opened the door for her. Flashes from cameras went off as she stepped to the podium. Surveying the room in a quick glance, she saw countless video cameras set up in the back of the crowded room, televising the event live around the world.

She deliberately avoided looking at Kennedy, who stood off to one side, her back against the wall.

“Good morning, everyone,” she began. The statement was typed out for her on the podium, but she had it memorized. “I’m here today with an announcement regarding one of the major cornerstones of my political agenda—my plan to curtail and eventually eliminate the illegal-arms trade in the United States. It had been my hope that a concerted approach involving funding, legislation, manpower, and cabinet-level oversight would reduce this insidious threat within our borders and impact the black-market selling of guns abroad as well.”

As Ratman had instructed, she maintained a serious and resigned expression as she continued. “One of the plan’s key backers until now—Senate Majority Leader Andrew Schuster—recently met with me to discuss his concerns about the plan as drafted and to announce that he was withdrawing his support. Without his leadership on this issue, it stands no chance of gaining the required congressional votes for approval.”

Shocked murmurs circulated through the crowed, and more flashes went off.

“Therefore, I am here today to announce that I am abandoning the plan as drafted. While it remains a goal of my administration to reduce the illegal-arms trade—which deals in billions of dollars in black-market weapons annually and is responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people—I must be content to participate in the efforts spearheaded by global organizations on this issue, such as the United Nations.” She paused for a few seconds. “I’m ready to take your questions.”

Nearly every reporter in the room raised their hand. Ryden had the protocol of who to favor first well memorized. Wire services came first, then the broadcast networks, national newspapers, newsmagazines, video, and, lastly, regional newspapers. How many actually were called upon was entirely up to her. She pointed to the reporter for UPI—United Press International. “Yes, Alex?”

“What were Senator Schuster’s reasons for the abrupt about-face in his position?”

Ratman had guessed that would be among the first questions.

“I’ll leave that to the senator to explain. As many of you know, he’s holding his own press conference on the Hill in an hour,” she replied. “I will tell you that our exchange was cordial, that I respect his position although I don’t agree with it, and that this in no way will affect our future working relationship on other issues of national importance. Senator Schuster has been, and will continue to be, a respected leading voice in the Democratic Party.”

She then pointed to the Associated Press reporter. “Next. Barry?”

The rest of the questions were all ones that had been anticipated, so she was able to deliver quick, eloquent responses without ever appearing flustered. No reporter delved into unrelated matters, because the content of her announcement had been so unexpected and of such great importance. After ten minutes, in keeping with Ratman’s instructions, she begged off further inquiries with a polite, “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but that’s all I have time for today,” and hastily made her exit.

Shield stayed on the president’s heels when she abruptly departed the briefing room, as surprised and mystified by the announcement as the media seemed to be. Thomas had been adamant and passionate about her feelings on the illegal-weapons issue and guns in general, a view that Shield shared and respected.

She knew the president’s arms agenda was highly controversial, but as a professional, Shield was well aware that too many people took the ownership of weapons lightly. They figured it was normal to point one in someone’s face and shoot and call it their constitutional right. Like Thomas, she believed that only the police and military—not thugs, yahoos, and civilians with a few rounds at the shooting range—should own guns. Never mind those small-penis idiots who considered shooting animals a sport.

They escaped the noisy chaos of the Press Room, and Shield followed Thomas across the hall into the deserted Cabinet Room, where the president paused and let out a deep breath.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Shield said. “I was frankly pleased with where you stood on weapons.”

“Yes, well, Schuster pulled back.” Thomas started to continue toward the Oval Office.

“Why?”

The president stopped but didn’t turn around. “You sound like a reporter and I’m done answering questions. Also, I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the subject, so please refrain from offering one. See me to my office and I’ll let you know when I will need your services again.”

Shield’s job was going to become very unpleasant, to say the least, if the president insisted on dismissing and ignoring her. “Elizabeth.”

Thomas turned to look at her. “Was I not clear?”

“Crystal, but…”

Thomas approached her. “You’re skating on thin ice as it is, Kennedy. Remember who you are. Contrary to what you may believe, I can have you fired any time I please.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she asked. “It would appear I’ve given you plenty of reasons, and it’s become abundantly clear you can’t stand me.”

“Because I don’t have the time to busy myself with trivial topics,” the president replied. “But stop pushing it, because if pressed, I can make the time.”

“With all due respect, that’s a lie. Although I’m sure my organization will arrange a replacement if asked to, I’m still here only because you know I’m on your side. And I am the only person in this prison that gives a damn about what happens to you.”

