The First Councel

Marine guard standing under the light outside the West Lobby. The President’s not in the Oval. Rushing full speed through the West Colonnade, I fly into the Ground Floor Corridor. As I run, I hear clapping and cheering echoing through the hallway. In the distance, there’s the chug of a steam train. First slow, then fast. Faster. As it picks up speed, it’s pulsing. Whirring. Humming. The helicopter.

Halfway down the hallway, I make a sharp right into the Dip Room and crash head-on with the last person I expect to see at a departure.

“Where’re you heading?” Simon asks, sounding unsurprised.

My jaw tightens. I can’t help but picture him and Nora in the backseat. Still, I fight it down. “To watch the departure.”

“Since when are you such a tourist?”

I don’t answer. I need to hear it from her. Turning away, I step around him.

He seizes me by the arm. It’s a tight grip. “You’re too late, Michael. You can’t stop it.”

I pull away. “We’ll see.”

Before he can respond, I push forward, shoving open the doors of the South Portico. On the driveway, a small crowd of twenty-five is still cheering. Remnants of the post-Dateline celebration. On the South Lawn, Marine One is about to take off. I have to squint against the swirling winds, but I still see the fat army-green copter lift off the ground. As my tie and ID are whipped over my shoulder, the force of the wind from the spinning blades crashes against my chest like a wave. Behind bulletproof glass, and in his armor-lined seat, the leader of the free world waves goodbye to us. Two seats back, Nora’s caught up in a conversation with her brother. I lift my chin and watch their ascent. Simon’s right. There’s no way to stop it. It’s out of my control. In a heartbeat, the helicopter’s lights go off, and the First Family disappears in the black sky. With nothing left to cheer for, the crowd starts to disperse. And I’m left standing there. Alone. Back to a world of one.

“This is stupid,” I say as the waitress delivers a pitcher of beer to our table.

“Don’t talk to me about stupid,” Trey says, pouring himself a glass. “I was there today-I saw it myself. The best thing now is to plan your way out.”

As he says the words, my eyes are locked on the waitress who’s clearing the table next to us. Like the crane in the old carnival game, she lowers her arm and lifts all the important stuff: glassware, menus, a dish of peanuts. Everything else is trash. With a sweep of her arm, empty bottles and used napkins are brushed into the busboy’s plastic bin. With one quick move, it’s gone. That’s what she did-after the fun, jettisoned the trash. Still, I refuse to believe it. “Maybe Vaughn had it wrong. Maybe when Nora gets back-”

“Wait a minute, you’re gonna give her a chance to explain? After what she did tonight… Are you out of your head?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.”

“There’re plenty of choices. Whole shopping-carts-ful of them: Hate her, despise her, curse her, scorn her, pretend you’re nature and abhor her like a vacuum-”

“Enough!” I interrupt, my eyes still locked on the waitress. “I know what it looks like… I just… We don’t have all the facts.”

“What else do you need, Michael? She’s sleeping with Simon!”

My chest constricts. Just the thought of it…

“I’m serious,” he whispers, looking suspiciously at the tables around us. “That’s why Caroline got killed. She found out the two of them were doing the horizontal Electric Slide, and when she started blackmailing them, they decided to push back. The only problem was, they needed someone to blame.”

“Me,” I mutter. It certainly makes sense.

“Think about the way it played out. It wasn’t just a coincidence that you wound up in the bar that night; it was a setup. She took you there on purpose. The whole thing-losing the Service, pretending to be lost, even taking the money-that was all part of their plan.”

“No,” I whisper, pushing myself away from the table. “Not like that.”

“What’re you-”

“C’mon, Trey, there’s no way they knew the D.C. police were going to pull us over for speeding.”

“No, you’re right-that was pure chance. But if you didn’t get pulled over, she would’ve planted it in your car. Think about it. They set Vaughn up and make it look like you let him in the building. Then when Caroline shows up dead the next morning, between Vaughn and the money, you’ve got the smoking gun.”

“I don’t know. I mean, if that’s the case, then why haven’t they turned me in? I’ve still got the ‘gun.’ It’s just in police custody.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe they’re worried the cop’ll identify Nora. Maybe they’re waiting until after the election. Or maybe they’re waiting for the FBI to do it on their own. Five o’clock tomorrow.”

We sit in silence and I stare at my beer, studying its rising bubbles. Eventually, I look up at Trey. “I still have to speak to her.” Before he can react, I add, “Don’t ask me why, Trey-it’s just… I know you think she’s a whack- job-believe me, I know she’s a whack-job-but underneath… you’ve never seen it, Trey. All you see is someone you work for-but behind all the tough-stuff posturing and all the public-face nonsense, in a different set of circumstances, she can just as easily be you or me.”

“Really? So when was the last time we did Special K in the bowling alley?”

“I said underneath. There’s still a girl underneath.”

“See, now you’re sounding like Mithridates.”

“Who?”

“The guy who survived an assassination attempt by eating a little bit of poison every day. When they finally put it in his wine, his body was immune to it.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“Pay attention to the details, Michael. Even though he survived, he still spent every day eating poison.”

I can’t help but shake my head. “I just want to hear what she says. Your theory’s one possibility; there’re plenty of others. For all we know, Pam’s the one who-”

“What the hell is wrong with you? It’s like you’re on permanent autopilot!”

“You don’t understand… ”

“I do understand. And I know how you feel about her. Hell, even forgetting Nora, I still have my own questions about Pam-but take a step back and put on your rational pants. You’re trusting Nora and Vaughn-two complete strangers you’ve known less than a month-and questioning Pam, a good friend who’s been by your side for two years. Please, Michael, look at the facts! Does that make any sense to you? I mean, today alone… what’re you thinking?”

My eyes drop back to my beer. I don’t have an answer.

Early Friday morning, I tear through all four newspapers, checking to see if Adenauer kept his word. The Herald has a short piece on some of the conspiracy theories that’re starting to develop around Caroline’s death, but that’s to be expected. More important, Hartson bounced up six points in the polls, a giant leap that takes him out of the margin of error. It’s not hard to see why. The front photo in the Post is a shot of the whole family on Dateline. On the far right, Nora’s laughing at her mother’s joke. Just another day in the life.

Beyond that, as far as I can tell, it’s all okay. Nothing by Inez. Nothing by anyone. Now all I have to do is the hard part. According to the schedule, they should be landing any minute. I tighten my tie and pull it extra tight. Time to see Nora.

Once the Secret Service waves me in, I head straight to her bedroom on the third floor. I stop at her door, my hand poised to knock. Inside, I hear her talking to someone, so I lean in close. But just as I do, the door flies open and there’s Nora, radiant in a tight black T-shirt and jeans, cradling a cell phone to her ear, and grinning at me for all of a split second.

“I don’t care if he raises two million,” she shouts into the phone. “I’m not going to