Even with a career spent around good politicians and all their native charisma, and being able to exude no small amount ofcharm himself—when necessary—Leuchten felt himself warming to the Coach’s aw-shucks demeanor. He pulled back, forcing himselfto remain aloof. He knew frustratingly little about this woman beyond Franklin’s stories of her superhuman ability to solveproblems no one else could—and he’d been skeptical when he’d thought the Coach was a man. Now that he knew she was a woman . . .it all just seemed ludicrous. Some sort of ridiculous game.
“Believe me,” Leuchten said, “after the things Jim Franklin’s told me about you, the pleasure is all mine. Coach, is it?”
The woman ended the handshake.
“That’s right, sir. Just Coach does just fine. Been called that so long, seems like that’s the only name I’ve ever had. Describesmy professional capacity pretty well, besides.”
Leuchten held up a hand, gesturing toward the front door of his house.
“Let’s get inside. No reason to stand out here on the porch in the cold.”
The Coach nodded.
“Sounds just about all right to me, Mr. Chief of Staff,” she said.
“Call me Tony, please.”
Leuchten opened the door and held it for the Coach, who entered the house and stood in the foyer, looking around at the decor.Leuchten glanced back. Jim Franklin stood in the snow just off the porch, clearly unsure whether he was invited in.
Leuchten let him wonder for a moment longer.
“Come on, Jim,” he said graciously. “Let’s not keep your, ah, friend waiting.”
Franklin nodded tightly and climbed the porch steps.
Leuchten took off his coat and hung it on a stand by the door. He glanced out through a window at the snowy landscape, desertedin every direction except for the various government vehicles and the Coach’s helicopter.
Four or five Secret Service agents waited impassively inside the living room, arms folded. Leuchten and Franklin watched asthe Coach sat on the stairs leading up to the second floor and tugged off her boots.
“Sorry about melting on your floor here, Tony. Get me some paper towels and I’ll wipe it right up.”
“That’s all right, Coach,” Leuchten said, marveling at the surreality of the entire encounter. “Someone will take care ofit. Come into the dining room. Can I get you a drink?”
“Why the hell not?” the woman said. “Scotch, one ice cube. Nice to have something warming on a cold day.”
The trio entered the dining room and sat at the long mahogany table. Leuchten took the seat at the head, with a huge picturewindow behind him, knowing that glare from the snow outside against his back would leave his face shrouded in shadows. Franklinsat to Leuchten’s left, and the Coach slipped into a chair about midway down the table on the other side, stopping first tohang her coat over the back of the chair. A Secret Service agent entered with a tray of drinks.
“Now, Tony, I’ve got a question for you,” the Coach said, after whisky was sipped and pleasantries had been exchanged.
“Sure, Coach,” Leuchten said, smiling broadly.
“Where the fuck’s the president?” the Coach said, her genial tone not varying in the slightest.
Leuchten choked on his mouthful of scotch, spluttering. He composed himself quickly, storing away for future reference thesatisfied, I-told-you-so look on Franklin’s moony, blue-collar face. He set his drink down on a coaster. The woman waited,unhurried, patient. Leuchten forced a smile back to his lips.
“I don’t know if Jim Franklin gave you the idea that President Green would be meeting you today, Coach, but obviously therewas some miscommunication. The president’s a busy man. That said, he’s very interested to hear what you might be able to dofor us.”
Leuchten paused. The Coach stared at him, unblinking.
“Is there a problem?” Leuchten said.
The Coach ignored him. She turned to Franklin.
“Jim, you told this guy about me, right? Didn’t sugarcoat it any?”
Leuchten watched, incredulous, as Franklin answered as if he weren’t even in the room.
“I did, Coach, but the chief of staff tends to have his own ideas about the best way to do things.”
The Coach made a hard-to-define noise that nonetheless very clearly communicated her disapproval. She looked out the window,apparently deep in thought.
“Excuse me?” Leuchten said. “I have full authority from the president here. If you have any questions, Coach, you can askme. Actually . . .”
He stood up from his chair and folded his arms.
“. . . no. I’ve had about enough of this. There is no such thing as a mystical black-ops fix-it person. If there were, I’dknow about it. Franklin told me you found a terrorist cell the FBI couldn’t, stopped their boat with a dirty bomb aboard abouta hundred yards from the Statue of Liberty. Told me you figured out who actually blew up the Columbia. Told me all manner of other horseshit. I don’t know your game—either of you . . .”
He glanced at Franklin, who was watching him, his face almost . . . amused?
“. . . but I’m not playing. Coach, whatever your name is, I’d like you to stand up, leave my house, get in your little helicopterout there and fly away, right now, or I’ll hand you over to the marines.”
The Coach didn’t move. They stared at each other, unblinking.
“Well,” the small woman said. “You do seem to know quite a bit about me. You did your homework. That’s good.”
She reached down, below the level of the table. Leuchten flinched back, involuntarily, even though he knew that the SecretService had gone over the woman with a fine-toothed comb, and there was no way she’d have been able to sneak in a weapon—theyhad even checked out her thermos. But still.
The Coach came up from under the table with a paperback book, a very familiar book indeed.
Leuchten’s eyes widened, not understanding.
The Coach dropped the book onto the table, where it landed with a dull whap.
“Your autobiography, Tony,” she said. “Read it on the flight up. I liked it. Funny thing, though . . .”
She reached out a finger and rotated the book slowly on the table, bringing its cover around to face him. She looked up atLeuchten and smiled thinly.
“. . . you left out Annie Bridger.”
All the blood seemed to drop out of