“You only care because you think there’s some plot to destroy the world and you’re looking to prove yourself right. Both of us know you give about as much of a damn about me as the
National Enquirer
.”

“You’re wrong. I never said you’re out to destroy the world, and I also have no interest in proving anything.”

“Bullshit,” Thomas said calmly and with a hint of a smile. “Either way, you have absolutely no proof of that. Now, you can either waste your time with useless and tiring conversation or do what you were hired for and stop harassing me before I have you arrested for defamation.”

Shield crossed her arms. “What’s changed, Elizabeth?” she asked slowly and with deliberate sarcasm, reminding Thomas how she’d insisted Shield drop the formality. “A few days ago, you wanted to jump me. Am I too close to the truth for comfort? Or am I supposed to believe you’re over the distraction and confusion that is me?”

“The second, believe it or not,” Thomas replied casually. “Everybody uses everybody.”

“That’s damn clear.”

“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.” Thomas headed toward the door that led to her secretary’s office.

Shield followed, as always two steps behind, but in reality a world apart.

*

Southwest of Baltimore, Maryland

Elizabeth Thomas stared at the screen, unable to believe what she was hearing, although the reporter was confirming everything her double had just announced from the White House Press Briefing Room. Her illegal-arms agenda was dead. That certainly answered at least part of the question about why all this had happened. Now she knew why they’d told her at lunch that it would be in her best interest to keep tuned to one of the 24-hour news networks today. They wanted her to see this.

One of the things that most surprised her, however, was that the reversal on the bill had come not from the imposter president, but from Senate Majority Leader Andrew Schuster. She’d considered him not only a reliable party stalwart, but a personal friend as well, someone who’d been with her in the battle against illegal weapons from the beginning. What could have compelled him to change his mind? Was it possible he had a double, too, who was doing the bidding of whoever was behind this?

The news report switched live to Schuster on the steps of the Capitol, giving his own press conference. She turned up the volume. The man certainly looked and sounded like Schuster, but then again, she could scarcely distinguish her own double from herself.

“After due consideration,” the senator was saying, “I’ve decided to withdraw my support for the president’s plan to pump millions of dollars into a new initiative to curtail the illegal-weapons trade. At this vulnerable stage in America’s economic recovery, we should focus our resources and attention on more immediate and grave concerns closer to home, like efforts to create more jobs and maintain our country’s competitiveness in the global marketplace.”

Thomas muted the volume when she heard noises from outside her room. She was rarely disturbed between meals, and dinner wasn’t due for hours.

The door opened and a man came in, someone she didn’t recognize. She could tell without even looking now whether it was Beard or Cleanshaven delivering her meals, based solely on their smell and the sound of their breathing. Cleanshaven always had a lingering scent of sweat about him, and Beard had the raspy exhalations of a heavy smoker. This new arrival wore a mask to hide his identity, as the other men did, but in every other respect he didn’t resemble them at all. He was dressed in a tailored navy suit, and his starched shirt and expensive shoes and watch confirmed that he had money. He was not a hired thug or guard like the others, but evidently a man of some importance.

“Good afternoon, Madam President. I hope you have been treated well.”

“And I hope you’re here to provide me with some answers,” she replied, standing to look him squarely in the eye.

“I am, indeed.” He gestured for her to return to her chair in front of the television. “Please, have a seat. And hear me out completely before you ask any questions.”

“All right.” She went back to the big armchair, and he took its twin, a few feet away.

“I represent the person who had you brought here.” He glanced at the muted television as he undid the button of his suit jacket. “I presume you saw the announcement a short time ago at the White House?”

“How can…whoever sent you…possibly think they’re going to get away with all this? What’s next in your sights—the alternative-energy initiative? Health-care agenda?”

He held up one hand condescendingly. “Please save your questions and just offer a yes or no, please.”

“Yes. I saw it,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“My client’s objective has been met today, with the official abandonment of the illegal-weapons plan,” he said. “So we will be returning you to the Oval Office very soon, probably tomorrow.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly. “You’re…returning me? You’re going to just set me free…like that?”

“We never intended to harm you, Madam President. Only to ensure that this arms plan of yours never happens. Now…” He leaned forward and looked at her seriously. He had blue-green eyes, and she could see a smattering of crow’s feet beside them that disappeared under his mask. He had to be in his fifties, at least. “If you do as instructed, you will soon be back in the White House and able to pursue everything else you wish to accomplish.”