Game Over (14 page)

Hank waved offhandedly to some of the Secret Service agents as he made his way out of the West Wing. Outside it was still dark, and a light rain was falling. He climbed into his specially equipped Humvee, which was outfitted just the way the Secret Service Suburbans that transported the president to various destinations within the District were.

The Humvee seemed to have a mind of its own as Hank drove with one eye on the side of the road for an all-night establishment that served food and coffee. It wasn't the food and coffee that he wanted, but the anonymity of a dark parking lot.

Hank knew this place, had conducted business here on other occasions. It was a mind-your-own-business kind of hole-in-the-wall that drew a certain clientele. Hank had a way of fitting into any group or situation. He whipped out his satellite phone the minute he put the Humvee into park and dialed the number that would put him in contact with Charles Martin. There were no greetings. Hank's words were minimal. “I'm uploading it now.” Five seconds later he was out of the Humvee and striding toward the hole-in-the-wall, where he would order a man-size breakfast of pancakes, eggs, sausage, and a double side of bacon, along with toast, juice, and coffee.

Hank settled himself on a ratty stool at the counter so as not to take up a whole booth and looked up to catch the early-morning news.

Another day in the life of Hank Jellicoe.

M
artine Connor entered her quarters and immediately walked over to the window that she'd stood at hundreds of times since moving into the White House. The temperature had risen during the night and had climbed still higher throughout the morning. It was raining out now, a slow, steady rain that was melting the snow even as she stared at it. She turned and looked around as she tried to remember why she'd come up here to her quarters in the first place. Did she come because she couldn't concentrate? Or did she come to cry? Well, she'd never been a crier, so that wasn't it. She swiped at a tear at the corner of her eye.

How could she not have known that Henry Jellicoe knew Lizzie? How? She was the president of the United States and was supposed to know everything. Well, almost everything.

Frustrated with her thoughts and where they were taking her on this dismal morning, Martine walked over to the refrigerator, a stainlesssteel monstrosity she had chosen from a catalog and had come to hate. She poured herself a glass of orange juice, which she didn't want, but before she did that, she banged her clenched fists so hard on the countertop, she thought she'd broken some fingers. She gave a very unpresidential snort. If she broke her hand or her fingers, how could she sign her name to all the different things that were put in front of her every day of the week?

Where in the name of God had her backbone gone? The orange juice, which she'd been holding in her hand, spilled over the side of the glass as she plopped it down on the counter. She whirled around, then squared her shoulders before she marched out of her quarters and made her way to the West Wing and the Oval Office.

Martine settled herself behind her desk. She licked at her lips before she bent down to open the bottom desk drawer. Before she could change her mind or think twice, she picked up the folders that contained the presidential pardons for the vigilantes and placed them on her desk. She kicked the drawer shut with her foot. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she let it out with a long loud
swoosh
of sound.

Her foot inched out, and she pulled open the opposite drawer and withdrew the file on Global Securities, which she had asked Lizzie to pull for her. It had to weigh at least ten pounds. “That would have been the time when you should have told me you knew Henry Jellicoe, Lizzie,” she whispered to herself. “Makes me wonder why you didn't,” she continued to whisper.

Martine took another deep breath, then picked up the phone. “Toby, can you come in here for a minute? Bring my schedule for today.”

She made a second call to her secretary, Jackie Hollis. “I want you to call Lizzie and invite her for lunch in my quarters. Ask her if she prefers corned beef on rye or pastrami on rye. Some potato salad would be nice and some apple pie for dessert. Call the kitchen and ask them to serve us around one fifteen. Do not take no for an answer where Lizzie is concerned. Thank you, Jackie.”

The president looked up to see Toby Daniels standing in the doorway with a sheet of paper in his hand. She motioned for him to come forward. The president scanned the sheet of paper and said, “Reschedule this, this, and this. Then I want you to call all my advisors and have them up here at exactly three o'clock. This is not negotiable.”

“Should they ask why, what would you like me to tell them?” Toby asked.

The president laughed. Toby thought it was the strangest sound he'd ever heard in his life. “Now, that depends, Toby, on whether you want me to tell them or you want to tell them yourself that they're all going to be fired. I want security in place to escort them out of the White House the moment they leave this room. You know the drill. I want to see the press release before you send it out. That will be all, Toby. You're smiling, Toby. Why is that?”

“Just wondering what took you so long,” he replied, grinning.

