To her front, among a cluster of generals and admirals, Terry Rothenberg sat. His long face, with drooping eyes peering through a pair of bifocals tottering on the edge of his nose, had never looked so long. As Wilson sat there watching him turn his head this way, then that, as one senior officer after another talked, she knew that Rothenberg was as much out of his element as Soares was. The brilliance that had made him New York City's successful contract lawyer failed to provide him with the tools he needed to deal with the harsh military decisions that were demanded when war threatens. Rothenberg, like Wilson herself, was often reduced to listening to his experts, both military and civilian, toss about one option after another, never knowing for sure who was right or even if there was a right answer.
As she sat there, Wilson began to suspect that the people in the room, the same ones who had assured her that the plan to secure the nuclear weapons was sound and gave her a 95 percent probability of success, were not up to dealing with the German crisis. Like Rothenberg, Wilson had come into her office with only a very basic understanding of military affairs and trusted the experts and professionals to deal with the details. Now, like Rothenberg, she felt betrayed by those experts and was at a loss as to where to turn for the help and advice that she, and the nation, so desperately needed.
Knowing that it would be several hours before anyone had a good handle on the situation, let alone viable options, Wilson decided to seek advice from a source that many would consider inappropriate. With a slight motion of her right hand, Wilson signaled the aide seated behind her. Leaning forward, the aide listened. "Tom, have the car pulled around front immediately."
Knowing that as soon as he gave the order for her limousine to move, William J. Balick, the head of the White House Secret Service, would want to know, the aide asked Wilson what her destination would be. Balick, more commonly known as Billy B, had to know where the President was going so that he could plan a route and then scramble teams along it in advance to scout it and to provide security at her destination.
Wilson knew the reason for the aide's question but ignored it. The one thing that bothered Wilson the most about being in the White House was the manner in which everyone tried to control her comings and goings. It was as if everyone, especially the Secret Service, was trying to force her into an airtight, bulletproof, controlled-access bubble. To a person who had known unlimited freedom all her life, such attempts were stifling, almost suffocating. From her earliest days as a child, Wilson had enjoyed coming and going as she pleased, often roaming her parents' large ranch in Colorado alone on foot or horseback. Half jokingly, Wilson had told a friend before leaving Colorado for the White House, "My mother and I have spent most of our lives in an effort to escape from having men dictate what we could and could not do. I'll be damned if I'm going to let them do it to me in Washington."
While understanding the need for security, Wilson felt that the Secret Service men were far too compulsive and restrictive. Though she seldom felt the need to remind people of her office or title, when it came to the Secret Service, Wilson took every opportunity to remind them of who the President was. Wilson's response to her aide, therefore, was short and sweet. "It will just be you and me. Now we haven't got much time. It's late and getting later."
In an effort to make sure that she was making a conscious decision about her security, the aide rephrased his question. "And where should I tell Mr. Balick that we are going?"
Wilson stood up, causing most of the people in the room to stop what they were doing and turn to look at her. "Please tell Billy B that I am going out into the night with a lantern in one hand in search of an honest man and my hat in the other."
Unhappy with her response, for the aide knew that Balick would ride him for not getting a straight answer, the aide glumly shook his head and called the White House garage to relay the President's order. Looking over to Vice President Kevin Wojick, in the middle of a conversation with several members of the Security Council, Wilson called, so that everyone in the room could hear, that she was leaving. Then, before she walked out, Wilson added, "Mr. Vice President, I leave you here to deal with this, this debating society. I will be back in two hours. If in that time you are able to get Chancellor Ruff on the phone and he is willing to speak with meI mean really speak to me and not simply rehash his 'wounded national pride' speech againcontact me immediately." Wilson turned to leave, but then paused. Over her shoulder she added with a bitter note in her voice, "And if you can't have something that makes sense ready for me to listen to by then, please turn out the lights and lock the door before you all leave."
From across the room, Soares watched Wilson leave. That she, like everyone else on the crisis action team, was tired and very much on edge didn't matter to Soares. It had been a mistake, he now knew, to put a woman like that in the White House. She neither understood the fine rules of the game nor how to conduct herself with the dignity that the office of the President of the United States demanded. While even he had to admit that she often displayed an intuitive knack for resolving difficult problems, her methods of dealing with men of high position, such as himself, were often irritating to the point of disrespect. The party, Soares had decided long ago, had been wrong. The nation wasn't ready for a woman President, especially this one.
It wasn't until she reached Bethesda that the idea of stopping by to see Ed Lewis dawned upon Jan. Though she suspected that he already knew about the German seizure of the nukes, there was always the off chance that he might have gone to bed early. After all, she thought, with his newfound view on life, he just may have gone overboard and started getting all the sleep he needed.
When she turned down the street where Lewis lived, Jan was surprised to see a number of cars sitting in front of Lewis's house and what looked like every light in the place turned on. At first, thinking that he was having a party of some kind, Jan wondered if her attire would be appropriate. Then she dismissed that idea as being foolish. Amanda and Ed Lewis weren't the late-night party type. When she got closer, Jan saw two men standing on the porch and caught a glimpse of another as he disappeared around the house. Her dismay suddenly turned to alarm when she realized that there may have been some kind of emergency or threat. If that was true, Jan thought, then maybe this was the wrong time to pay a visit. But again she dropped that idea. She was, after all, a friend of the family and, almost as important, a news correspondent. As was her habit, once she had made up her mind, Jan pushed forward with the single-minded determination of a charging rhino.
Already upset with the President's sudden and mysterious foray into the night, the members of the Secret Service team that accompanied her were on edge and very nervous. Denied the opportunity to perform a detailed recon of Lewis's house, they attempted to clamp down on everything that went on in the house while President Wilson was there. They, of course, had not counted on Amanda Lewis. Roused out of bed by the sound of voices and the pounding of feet downstairs, Amanda threw on a robe and came down to find her house overrun by stern-faced men and women. One group was in the middle of searching rooms and scanning them with electronic devices while another, who had taken over the dining room as a command center, was busy moving furniture around. One overzealous agent, seeing Amanda descending the stairs, moved toward her in an effort to head her off. He pulled out his badge, flashing it in her face. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Agent Bradshaw, Secret Service. I'll have to ask you to go back upstairs and remain there while the President is here."