Quinn’s.38 mm pistol pointed at him.
Quinn said, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you for that key.”
Marshall smiled. His voice turned softer. “You’re new to Looking Glass, aren’t you?”
“My first flight, sir. But I’ve flown several times with Colonel Kozlowski aboard the Nightwatch plane.”
“Flying with the chauffeur of the president’s Air Force limo isn’t the same as flying with me, Colonel. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep your key.”
“Regulations, sir,” said Quinn as his hand holding the pistol trembled slightly.
“I thought you were a team player, Quinn.”
“I am, sir. But I insist you surrender the key, or I’ll be forced to shoot you.”
“Go ahead, Quinn. Make my day.”
Quinn looked bewildered. But he took a firmer grasp of his pistol. “On the count of three, sir. Three…”
Marshall stared a hole through him and said nothing.
“Two…”
Quinn’s voice started to shake again. But Marshall had to admit to himself that the kid could stand his ground.
“One…”
Marshall’s face broke into a wide grin.
“Congratulations, Colonel.” Marshall removed the second key from his pocket and dangled it in front of Quinn. “You passed the test.”
Quinn grabbed the key with one hand and with his other holstered the sidearm and wiped his forehead. “For a minute there, sir, I thought…”
“Yeah, I know,” Marshall said. “You thought I was flipping out. Next time pull the trigger.”
“Yes, sir, “ Quinn said. “I will, sir.”
Marshall tapped his armrest comlink and said, “Captain Delaney.”
The pilot’s voice came through on the speaker. “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s roll.”
The engines roared to take-off speed as the Looking Glass plane began to barrel down the runway. A minute later they lifted off the ground and soared into dark skies.
2
The headline in the
Sachs frowned at the picture of herself. It was above a smaller story about a slain Metro security guard whose body was found in a railyard. She adjusted the phone to her ear as she sipped her morning coffee while the TV blared.
“The President is expected to announce the resignation of his outspoken and controversial Secretary of Education after tonight’s State of the Union address,” Matt Lauer was saying on the Today show, and proceeded to recite her most recent run-ins with the Administration. Then Lauer said, “Moving on to the crisis in the Far East…”
She lowered the volume as her friend Lauren at Commerce took the call and immediately offered her condolences.
“No, he hasn’t given me my resignation yet,” Sachs said, flicking her freshly cut black hair from under her chin, which pinned the phone to her shoulder. She was going to grow it out, she decided, now that she no longer required the Beltway cut of a Cabinet secretary. “I have to give it to him this morning. Then he’ll accept it tomorrow. Tonight is all about him, remember? All I know is that Nadine has been a super assistant.”
Blah, blah, blah. Lauren was such a spin doctor with the excuses.
“Well, could you see what you could do for her just the same? Thanks.”
Sachs hung up and stared out the windows at the falling snow. Her Georgetown rowhouse until now had been her sole refuge from the nonsense of Washington. The hunter green walls, white trim and oils over the fireplace had offered an illusion of security and tradition in her otherwise uncertain life.
But it couldn’t shield her from urban Democrats who made a federal case for public education while their own children attended private schools. Or from suburban Republicans whose children enjoyed quality public schools and who demanded vouchers for private schools. Or from the nagging reality she had no home to go back to again because Richard was gone forever, and without him it just wouldn’t be home. But in the process she was depriving Jennifer.
She was mulling over this last painful thought when her assistant Nadine emerged from the front hallway, immaculate in her latest fashionable suit beyond her pay grade, ready to tackle lobbyists, teachers unions and Congress. Her dark hair was slicked back. She smiled broadly, keeping up a good front.
“Morning, boss.”
“For some Americans,” Sachs replied.
“Told you being a public servant isn’t worth the cost after two years,” Nadine said, and then stopped. “What’s this?” She was pointing to the packed overnite carry-on by the door.
“I’m grabbing the shuttle to see Jennifer,” Sachs said. “You book my ticket like I asked?”
“Uh, no,” Nadine said. “You’re going to see the President and tell him why you should keep your job.”
Nadine walked over to the desk and picked up what looked like a student term paper awash in red corrections. In the upper right hand corner was a big, fat “B.”
“And what’s this, Madame Secretary?”
Sachs said, “My speech for Jennifer school assembly.”
“You graded yourself?”
“I’ll do better on the next draft,” Sachs replied without a trace of embarrassment.
“Next draft?” Nadine looked at her Rolex. Sachs had told her to stop with the bling as they were trying to help inner city schools, but it was no use. “Hey, we canceled that speech. You have a meeting at the White House this morning. Why are we still talking?”
“I rescheduled,” Sachs told her. “I’m not going to disappoint Jennifer again. Besides, the President is going to cancel on me anyway. He always does. This time permanently. Just text him my resignation.”
Sachs grabbed her carry-on and rolled it behind her down the hallway and out the front door into the wintry day and the waiting government limousine, leaving Nadine to lock up after her. The driver popped the trunk and dropped her bag inside, then opened the rear door for her to get inside where it was warm.
Nadine finished a call at the curb, then climbed in and shut the door, incredulous. “Only you, boss,” she said as the limo pulled into the street.
“Meaning what?” Sachs asked her.
“Meaning here you are losing your job on national TV and all you can do is worry about your assistant’s ass and some speech nobody’s going to hear.”
“Jennifer and her friends are going to hear it,” Sachs said. “You have a better suggestion?”
“Lecture circuit,” Nadine replied.
Sachs laughed. “If nobody listened to me when I was Secretary of Education, why would they listen to me afterward? Besides, the whole silver lining is that my New York-Washington commuting days are over. I can spend more time with Jennifer.”
Nadine grimaced. “She’s what, ten? Give her a year and she’ll want you out of her life for good.”
“Thank you, Nadine, that’s comforting,” Sachs said. “She’s thirteen and needs me more than ever. Two years is a long time for a girl to live with her aunt. She hates me. If I’m going to be living in New York again, I’m going to
