“Shit,” Pitts said.
On his way down the mountain, duBois stopped at number 56, the Robertson place, since his file said that he owned an airplane. He found it much the same as the Pemberton house. Where were all these people?
47
Will Lee was nearly dressed for a state dinner honoring the prime minister of Australia when he heard running footsteps through the master bedroom. He stuck his head out of his dressing room, but she had already disappeared into hers.
“Running just a tad late, aren’t you?” he called out.
“Sorry,” she yelled back. “Accident on the beltway screwed everything up.”
Will came out of his dressing room, his bow tie hanging loose. “Don’t I remember a helicopter in the CIA appropriations bill?”
“Two helicopters,” she called back.
He walked to the door of her dressing room and leaned against the doorjamb. He liked watching her undress, even when she was in a hurry. “And they were both down?”
“Can you imagine what the press could do with a story that had me taking a helicopter so as not to be late for a dinner party?”
“Not a dinner party, a state dinner; not even nearly the same thing.”
“Certainly not as much fun.” She stepped into a red dress and turned her back. “Shut up and zip,” she said.
He zipped. “Now you have to tie my tie. Tit for tat.”
“Oh, all right, come here.”
He knew how to tie a bow tie; he just liked it when she did it. She stood close, concentrating.
“What are you staring at?”
“What I stare at every chance I get.”
“That is covered by a dress.”
“Oh, I like your face, too.”
“You’re sweet.”
“Even when it hasn’t been washed and made up.”
“Oh, God,” she cried, running for her bathroom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did tell you. Just as soon as you got my tie tied.”
There was a sound of running water and splashing. “How much time do I have?”
Will checked his wristwatch. “Minus ten minutes.”
“Shit! Are they down there waiting?”
“They’re in the Oval; we’re having cocktails there.”
“You go ahead; I’ll be there a few seconds after you.”
“Someone on the staff has heard that Hugh English was seen having lunch with Cal Ferguson.”
“That will have to keep until I have a face again.”
Will went back to his dressing room, got into his waistcoat and dinner jacket, chose a white silk pocket square, put his glasses, pen and jotting pad, which contained his nuclear code card, into his inside pockets and started across the bedroom. “Minus twelve minutes,” he called out.
“Go fuck yourself, Mr. President!”
Will laughed all the way to the elevator.
They were halfway through their first martini when Kate swept into the Oval Office. “I’m so sorry to be late,” she said, shaking hands with the PM and his wife. “I wish I could blame it on national security, but it was just traffic.”
“That’s quite all right,” the PM said. “We have traffic in Australia, too.”
Will handed her a dirty martini with an olive stuffed with an anchovy. “Inhale that and relax.”
“It’s not like you’re late for the Queen,” the PM’s wife said. “I was once twenty minutes late for the Queen, when we were in London. She was not amused.”
“The Duke of Edinburgh was amused,” the PM said. “I thought he would burst out laughing, until the Queen gave him that look.”
Kate drew in a third of her martini. “Ahhhh,” she said.
“Mr. President…” the PM began.
“Please, we’re Will and Kate.”
“And we’re Geoff and Sheila,” he replied.
“Sheila is the national term for female in Australia,” Sheila said. “Makes it easy for people to remember my name.”
“Will,” the PM began again, “when I visited the Capitol this afternoon, a senator, that ginger-haired fellow, the tall one…”
“Senator Ferguson?”
“That’s the one.”
“He said something odd to me; he said, ‘When you see the President tonight, ask him how Teddy is.’”
Will shot a glance at Kate. “Oh?”
“Was he talking about Teddy Kennedy?”
Will shook his head. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell exactly what Senator Ferguson is talking about. You ever get any time for golf in your job?” Will asked, anxious to change the subject.
“Every Sunday,” the PM said, “if the country’s not being invaded. I think it gives you a sort of perspective to know that there’s an activity that’s more frustrating than government.”
Will laughed. “Exactly.”
There was a rap on the door and the chief usher opened it. “Dinner is served, Mr. President, Prime Minister.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t have more quiet time before this thing,” Will said.
“No,” Kate said, “I’m sorry; all my fault.” She dropped back a step and took Will’s arm as they followed their guests.
“What’s up with Ferguson?” Will asked under his breath.
“It’s Hugh English,” she said. “He isn’t wasting any time.”
“I’m confused.”
“I relieved him today; Lance Cabot has the job. I thought I had contained Hugh, but apparently not.”
“Do something painful to him,” Will said.
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“I don’t suppose you have an assassin over there who could deal with Ferguson?”
“Where is Teddy Fay when we need him?” she asked, and they swept into the East Room.
48
Senator Calvin Ferguson, R-UT, sat across the East Room with his wife, Evelyn, who was twenty-seven years his junior, and gazed at Katharine Lee.
“Who are you staring at, honey?” Evelyn asked him, leaning in close, so that he could look down her cleavage. That always got his attention.
“Kate Lee,” he said. “I planted a tiny bomb this afternoon, and I want to see if it explodes tonight.”
Evelyn, Ferguson’s former deputy press secretary, had replaced his late wife an alarmingly short time after her death; rumor had it that he had proposed to Evelyn in his wife’s hospice room. She was a smart woman, knowledgeable about the political flora and fauna inside the beltway, and she was jealous of Kate Lee, because she had a real job, while Evelyn no longer did, except to the extent that Cal Ferguson was a job. “You want to go over there and look down her dress?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” Ferguson replied testily. He was a bishop of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and he did not like that kind of talk-not when someone might overhear it, anyway. The Marine Band began to play some Glenn Miller. “Tell you what I do want to do,” he said, as the president and his wife led everyone to the dance floor. “I want to dance with her for a minute. How would you like to dance with the president?” He took her hand, hoisted her from her chair and shuffled a beeline across the floor toward the First Couple.
“Evening, Cal,” Will said as they came close.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” Ferguson said. “I wonder if we might change partners for a moment?”
“Of course,” the president said, gracefully steering Kate into Cal’s arms while bringing Evelyn into his own.
“Good evening, Cal,” Kate said, flashing a brilliant smile.
“Hey, Kate. Tell me, what’s happening in the Caribbean these days?”
“The Caribbean? Well, let’s see: I can’t think of a thing. Were you thinking of invading some place down there?”
“I was thinking about a certain former Haitian who got his head blown off in St. Marks.”
“St. Marks? Isn’t that in the Mediterranean somewhere?”
Ferguson managed a chuckle. “My friend, Hugh English, tells me it’s not.”
Kate formed her features for tragedy. “Oh, isn’t it sad about Hugh?”