Madam President (25 page)

“No, Melanie. The FBI director was here. I’m so sorry.”

Melanie couldn’t form words. How could this happen? How could he survive four tours in Iraq and get killed a block away from the White House? Melanie looked around the cabin and knew that she would always remember every single detail about where she was and what she was doing and exactly how Charlotte had told her that her friend had died.

“Does Dale know?” Melanie whispered.

“No. She just started briefing the press.”

“You have to tell her before it gets out.”

“How do you suggest I do that?”

“I don’t know, but you need to make sure she isn’t standing up there when she finds out.”

Melanie heard Charlotte sigh deeply. She felt her throat tighten, but she was determined not to cry until she hung up with Charlotte. Something about being pregnant had rendered her less capable of controlling her emotions. Melanie worked hard to steady her voice.

“Madam President, Warren was Brian’s best friend. I need to tell Brian.”

“Isn’t he in the briefing room right now, too?”

“Yes, I suppose he is.”

“Please do me a favor and give me a few minutes to figure out how to tell Dale, and then you can call Brian as soon as I’ve broken the news to her. I’d like to call his parents, too.”

Melanie wanted to scream. It was so unfair. She did her best to quell her emotions so that she could help Charlotte with the logistics of sharing the worst news of the day.

“Madam President, I have an idea.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Dale

E
van, this is the last question on this topic, and then we’re moving on,” Dale warned. They’d been taking questions for about ten minutes, and it wasn’t going well. She had underestimated her press corps’s level of agitation and overestimated the secretary of homeland security’s ability to field rapid-fire questions about an ongoing crisis.

“Madam Secretary, one more time on this, can you clarify when the threat level was elevated and if it was after at least four of the attacks had already occurred—maybe even after the second D.C. bombing—can you explain what value the warning system has at this point, if any?”

“Evan, the decision to elevate the threat level is a complicated one—”

“Madam Secretary, with all due respect, what’s complicated about four cities getting bombed by terrorists?”

“Evan! She’s answered the question. We are moving on. Next question?” Dale urged.

“No!” Evan protested. “Answer the goddamned question with something other than a platitude. Why the hell do we have a warning system if it goes off after all of the attacks are complete? How does that warning system protect anyone? And if it doesn’t, why the hell does the government bother?”

“Evan, we’ll put together a briefing for you and anyone else who wants to be educated at a more granular level than what we’ve gone into here about the various factors involved in elevating the country’s threat level.”

Dale tried to move on to friendlier territory for the secretary of homeland security, who was usually one of the administration’s most effective spokespeople.

“Madam Secretary, was there ever any consideration given to separating the president and the vice president, particularly in the early hours, when, as you said, it was unclear how many cities had been targeted?”

“Frank, we’re not going to address every precaution that was considered, mostly because we’ve spent the last few hours gathering information about the specific actions that were taken. I can tell you that at no time were the president and the vice president separated, other than in the first minutes after we learned of the attack when they returned from the Women’s Museum in separate motorcades,” Dale interrupted.

The secretary of homeland security looked relieved. Dale glanced down at her notes to see if she could move the briefing in another direction. She looked up quickly when she heard the reporters shift in their seats. A few of them rose to their feet. Dale glanced over her right shoulder and was more than a little surprised to see the president walking toward the podium.

She’d changed into a knee-length black skirt with a matching belted jacket. Her hair was pulled back, and while she didn’t look as though she’d had her makeup redone since the morning, her face looked fresh and focused. Craig and a single Secret Service agent had accompanied her to the briefing room.

“Madam President, welcome.”

The president joined Dale at the podium. Dale removed her binder and bottle of water and stepped aside.

“Thank you, Dale. Thank you, Madam Secretary. May I?”

“Of course.”

Dale moved toward where Marguerite was standing and leaned against the wall. The secretary of homeland security sank into a chair
along the side of the room with relief. The press remained standing. Charlotte adjusted the microphone and folded and then unfolded her hands on top of the podium.

“Please be seated,” she said. “I came down to answer a few questions, but first I want to announce that I plan to address the nation this evening at eleven
P
.
M
. At that time, we will share everything we know about the terror attacks that struck five American cities this morning. I want to add my thoughts and prayers to those of every citizen of our shaken but determined nation. We send those prayers out to every family that has lost a loved one in today’s attacks. To those families who are still waiting for word about your loved ones, we wait with you, and we pray with you. To the first responders in Miami, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and here in D.C., we are grateful to you, and we hold you up today as the bravest among us. And to all of you in here today, and to the brave journalists who risk everything to bring important information to their readers and viewers, we appreciate and honor all of you and your families, too. As I said, we’ll have a more complete report about what we know about the attacks and the evidence we’ve gathered today when we meet again at eleven 
P
.
M
., but I’m happy to take a few of your questions now.”

Dale knew that the briefing had been going badly, but she didn’t think it had been disastrous enough to justify a presidential intervention. She wondered if they’d caught one of the attackers or wanted to ask for the public’s assistance in a manhunt.

“Psst.” Someone had opened the pocket door that separated the briefing room from the press office. Dale looked and saw a Secret Service agent she recognized as one of Peter’s.

“Miss Smith, please come inside,” he urged. Dale looked around. No one else noticed him. She stared at Craig until he looked over at her. She motioned toward the press office. Craig nodded and mouthed, “Go ahead.”

Dale slipped through the door. The agent disappeared into the hallway, and Peter stood alone in the press office.

“Walk with me,” he said.

“What’s going on?”

“Let’s walk.”

“I can’t.”

“I need to tell you something.”

“I need to listen to the president.”

“It was Charlotte’s idea for me to talk to you now. Please come with me.”

