“It’s such a terrible thing. Such a tragic accident.”
He spoke against her cheek. “It wasn’t an accident, Lorna.”
She leaned away from him and looked into his face.
“I’d asked Bobby to keep an eye on my father. The old bastard’s up to something. Next thing I know, Bobby’s dead. It’s no coincidence.”
“You’re saying your father is responsible?”
“I’m not sure what I’m saying.” He went to the phone. “Get me Senator Dixon.” A moment later he said, “Thank you.” He put the call on speakerphone so Lorna could hear.
“Mr. President, it’s late.” It was the tone of a tired, grumpy father.
“I know, Dad. I just got some terrible news. Bobby’s dead.”
There was a pause at the other end.
“Lee? How?”
“An accident.”
“I’m sorry, son. I know how close you two were.” There was the squeak of bedsprings, the rustle of linen. “Have you thought who’ll replace him?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“The choice seems obvious to me. Shackleford.”
“John thought the same thing.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page. Does Lee’s family know?”
“Not yet.”
“Tragic business,” the senator said. There was the sound of scratching, the flare of a match, the old man’s huffed breath as he lit a cigar. “Shackleford will do just fine.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“’Night, Clayboy. Get some rest. I reckon you’ll need it.”
When the call was ended, the President looked at Lorna Channing.
“Ned Shackleford,” he said. “There’s our leak. Jesus, when did he go over to their side?”
“Your father already knew about Bobby,” she said. “Even I could hear it in his voice.”
Dixon nodded. “How do you suppose that came to be?”
“He heard it on the news?”
“The press hasn’t been informed yet.”
“Llewellyn?”
“He promised to say nothing.”
“Maybe he broke his promise.”
“Or never intended to keep it in the first place.” All the possibilities seemed dark in his thinking. “Could it be they both knew about it, knew even before it happened?”
Lorna put her hand on his cheek. “Clay, I can understand mistrusting your father and Llewellyn, but I’d caution against looking for conspiracy. I guarantee that if you look for it, you’re going to see it. Everywhere.”
Dixon took a deep breath and sat down. “If I don’t trust someone, Lorna, I’ll go crazy.”
“You have me,” she said.
“Standing by me could be dangerous.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“We need someone else to take up where Bobby left off, someone who knows how to find out things and how to watch his back.” The president closed his eyes and tried to think. Everything seemed black and hopeless. “Christ,” he said, “isn’t there anybody in this city we can trust?”
chapter
thirty-three
Bo got the call Sunday morning. He was trying to read, but he wasn’t able to concentrate. All he could think about was Kate.
The phone startled him, and he answered it quickly.
“Thorsen here.”
A woman at the other end of the line informed him that the president of the United States was calling.
“Agent Thorsen, how are you?”
Although surprised, Bo replied casually, “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. President.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll come right to the point. I never had the opportunity to thank you properly for your valiant actions at Wildwood. I’m hoping you’ll accept an invitation to be my guest for lunch here at the White House.”
“Of course, sir. It would be an honor.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Short notice, I understand. But I have this Pan-American summit coming up next week, and I’ll be gone for several days. I’ll have my staff arrange your flight and hotel accommodations.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Great. One more thing, Agent Thorsen. I understand you’re on medical leave.”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you don’t have to be back in the office for a while?”
“Another ten days.”
“But you still get around pretty good?”
“Just fine, sir.”
“Excellent. I’ll have my staff contact you with the details.”
After the president had hung up, Bo sat for a moment, considering the president’s invitation. Surely Dixon’s staff had made the president aware of the article in theNational Enquirer. Was that what this was about?
When Bo arrived at Wildwood for the Sunday meal, he found Kate, her seven-year-old daughter, Stephanie, and her brother, Earl, tossing a football on the lawn.
“You’re the one who saved my mother,” Stephanie said as she shook Bo’s hand. She crooked a finger, brought him down to her level, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said seriously.
She had her mother’s long blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. She was tall, like her father, and seemed to possess a self-confidence beyond her years. He liked her immediately. The kiss on the cheek helped a lot, too.
“Goody,” Stephanie said. “Now we can play a game.”
“Mr. Thorsen’s recovering from serious injury, Steph,” Kate said.
“I’m sure he’d rather relax.”
“I’ll play,” Bo said. “As long as I don’t have to run much or get tackled, I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. In fact, doctor’s orders. I’m supposed to stay active. Helps promote healing.”
“We won’t play long. Dinner’s in half an hour.”
“You can be on my team,” Stephanie said. “All you have to do is just throw me the ball.”
Earl grinned and pointed a finger at Bo. “We’re gonna cream you.”
Kate gave him a marvelous smile. “Thanks, Bo. Steph’s been begging for a game since she got here.”
Bo had dressed casually, a blue shirt with a white T-shirt beneath, and khakis. He took off his blue shirt and he faked a few warm-ups.
“Who kicks off?” he asked.
“I do,” Stephanie said.
Bo was skeptical until he saw the football, a small thing of orange and black foam, grooved for easy spirals. They played on the grassy side yard, between the main house and guesthouse. The dirt lane that led from the barn into the orchards was the equivalent of the fifty-yard line. It was warm and sunny and the sky was a flawless blue.
