Brad Meltzer
The Book of Fate
For Lila,
my girl,
who took my heart,
and with her sweet smile,
doubled its size
Acknowledgments
It’s been almost ten years since The Tenth Justice was published. I am thankful to everyone — especially you, our amazing readers — who offers the support that allows me to continue talking to my imaginary friends: First, always, my First Lady, Cori, for believing even before page one, and for somehow still loving me. Her brainpower, opinions, and editing are the true seeds in each book’s bloom. Every day, I’m humbled by her. Every day, I wonder how I was so lucky to find her. Jonas and Lila, I find words for a living, yet there aren’t words enough to define my love for you. You are my life’s sweetest blessings and greatest joys. Jill Kneerim, wonderful agent, beautiful friend, whose guidance and insight have been there from the first photocopies; Elaine Rogers, forever the first; Ike Williams, Hope Denekamp, Cara Shiel, and all our friends at the Kneerim & Williams Agency.
For this book especially, I want to thank my parents: my father, whose experience became the launching pad for Wes, and my mother, for showing me the unquestioning support that went with it; my sister, Bari, whose strength I always draw upon; Dale Flam, for steering the rest of the ship into so many amazing new places; Bobby, Matt, Ami, Adam, and Will, for their vital input and unwavering love; Noah Kuttler, who, after my wife, is the person I lean on most. His constant input and vital feedback are two of the key reasons this book is in your hands. I love him like family. Thank you, Calculator. Ethan Kline is just as valuable to this craft, and his insights into early drafts always shape the outcome; Steve “Scoop” Cohen, for giving me Dreidel and so much more; Edna Farley, Kim from L.A., and Dina Friedman, who do so much of the heavy lifting; Paul Brennan, Matt Oshinsky, Paulo Pacheco, Joel Rose, Chris Weiss, and Judd Winick, always my brothers, my Rogos, whose friendship inspires so much of my writing in ways they can never prove in a court of law.
Every novel is a lie that tries to sound like the truth. I owe the following people enormous thank-yous for giving me the truths that are weaved throughout this book. Without a doubt, I would’ve never been able to explore this world without the help of President George H. W. and Mrs. Barbara Bush and President Bill Clinton. The Bushes didn’t need to open their world to me. Yet their generosity gave me so many of the details that made this book (which is all fiction!) come to life. I only hope they know how much I respect them. That same level of respect and thanks also goes to President Clinton, whose support I have treasured since my first novel. I don’t care what side of the aisle you’re on. Years later, it’s still clear why we elected both of them. Staying with that theme, Jean Becker answered every one of my silly questions, but it’s her friendship I cherish; Doug Band, Kris Engskov, Tom Frechette, and Andrew Friendly answered the rest of my inane queries, and in the process displayed why they were chosen to stand beside the most powerful men in the world; Thom Smith informed me on all things Palm Beach; Mary Louise Knowlton, Nancy Lisenby, Laura Cather Pears, Linda Casey Poepsel, and Michele Whalen are the best A-listers (and nicest people) in any presidency; Paul Bedard, Jessica Coen, Chuck Conconi, Joan Fleischman, Paula Froelich, Ann Gerhart, Ed Henry, Perez Hilton, Lorrie Lynch, John McCaslin, Roxanne Roberts, Liz Smith, Linton Weeks, and Ben Widdicombe taught me everything I know about gossip and are therefore all a part of Lisbeth’s character. They are the best at what they do, and their kindness and class cannot be overstated. Mike Calinoff made me the second Jew in NASCAR and offered a wonderful friendship in the process; my friends Matthew Bogdanos, Eljay Bowron, Jo Ayn “Joey” Glanzer, Dave Leavy, Erik Oleson, Peter Oleson, Ken Robinson, Farris Rookstool, Adam Rosman, Alex Sinclair, and John Spinelli helped on all the law enforcement details — I hope they know how much I respect the work they do; Barry Kowitt brought Rogo’s profession to life (www.ungerandkowitt.com); Mary Weiss gave me the 65 Roses Ball (www.cff.org); Dana Milbank helped with White House press; Shelly Jacobs answered more presidential library questions than she ever anticipated; Rags Morales, as always, drew his heart out; Dr. Lee Benjamin, Dr. Thomas Scalea, and Dr. Ronald K. Wright for their medical advice; Richard Ben Cramer’s What It Takes, Max Skidmore’s After the White House, and the works of Samantha Power were invaluable tools; Greg Apparcel, Steve Chaconas, Ron Edmonds, Sara Fritz, Mark Futch, Al Guthrie, Tim Krische, Jim Ponce, Walter Rodgers, Will Shortz, Laura Spencer, and Tiffini Theisen filled in all the rest of the details; my mentor and fellow schemer — and the true reason I am here — Rob Weisbach, for being the first with faith all those years ago; and the rest of my family and friends, whose names once again inhabit these pages. I also want to thank Eli Segal, who gave me my very first shot. And my second shot. When I was a twenty-two-year-old kid, Eli treated me as an equal. It meant everything. I wouldn’t be writing today without you, Eli.
Finally, I owe a huge thank-you to everyone at Warner Books: David Young, Larry Kirshbaum, Maureen Egen, Emi Battaglia, Tina Andreadis, Chris Barba, Martha Otis, Jen Romanello, Karen Torres, Becka Oliver, Evan Boorstyn, the nicest and hardest-working sales force in show business, and all the truly nice people who, through all these years, have become part of our family. Let me just say it as honestly as I can: They do the real work, and we’d be lost without them. I also want to stand on my desk and yell “O Captain! My Captain!” to my editor, Jamie Raab. I think the hardest part of being an editor is understanding your authors. Jamie has always understood me, watched out for me, taken care of me. No author is more blessed. So thank you, Jamie, for your encouragement, and most important, for your faith.
Epigraph
Whatever limits us, we call Fate.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
God does not roll dice.
1
Six minutes from now, one of us would be dead. That was our fate. None of us knew it was coming.
“Ron, hold up!” I called out, chasing after the middle-aged man in the navy-blue suit. As I ran, the smothering Florida heat glued my shirt to my chest.
Ignoring me, Ron Boyle darted up the tarmac, passing Air Force One on our right and the eighteen cars of the motorcade that idled in a single-file line on our left. As deputy chief of staff, he was always in a rush. That’s what happens when you work for the most powerful man in the world. I don’t say that lightly. Our boss was the Commander in Chief. The President of the United States. And when he wanted something, it was my job to get it. Right now President Leland “The Lion” Manning wanted Boyle to stay calm. Some tasks were beyond even me.
Picking up speed as he weaved through the crowd of staffers and press making their way to their assigned cars, Boyle blew past a shiny black Chevy Suburban packed with Secret Service agents and the ambulance that carried extra pints of the President’s blood. Earlier today, Boyle was supposed to have a fifteen-minute sit-down with the President on Air Force One. Because of my scheduling error, he was now down to a three-minute drive-by briefing sometime this afternoon. To say he was annoyed would be like calling the Great Depression a bad day at the office.
“Ron!” I said again, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to apologize. “Just wait. I wanted to—”
He spun around wildly, slapping my hand out of the way. Thin and pointy-nosed with a thick mustache designed to offset both, Boyle had graying hair, olive skin, and striking brown eyes with a splash of light blue in each iris. As he leaned forward, his cat’s eyes glared down at me. “Don’t touch me again unless you’re shaking my hand,” he threatened as a flick of spit hit me in the cheek.