Presidents; Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson. Sarah headed for the Oval Office on automatic pilot.
Edward’s sense of unease increased. The President never met with him alone, and never in the Oval Office, a level of respect Claymore denied him. They always met in one of the small conference rooms, an eight-year routine that never once changed.
“Good morning Mr. Rothschild,” said Alice Thurman, the President’s secretary.
“Good morning Alice. It’s so nice to see your lovely face,” he responded, kissing her extended hand. “I trust the President is in a good mood today.”
“It always starts out that way,” she said, with a playful smirk.
President Claymore’s staff, one of the most impressive in several administrations, touted Alice as its crowning glory. Not one to trust important positions to black people, a habit he’d picked up from his grandfather, Edward agreed. Smart, loyal, with the bite of a junkyard dog, Alice’s exploits stamped Washington folklore. She fiercely guarded his privacy, and turned down a million dollars from a tabloid to dish the dirt.
“Mr. President, Mr. Rothschild is here for your nine o’clock,” Alice said into the phone. “Yes sir, I’ll send him in right away.” She nodded at two burly, stoic Secret Service agents who stepped aside as she pushed past.
Sarah said something about escorting him back when he finished, but his mind shifted away from small talk to the President and the task at hand.
Inside the Oval Office, President Claymore sat conferring with several men whom Edward recognized as Secret Service brass, and didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence. Alice motioned for Edward to remain quiet. Seconds later, the President wrapped up and sent the agents on their way.
“Good morning Edward,” said President Claymore, stepping around his desk. The six-foot-two Commander in Chief extended his hand as though he and Edward were old friends, then nodded to Alice and Sarah, who left the room.
Edward searched Claymore’s face for clues, smiled, and told him how well he looked. The President gripped his hand with an unusual forcefulness. Edward mustered his strength to match it.
“I’m feeling great these days,” said the President. “I apologize for not rising when you entered. There’s a reception tonight for Judge Fiona Patrick, my Supreme Court nominee. I was finishing a security update on her when you entered.”
“No apologies necessary, Mr. President. I’ll be attending the reception myself. Judge Patrick is an extraordinary jurist. I’m sure she’ll sail right through.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” the President said, laughing. “It’s the last major appointment before I leave office. My job’s almost done and I’m looking forward to fly fishing and time with my grandchildren.” He motioned for Edward to take a seat on one of the small couches in the middle of the office and sat across from him. “My wife’s had enough of politics,” he continued. “Now it’s her time.” They continued their customary small talk for two or three minutes, feigning concern for the minutia of each other’s lives.
“So tell me Edward. What can I do for you this morning?” The President rested back in the couch, a smile barely discernable on his face.
“Well, as you know, Mr. President, my son is making a bid for the White House.”
“Ah yes, young Charleston. Sure, I’m fully aware. I understand he’s doing quite well in preliminary polls. Congratulations. Seems like you might finally get control of this office after all.” So, he does have something on his mind. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. President? I’ve never had anything but respect for this office, and admiration for those who’ve held it.”
President Claymore sat up and stared him in the eye. “Let’s not kid each other Edward. You only admire the things you can own or control.
That’s certainly not a state secret.”
Edward leisurely crossed his legs. Others might treat you like royalty, but you’re more like trailer trash to me. “We’re both cut from the same cloth, Mr. President. You didn’t come to this office thinking otherwise. Or have you forgotten your roots?” The President’s eyes danced. “I haven’t forgotten, but that was a long time ago, a different place and time. You come to see things differently from this office, a lot differently.”
“I understand, Mr. President. It’s just funny how men never come to that realization until they’re sitting in this office. Before getting here, they only want to know how to win.”
“Even so, I’ve always put the country first,” said the President, leaning back. “Way ahead of any personal gain.” True, you boy scout. You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth.
“You’ve accomplished many noble things Mr. President. However, none of us can forget our place in the order of things. That mistake has been tragic for many a man in your seat.” President Claymore looked visibly dismayed. “And exactly where do you fall in the order of things Edward?”
“At the top of the food chain, Mr. President. The very top.”
“Some say this office is the top.”
“They’re wrong, Mr. President,” said Edward, with the arrogance of Napoleon. “You know that as well as I do, sir.” Afraid he’d pushed the envelope too far Edward decided to move the conversation in another direction.
“Mr. President, I didn’t come here to spar with you this morning.”
“Why are you here Edward? My Presidency’s a lame duck. You can’t hope to squeeze out more blood. Or can you?”
“One can never have too many friends when running for this office, sir, which brings me to the reason for my visit. I’d consider it a great favor and would be eternally in your debt, if you would come out in support of my son for the Presidency. I’ll let bygones be bygones.” The President shook his head. “Even if I didn’t consider you the devil’s gift to man, you know that’s not possible. The Vice President is a good man, and a good friend, not to mention my allegiance to the Democratic Party. It’d be suicide.”
Edward wanted to laugh and remind him there were no such things as Democrats and Republicans, but bit his tongue. “Which is why it would mean even more and have a tremendous impact, Mr. President. Breaking rank would signal to the American people a real change in Washington.
Trust me, I’ve made the rounds on the Hill. You won’t be alone.”
“It would also mean I’ve lost my political mind.”
“Yes, there will be a few initial tremors,” said Edward, “but they’d pass. In the end you’ll walk away with a legacy of political genius, a maverick ahead of his time.”
President Claymore cleared his throat. “I’ve seen a lot in this office Edward. Seen a lot, and dealt with a lot, including, wars, economic catastrophes, death. I’ve taken it all in stride; it comes with the territory.
I have sorrows, but only one regret. Catering to men like you.” President Claymore walked to his desk, pulled a large red file from his top drawer and sat back down. The file looked familiar. A dossier.
It meant the President had a card to play. A move Edward expected.
“Scare tactics are beneath you, Mr. President. There’s nothing you can say about me or my family I don’t already know.” President Claymore ignored Edward’s comment and opened the folder. “I knew this day would come Edward. The day you’d walk through those doors and I’d have to use this file.” Edward sat silent, wondering what the file contained.
“At first I couldn’t figure out why a man like you would want an office like this,” the President continued, slipping on his reading glasses.
“So I looked into your activities. Looked very closely.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” said Edward.
“I know your little secret,” said the President, looking up from the folder.
Edward, annoyed, his patience thin, fought to keep control.
“Oil,” the President continued.
Edward’s blood pressure rose. His face reddened.
“You want control of this office so you can deal with our friends, or should I say, your friends, in the Middle East. At least that’s what I gather from these reports.”
Edward’s head pounded. Stay cool. Just play it cool.
“Access to our most sensitive nuclear, chemical, and defense technology,” the President continued, “including weapons, manpower, and who knows what else, for almost six hundred acres of oil rich territory in the Middle East.” The President closed the folder. “My God, Edward, have you given any thought to what this would do to the world?