Dale’s stomach sank, and her heart felt like it was beating outside of her body. Peter walked quickly down the colonnade toward the East Wing.

“You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“Come on.” His voice was stern.

He held the door to the East Wing open for her and then led her into the medical unit, which occupied the first office on the ground level of the East Wing.

The nurse who was watching the press briefing on television smiled at them. When Peter failed to return the smile, she gathered her things and left. Peter nodded his appreciation.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” Dale begged.

“Dale, you probably know this part already, but Warren went down to the site of the D.C. bombing to help with the recovery.”

The last time she’d spoken to him was when she was on her way to the PEOC. He hadn’t said anything about helping with the recovery.Dale stopped breathing. Warren was hurt. She needed to get to the hospital. They’d come in to tell her that he was hurt and calling for her. Charlotte would want that for Warren.

“Dale?” Peter was standing in front of her, talking to her, but she couldn’t focus on what he was saying.

“Where is he? Can I see him?”

“I’m trying to tell you. He went down there to help with the rescue-and-recovery effort. And he was there helping the victims. When the second bomb went off, he threw his body on top of a young boy and probably saved his life by doing so. But he was badly injured.”

“How badly?”

“Dale, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? What happened to Warren?”

“I’m so sorry, Dale. I would give anything for it not to be true.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“His injuries were fatal. He died on the way to the hospital.”

“No!” She shook her head so hard she grew dizzy.

“Dale, breathe.”

She felt like she was going to pass out. Peter tried to comfort her by placing an arm around her shoulders. She pushed him away roughly.

Dale felt like she was falling. Warren was the best person she knew. He couldn’t be dead. The harder she tried to stop crying, the more out of control she felt. Dale leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath. Peter moved closer to her and embraced her. Dale raised her head slowly to look at his face.

She prayed that he was telling her a cruel joke or that she was imagining the whole thing. Anything would be better than this. Her eyes met his, and she knew from his helpless look that he was telling her the truth. Warren was dead.

“I’m so sorry, Dale.”

She looked at him and felt the weight of his words strike her again. She pounded his chest with her fists until the crush of his arms around her was too much to resist. When she was finally drained, she collapsed into him. She decided that if she never moved from there, she would never have to face the fact that the most extraordinary person who would ever love her was dead.

Peter had stopped saying he was sorry, and Dale had stopped crying, but they hadn’t moved. Dale’s back and neck ached, but she was too afraid to face whatever came next.

What did come next? It wasn’t like she could go home. That was the only thing that sounded worse than being here. But what was she supposed to do? Whatever it was, she wasn’t ready to face it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Charlotte

A
s she neared the medical unit, the nurse sitting on a chair outside looked at her with such discomfort that Charlotte knew she should turn around and walk away. Instead, she nodded in the nurse’s direction and walked slowly toward the door. She pushed it gently and saw Dale and Peter sitting on the floor. Dale had her head cradled in her arms, and Peter was sitting as close to her as was possible. He was gently rubbing her back with one hand. They weren’t speaking, but his head was close to hers. It looked like their heads were touching. Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat that close to Peter.

She forced herself to look away. Charlotte was thankful that the nurse hadn’t said anything. She could escape undetected.

“Char, your press conference was tremendous. You were strong and compassionate and informative, and you didn’t try to bullshit people. It was a phenomenal performance,” Mark called out from the direction of the Diplomatic Room.

Charlotte had stayed in the hallway a moment too long. Brooke and Mark had entered the East Wing from the South Lawn with the three dogs a few steps ahead. She tried to smile at them.

When Charlotte turned back to the medical unit, she saw Peter rush to his feet. He pulled the door shut to offer Dale privacy and
came out to stand in the hallway. Charlotte was irritated by the gesture. She knew she was being irrational. Looking after Dale had been the one thing she’d asked him to do all day, but he was
her
husband. That had to count for something. It had been Melanie’s idea for him to break the news to Dale while Charlotte addressed the press, and she’d agreed to it without hesitation. But Warren was her friend, too. She’d known him longer than Dale had. Why was Peter acting as though Dale’s reaction was the only one that concerned him? Shouldn’t it at least cross his mind to ask her how
she
was holding up?

“How are you doing, Char?” Mark asked.

“Can I get you anything?” Brooke offered.

“I’m fine. What are you guys doing down here?”

“We took the dogs out as soon as the Secret Service would let us out of the residence. They’ve been inside all day,” Mark said.

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t it a relief that all of the kids are together? Griffin and Finley are at the house with the twins and about two dozen Secret Service agents. They’re watching everything on TV.”

She couldn’t remember if Peter had told her that the twins were going to Brooke and Mark’s house in Atherton. If he had, she didn’t remember. The last update she’d heard was that Harry was still in Berkeley and Penny was in her apartment near Stanford.

“I’m so glad they’re all at the house,” Charlotte said.

She allowed Mark to put a protective arm around her shoulder. It was the first time anyone had offered her any physical comfort all day, and she was afraid she might start to cry.

“Please tell the twins that I’ll call them as soon as I get out of the next NSC meeting.”

Brooke and Mark turned their gaze to Peter.

“Are you sick?” Brooke asked him.

“No.”

Brooke looked from Peter to Charlotte and then to Peter again. Mark sensed the tension and pulled Brooke gently toward the residence.

“Char, we’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” Mark said. He
snapped his fingers to summon the dogs. The two younger ones followed him, but Cammie remained at Charlotte’s feet.

“I’ll take her to the Oval with me,” Charlotte said.

When she heard the elevator door close, she looked back at Peter. He looked agonized.

“How is she?” Charlotte asked.

“In shock.”

Charlotte couldn’t remember a time when Peter had been as distressed about her as he appeared to be about Dale.