loudly admire as she quietly schemed about replacing everything with whites and flowery pinks the instant she moved in.
They paused briefly to envy Jack’s cavernous family room-a massive walk-in fireplace; heavy, ornately carved pool table; and a mammoth flat-panel hanging off a wall. This is why you get rich, one remarked, and they all laughed. One man climbed the stairs to begin nosing through Jack’s bedroom and bath. The other two raced to the large home office, where the real work would be accomplished.
Jack’s tan buttery briefcase was located on the floor, wedged awkwardly between the trash can and desk. They attacked this first. The paper slides concerning this company with the miracle product were withdrawn then, one by one, photocopied on the portable copier one man had hauled in. Odd, one remarked, that the papers never yielded the name of the company. But so what? The slides were no doubt loaded with hints and clues that might be unraveled later, to reveal the name.
Next, Jack’s black book was located and also photocopied; the snoops down in D.C. could mine it for more information and leads. One man began digging through desk drawers, the other rifled through the big wooden file cabinet against the wall. Fortunately, Jack was the neat and organized type. They appreciated this. The files were alphabetically organized by topic-dental, financial, medical, social, and so forth. Three years of credit card purchases and four years of old tax returns were also withdrawn and efficiently photocopied.
O’Neal had given them a detailed inventory of topics to search for; they marveled at how easy Jack Wiley made it.
By then the upstairs man had finished with the bedroom-nothing the least bit interesting, certainly nothing incriminating, a place to sleep, nothing more-and was preparing to switch the search into the bathroom. On Jack’s dresser sat a silver-framed black-and-white photo of a handsome military officer with his lovely, adoring wife, Jack’s parents, no doubt.
But there were no photos of any other women, which certainly seemed to support the existing theory that Jack was currently unencumbered in the romance department.
He eased into the bathroom, stuffed his pug nose inside Jack’s medicine cabinet, and began poking around. Nothing worth noting here, either-the normal array of shaving supplies, mouthwash, toothpaste, and a spare bottle of shampoo. The strongest medicine in the cabinet was a bottle of aspirin-unopened and two years past the expiration date.
They would continue the search for two more hours. Everything-every paper, every paper clip-would be put away just as they found it. They were pros. They would leave only two traces of their presence.
Before they snuck back out the rear door, the electronics man would stuff bugs into all of Jack’s phones.
The other two would plant a five-pound sack of marijuana on a storage shelf at the back of Jack’s expansive three-car garage, slightly behind a mulch bag Jack might never touch, but certainly not before spring. An insurance policy; they had done this before and it worked like magic.
If it was needed, fine.
If not, they would sneak back at some later date and retrieve it.
The instant the jet cruised up to the private terminal at Ronald Reagan Airport, another black stretch limo raced up and cruised to a stop at the bottom of the steps. Jack, Bill, and the girls piled in, laughing at another Feist joke and having a ball. Feist began doling out the booze before they were rolling. He was a heavy drinker, matching Jack at least three for one, but he obviously had had plenty of practice, and he handled the booze well. A brisk ride ensued before they were idling at the side entrance gate to the White House parking lot. Bill rolled down his window and shoved some type of magic pass in the faces of the uniformed security guards. “Thanks, Earl, Tommy,” he made a point of saying quite loudly as they were whisked through without a second glance.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Feist,” one barely had time to mumble back as the limo shot by.
“You’ve been here before,” Jack observed.
“I worked here, under two different presidents,” Bill noted with an obviously insincere attempt at modesty.
A young naval officer packing enough ribbons and gold braid to capsize a battleship escorted the foursome upstairs, then across a broad hallway, straight into the spacious state dining room, where more than a hundred guests in resplendent finery were already congregated, sharing drinks, stuffing hors d’oeuvres down their throats, and gabbing about important subjects.
Eva and Eleanor were instantly adored by every male in the room. By far the two youngest guests, the most scantily dressed, and the loveliest, half the room admired them with every cell in their body.
The other half plainly detested them.
On just one side of the room alone, Jack picked out the secretary of state, secretary of defense, and chairman of the Joint Chiefs huddled together with their wives. Slightly to their right, the clutch of bespectacled gents whispering seriously among themselves were either Supreme Court justices or excellent imitations.
Bill and Eleanor split off, leaving Jack and Eva to drink, chat, and ponder the incredible fact that they were in the White House. The White House!
Bill immediately launched into a fast-paced whirl, virtually dancing around the room, gripping illustrious hands, complimenting the ladies, flitting from group to group, pollinating laughter in his wake.
If he was trying to impress Jack with who he-and by extension, the boys of CG-rubbed shoulders with, the performance was nothing short of impressive.
On several occasions Eva pointed out some luminary. “Who’s the big man Bill’s talking to? Isn’t he a movie star or something?”
“Was. I think now he’s governor of California,” Jack answered.
“What about the lady beside him? I’m sure I recognize her face.”
“On his left, the attorney general. The other one, the good-looking blonde, she’s the intern the president’s sleeping with.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Eva asked, looking more closely at the woman.
“I am, and you can stop now, Eva. The room is loaded with ridiculously famous people. I get it. Any moment they’ll notice I don’t belong here, and I’ll be forced to start waiting tables.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack smiled. “Are you supposed to hustle me all night or can we have fun?”
Rather than pretend embarrassment, Eva laughed. “Am I that obvious?”
“I had you at hello.”
“I’m wounded,” she said, smiling coyly, apparently relieved to surrender her duties.
Suddenly the president and First Lady, accompanied by another couple, entered; the military band in the corner launched into a gusty version of “Hail to the Chief” and the roomful of powerful people began filtering dutifully in the direction of a reception line. Jack overheard somebody mention that accompanying the president and First Lady were the king and queen of a country he had failed to catch the name of, but where apparently everybody was tall, cadaverously thin, and had terrible complexions.
The royals stood shuffling their feet, making no effort to disguise that they were already bored out of their minds.
Eva grabbed Jack’s arm and nearly dragged him to the line. They found themselves crushed between a famous movie producer and a handsome, scowling senator who had run against the president and got creamed. The campaign had been long and nasty, an ugly mudfest. Together, they had polled the lowest voter turnout in history. It was the most expensive, and by general agreement, least inspiring campaign in history.
There was only one conceivable reason the senator was invited here tonight: “Hey, you sorry, loudmouthed loser, how do you like my digs?” they could picture the president asking him with a spiteful grin.
And the rampant rumors about the senator’s love life appeared to be accurate. He quietly ignored everything and everybody-that is, everything but Eva’s long legs and admirable fanny. The movie producer, on the other hand, launched into a long, simmering diatribe about the appalling situation in Swaziland. An obscure tribe of pygmies was apparently at risk of extinction from an equally indistinct disease the director pronounced differently each time he mentioned it. If only Americans didn’t care so little about the world, he moaned with a light flip of his hand, a miracle cure could be found. But for American indifference and stinginess, the tribe could be saved. Indeed, the only reason he had deigned to come here tonight, he confided loudly enough to be heard by everybody in the line, was to bring this abominable issue to the attention of Washington.
“A whole tribe? How awful,” Eva remarked, pinching Jack’s arm.
