House of Secrets - v4 (48 page)

“So, you sacrificed Peter for the good of the country.
That’s
what you’re telling me?” She turned to her mother. “And you approved of this? Knowing full well what you were condemning Peter to?”

Wyeth answered. “I told you, this was my call.”

Christine wheeled on him. “Then what about
her?
What about my mother? You condemned her as well! She had to live with the man. He dragged her off to London just to get her away from you.”

Lillian spoke up. “That’s not true, Christine. I’ve already told you.”

“What about when you did come back?” Christine asked. “What about Whitney’s second crack at running for president?”

“You know perfectly well what happened. Your brother died.”

“Right. He died, and you went completely nuts.”

Wyeth snapped. “Stop that! This is
my
son we’re talking about. You might want to think about that for a moment. No matter what you might think about how all this came about, I had to stand by while Whitney drank in all the support and love over the passing of
my
son. I didn’t have the luxury of public grieving. And meanwhile your mother had to button her lip, plus face the fact that that poor mixed-up boy went to his early grave not even knowing who his real father was. And you’re right. You saw what happened. Your mother grieved herself right to the brink of suicide.”

“Which certainly put the kibosh on any plans of Whitney’s running for president.”

Wyeth was disgusted. “Oh, please. Don’t start blaming your mother for
that
. The woman was hardly acting on an agenda.”

“But
you
were! I’m sorry, but I’m just not buying this purity act of yours. Whitney got knocked down a second time, and instead of him,
you
ran for the damn nomination.”

“As I’d always planned to do. And I lost. All’s fair in love and politics.”

Christine managed a harsh laugh. “You can say that again.”

Wyeth glared at her, then moved over to the cavernous fireplace. For a moment Christine thought he was going to step right into it. Above the mantelpiece hung a formal, full-length oil portrait of Wyeth’s father and mother. Wyeth stood a long moment looking up at the portrait. Finally, he turned back around.

“Do you know why I’m resigning my office?”

Christine expected him to continue, but when he remained silent she answered, “Because your past caught up with you.”

Wyeth waved his hand dismissively. “That’s smoke. You of all people should know how many politicians there are with unsavory nonsense. The real question is, how did my particular unsavoriness surface? And why did it surface when it did? And while we’re asking questions,
who
managed to get hold of that dusty old information and see to it that it broke all over Washington like a bloody egg?”

This time he did answer his own question. He held up two fingers.

“Two people. Whitney Hoyt. Bill Pierce.”

Wyeth moved away from the fireplace and stepped back over to where Christine was sitting.

“Whitney Hoyt’s single lifelong obsession was to one day become president of the United States, for the reasons I have just laid out for you. Anything less than the brass ring would be considered a failure. I helped him fail, not once but two times. And let’s add in the fact that his wife and I have shared the sort of relationship that Whitney is incapable of knowing.”

He shared a look with Lillian, then continued.

“If Whitney didn’t already hate me before I made it to the White House, even if only as the vice president, he surely loathed me afterward. And it would not have been too difficult for him to convince his pal Bill Pierce to loathe me as well. Bill’s a vindictive prick, if you’ll excuse my bluntness. He and I have never got along. And my God, Christine, the thought of Pierce at FBI
and
Whitney in the Oval Office? For that matter, I can tell you, he’d have put Pierce at the head of the Justice Department, I’m sure of it. He’d have made that son of a bitch attorney general, and then let me tell you something, this country would have
really
been cut off at the knees. You can take that one to the bank.”

Christine frowned. “But he’s still head of the FBI. That doesn’t sound so safe.”

A twinkle came up in Wyeth’s eyes. “Not to worry. I didn’t completely waste my seventy-five days in office. John Hyland is no fool. Pierce will be boxed out. Count on that as well. It’s just a matter of gathering the political support.”

Christine looked from Wyeth to her mother.

“You’re driving at something.”

Wyeth nodded slowly. “Andy.”

“Andy? What about Andy?”

Wyeth started to reply, but Lillian stopped him. “Let me.” She reached over and took Christine’s hand. “Andy’s in trouble, sweetie.”

“What do you mean? What sort of trouble? What are you talking about?”

“Chris told me about it when we spoke on the phone.”

Alarm moved into Christine’s voice. “What is it? Is this something to do with Michelle?”

Wyeth had retreated to his chair, sidestepping the spilled beer and the bits of glass. “Tangentially,” he said. “At least I assume that’s what’s happening.”

“Tell me.”

Wyeth settled back in the chair. “Chrissie. Whitney couldn’t make it into the White House. His chances had long passed. But he still had Andy. I can’t even tell you how I know this is true, but it is. I know it. Whitney worked it. He worked it like a master. The day I handed in my resignation to the president, Hyland informed me that Whitney had told him that he’d had the goods on me all along. He had the evidence he needed to cripple me and he could have made it public any old time he wished to. He’d simply been holding on to it. Whitney could have scuttled my chances for a spot on the ticket right at the beginning.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Simple. Whitney didn’t get me pulled off the ticket because that would have only succeeded in achieving the goal of revenge. And revenge simply wasn’t going to be enough for him. Instead, Whitney decided to game the system, which he has done perfectly. Or nearly so. He waited until after I was sworn in and was finding my legs in the office. He gave me two months, and then he dropped the dime, as they say. He and Bill Pierce and their entire little network of loyalists. They nailed me. For what in today’s political world practically passes as a misdemeanor, but that doesn’t matter. They nailed me, and I’m gone. I hang up my hat on Monday. And so, what then? A vacancy. Interesting. Who is going to replace the disgraced Mr. Wyeth as the second-most-powerful man in the world?”

Christine barely recognized her own voice. “Andy.”