“I got a swift kick in the pants this morning that made me see the light. I'm feeling pretty good right now, Toby.”

“Replacements?”

“It's being taken care of as we speak. Well, almost. I have to make a phone call. That's why I want to see the press release first. The press will want to know the names of the replacements. I take it you approve?” It was more a question than a statement.

“I do.”

Toby gave an airy wave of his hand before he closed the door behind him.

The president walked out to Jackie Hollis's office and said, “I want you to call the head of Global Securities and tell him…to…tell him I'm ready to take him up on his offer and to have his trusted advisors in my office at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Tell him to watch the news. The White House will be making an announcement later this afternoon. What did Lizzie say about lunch?”

“I went down to her office, and she seemed in a bit of a daze this morning. She said lunch is fine.”

“Lord, she isn't sick, is she? There's so much flu going around.”

“Oh, no. I think she was preoccupied, and she just wasn't being Lizzie. We all have days like that, or maybe it was me, and I didn't read her right, Madam President. And she wants corned beef.”

“I'm having one of those days myself today, Jackie.” Martine Connor patted herself on the shoulder as she made her way back into the Oval Office, where she plopped down in a very unpresidential sprawl. “And the truth will set you free.” That quotation from Jesus' speech to the children of Abraham on the Mount of Olives was right on the money.

The president's gaze went to the impressive stack of pardons sitting on the corner of her desk. The very same pardons she knew Henry Jellicoe was looking for. Did he think for one minute that he had fooled her? Obviously he did. Her face burned at the thought. And all that arm waving and the oversize watch. She'd been wise to that, too. But she had let him get away with it. She'd let him use her. Her face continued to burn. Well, she had no one but herself to blame. She'd allowed herself to be bamboozled by her advisors. And to think it took only a roll in the hay to bring it front and center. The heat in her face and neck grew so intense, she got up and ran to the small private lavatory and doused her face with cold water.

The moment she stepped back into the office, Jackie Hollis rapped on the door. “Madam President, Mr. Jellicoe would like me to put him through to your office.”

“I bet he would. Can I trust you to deliver a verbatim message, Jackie?”

“Of course, Madam President. And that message would be…what?”

“Tell Mr. Jellicoe that as the leader of the free world, I am contemplating my navel and cannot be disturbed. Verbatim, Jackie.”

“Shall I wait for a reply, Madam President?”

“Absolutely not, and if he calls back, tell him I cannot take his call. I also want his clearance rescinded immediately.”

Martine Connor dusted her hands dramatically, then walked over to the window the minute Jackie Hollis closed the door behind her.

Her mother had always told her as a child not to cut off her nose to spite her face. At the time she had had no clue what that meant, but she did now. And yet, here she was all those years later,
and
the president of the United States to boot. “
And
what did I just do? I just cut off my nose to spite my face,” she mumbled.

Toby Daniels poked his head in the door. “Madam President, we have five minutes to the meeting in the Situation Room, and your press secretary would like five minutes of your time after the meeting. If she runs into overtime, you will still make your luncheon with Lizzie.”

The president gathered up her folder and her briefing book and followed her chief of staff out of the office. Before she left, she laid her hand on the stack of pardons sitting on her desk, a move that did not go unnoticed by her COS. He wished he could clap her on the back and say something like, “Good going, Madam President,” but that would not be seemly, so he just grinned as he followed the leader of the free world down the hallway.

 

Lizzie thanked the Secret Service agent for the escort to the president's quarters. Martine Connor opened the door the minute she heard footsteps outside. If she sensed a slight stiffness to Lizzie's slim form, she ignored it as she gave her friend a bone-crushing hug. She linked her arm with Lizzie's as she led her into the kitchen, where lunch was already laid out under gleaming silver domes.

“Remember now, we're Marti and Lizzie in here. I have so much to tell you. I have things to apologize for and some things I think you might congratulate me for, but first, let's eat and talk about nothing serious. Are you settling in? How's your husband? What do you think of this awful weather?”

“I am settling in, but I have to tell you, this is a very boring job. I have to be honest. I don't think I could ever get used to it.” Lizzie chomped down on a briny pickle and rolled her eyes. “I haven't had a pickle like this since I was a kid.”

“I'll send you a barrelful. The chef puts them on every plate, no matter what he serves me. And your new husband?”