Wyeth nodded. “Whitney has micromanaged your husband right up to the threshold of the vice presidency.” He laughed harshly. “No one ever said Whitney Hoyt can’t run a hell of a campaign once he sinks his teeth into it. I fully suspect he’s been cooking up my downfall and Andy’s rise for quite some time. It’s pretty clear. He and Bill Pierce systematically plucked off the other candidates one by one until the only one left standing was your husband. And I’m afraid they’ve got him by the balls, Christine. That’s the simplest way to put it. I have reason to believe that Whitney has caught Andy up in a very nasty little trap.”

“I don’t understand. What kind of a trap?”

“Let me try to explain. Andy came to me several weeks ago. Or rather, I should say he called on me. In a panic. Something had gone… something had happened. Neither one of us knew it then, but the trap had already been snapped. And let me tell you something. I consider myself a pretty smart egg, and I know for a fact that Andy is a smart cookie, but for the life of me I don’t see how the hell he can get himself out of this thing. Even if he were to gnaw off his own leg to get himself free, he’ll still be bleeding too much to survive.”

Christine felt herself getting light-headed. She thought about Andy and the wrenching disclosures he had made to her just several hours earlier. She felt as if the knife that Andy had plunged into her chest was still embedded there. She was afraid to draw another breath.

Wyeth continued.

“I think Andy’s dancing as fast as he can to keep you and everybody else in the dark. They’ve got him. He can’t make a single move unless it’s one they want him to make. If he didn’t love you so much, Chrissie, that would be the case. I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying. But Andy loves you, and he loves Michelle. And because of that, he’s screwed.”

Christine’s gaze traveled between Wyeth and her mother, then fell to her lap. Her eyes clenched shut. Air seemed to be rushing wildly into her lungs. It raced through her entire body like a wind blowing through a freshly cleared-out house. And it felt good.

Her eyes popped open.

“He told me.”

Her voice was so soft the others were not certain they’d heard her correctly. Wyeth spoke. “He
told
you?”

“Yes. He told me everything. I know it all.”

Wyeth shared a look with Lillian. “Well, that’s perfect, Chrissie. That’s good news. You see it, don’t you? You’re no longer leverage.”

But Christine had closed her eyes again. The winds were still whipping about inside her. No doors. No windows. Unobstructed, they blew freely. More freely than they’d blown in ages.

A
ndy clicked the touchpad and paused the images on the screen. He felt completely empty, as if everything physical within his body had been vacuumed out, leaving him a hollow fragile shell surrounding space. With the lightest tap the outer shell could shatter instantly into countless minute particles.

Andy lowered the screen of the laptop and addressed the man seated across the desk from him.

“You might want to do something about that smirk, Paul. It makes you look twice as smug as you already are.”

The comment served only to deepen Paul Jordan’s expression.

“I have to say those are some awfully nifty moves you’ve got there, Senator. And the lady didn’t appear too unhappy, either. Bravo.”

Andy’s voice remained even-toned. “You’re talking about a woman who was murdered in cold blood.”

“Well, yes. But things did appear to be fairly hot just before that, wouldn’t you say?”

Andy lunged across the desk, catching Whitney Hoyt’s personal secretary firmly by the lapels of his jacket. Jordan pulled back, dragging Andy with him, and the two toppled to the floor.

Andy was no brawler. He attempted to dig his thumbs into the man’s eye sockets — maybe the son of a bitch would never have the chance to see
anything
ever again — but he didn’t even get close. Jordan
was
a brawler. Or at least he had been, back in the day. Paul Jordan’s left jab had once helped his team take home the trophy at the ABA Championship Finals at the Crystal Palace. The moment the two hit the carpet Jordan rolled deftly away from the senator and pounded his fist sharply into Andy’s face, followed by a swift jab at Andy’s windpipe. Andy rolled to his side, gasping for breath, and Jordan popped to his feet. He brushed himself off and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

“You need to be a bit more… skillful with your rough stuff, Senator,” Jordan said, slightly winded. “Not everyone’s a willing young lady, you know.”

Andy was still coughing uncontrollably on the floor as Whitney Hoyt stepped into the room.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Jordan indicated the computer on the desk. “It appears our friend didn’t find the programming to his liking.”

“Don’t be an ass, Paul! Is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“For Christ’s sake, I hope we can do better than this. Make yourself useful, Paul. Pour us some fucking drinks.” Hoyt directed himself to the man on the floor. “Andrew, listen to me. We don’t need to be thugs about all this. Are you all right?”

Andy had gotten himself to his hands and knees. He was drawing deep lungfuls of air. “I’m going to kill this bastard.” His voice was strained and raspy.

“Enough. I hope we can dispense with the alpha show. The both of you.”

Andy got shakily to his feet. He stood leaning against the desk as he continued sucking in air.

“Where did you get that tape?”

Jordan paused in mid-pour. “It’s not a tape. It’s a file.”

Andy ignored him. He was addressing himself to Hoyt. “How did you get ahold of that?”

“I didn’t ‘get ahold’ of anything, Andrew. I hope you don’t take me for a bottom-feeder. I commissioned it.”

Hoyt moved over to the armchair and lowered himself into it. He held up a hand and Jordan delivered a drink into it, then handed a second glass to Andy, who accepted it wordlessly.

“What do you mean you ‘commissioned’ it?”

“I financed it,” Hoyt said. “I arranged for your little tryst with Miss Resnick to be recorded for posterity.”

The scotch slashed at Andy’s throat. “So you knew about Joy as well?”

“That’s correct. I guess I failed to mention that the other day.”

“Christ. What did you do, pay her off to set me up?”

“Not at all,” Hoyt said.

“Then how the hell did you know where we were going to be that night?”

Jordan spoke up. “Unfortunately for you, your lady friend wasn’t always very kind to the hired help.”