“He's fine, but he misses me. As for the weather, spring can't get here soon enough for me.”

The small talk continued, talk of Christmas, New Year's Eve, and the latest Washington gossip. And then it was like some invisible alarm went off that only Martine could hear. She pushed her plate aside and leaned toward Lizzie, her voice low but not a whisper. “We need to talk, Lizzie. I want you to listen to me very carefully, and I don't want you to say a word until I'm finished. Agreed?”

Lizzie nodded, then watched as Martine got up and started rummaging in the kitchen drawers. When she sat back down, she opened her clenched hand. Coins dropped on the table. “Sixty-seven cents. Your retainer. Do you accept it?”

Puzzled, Lizzie nodded.

Martine Connor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Lizzie thought she saw a fine sheen of perspiration bead up on the president's forehead. “In my zeal to honor my promise to you and the vigilantes, I may have…No, that's wrong. I made a mistake. At least I
thin
k I might have made a mistake. Quite by accident, I overheard one of my senior advisors talking on his cell. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, and I gave no indication that I had heard his end of the conversation. It would seem he and Justice Douglas Leonard are friends. Justice Leonard is gravely ill. He'll be leaving the court when it goes into recess. No one knows this, Lizzie, except for a few people. I anguished over that information before I acted on it. I used my office to…to try and make it work for me, for you, and for the vigilantes. When I spoke to Justice Leonard and explained the situation, he agreed to help me. Quite willingly, I might add. It was Justice Leonard who came up with the scenario that…that we used in my attempt to resolve my problem. And it is…was a problem. I hope this is making sense to you, Lizzie.” Martine held up her hand. “No, no, don't say anything yet.”

Lizzie shifted in her chair, her eyes glued to the woman opposite her, her ears tuned to every word the president was saying.

“So what I did was hatch this plan. Then I threw it out there, to your husband, who assured me he wouldn't mention my plan to you. Did he, Lizzie?”

“No, Martine, he didn't mention it to me.”

“I hated asking him to keep something like that secret from you.”

Lizzie almost smiled. “What secret? Maybe you should tell me what this particular secret is so I know what you're talking about.”

Martine Connor smiled, but it was a weary smile. “Lizzie, why don't I believe that you don't know what I'm talking about? Never mind. Don't answer that. My plan, Lizzie, was to nominate you to fill the vacancy on the Supreme Court. Justice Leonard agreed with me and said you would make an excellent nominee. I was so relieved when he agreed with me. We all understand the vetting process, but I truly, truly believe we can make it happen.

“Did I have an ulterior motive? Of course I did. I thought I was buying time with the pardons and that you would somehow be so caught up in the process, you'd cut me some slack where the vigilantes were concerned. What that means to you, Lizzie, is, I was being a coward. And I was using you. I have it all in hand now. I stood tall, just the way you used to tell me to do. I'm not excusing myself, but I am trying to do the right thing now. I am doing it. You need to believe me, Lizzie. Please, I need you to say you forgive me.”

“What will my forgiveness do for you, Marti?”

“It will let me look in the mirror without loathing myself.”

“When will you pardon the vigilantes?”

“You do have a one-track mind, don't you, Lizzie? The pardons are on my desk. Ready to go. My advisors…you know…That's not even important anymore. Those advisors will be gone by three fifteen this afternoon. Henry has…He agreed to help me. By eight o'clock tomorrow morning, my new advisors will be on board. Everyone will step up to the plate, and we won't be missing a beat. That's what I most regret, that I allowed them to browbeat me, that I listened to them. So, in that sense I failed you and the Sisters. But, I'm making it right now, and whatever the fallout is, I'll handle it.”

Lizzie's eyes narrowed. “You didn't answer my question, Marti. When are you going to go public with the pardons?”

“Lizzie! You aren't getting it! They're ready on my desk. That means anytime the vigilantes want to stop by and pick them up, they're theirs. Why else do you think I'm having that silly patriotic party? I don't mean it's silly to be patriotic. I sort of thought the ladies would…you know…stop by and pick them up. Like during the party.”

Lizzie was stunned at the president's declaration. “You're serious, aren't you? Why do you want to set yourself up like that? The press will crucify you.”

“The
Post
won't. Lizzie, I know the score. Henry just tried to put one over on me. Now,
that one hurt.
I'm not going to worry about anything until I hear the word
impeachment.
Even then I don't know if I'll worry about it.”