Red, White, and Blue

by Laura Hayden

  Brown consulted a small notebook. “A woman named Maia Bari.”

  “What happened?” Kate might not have liked the young woman, but she would never wish Maia any harm. “Is she okay?”

  “No, ma’am. Ms. Bari was the passenger in a one-car accident on the Rock Creek Parkway approximately one hour ago. I’m afraid neither she nor the driver survived the crash.”

  Any lingering dislike of Maia was swept away by the flood of sympathy that filled Kate’s heart and mind. Her first thoughts were, How horrible. . . . I hope she didn’t suffer. And then, Her poor family . . .

  “An accident?” she asked.

  “The investigators are still working the scene.” The man wore an appropriately grim expression. “But high speed and alcohol are never a good combination.”

  “True.”

  Nick stepped closer as if to comfort her, but he didn’t touch her. “Who was the driver?” he asked.

  The agent responded with stoic silence. Evidently Nick was not on the need-to-know list.

  “He’s with me. Who was the driver?” she repeated.

  The agent consulted his notebook again. “According to his ID, a man named Timothy Colton.”

  Kate had never met Tim Colton, but she knew he sat on one of the innermost rings of Charles Talbot’s circle of campaign advisers. That meant Nick probably knew him. But when she turned, she saw no signs of recognition on Nick’s poker face and decided not to mention the possible connection.

  His feigned expression might fool the agent, but it didn’t fool her.

  Although, technically, Charles Talbot and his cronies were no longer “the enemy,” Kate couldn’t help but wonder what brought Maia and Colton together across enemy lines. But perhaps the more curious question wasn’t what brought them across the line between parties, but when had they crossed those lines?

  And why? Was it purely personal? Colton always ranked high on the list of Washington’s bachelors, and certainly Maia could be considered one of the most beautiful women in the District.

  As pertinent and pressing as the questions were, Kate kept them to herself. She had other concerns at the moment. “Agent Brown, has this hit the local news yet?”

  “No, ma’am. The identity of the victims won’t be released until police contact their next of kin. Because it was on the parkway, the jurisdiction lies with the Park Police. The names of the victims won’t be released until morning.”

  Did she tell Emily now, later tonight, or wait until morning? It wasn’t a hard decision for Kate. “I don’t see why we should interrupt the president’s big evening with this news. As unfortunate as it is, there’s nothing she can do. It’s not like she can contact the family and give them her condolences before they’re officially informed. This can wait until morning. Please tell the investigating agency to let my office know prior to broadcasting any news releases.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” The agent stepped back, disappearing into the crowd.

  Chip stood several steps away and remained there a moment longer than he should before he excused himself. Kate made a mental note to thank him in the morning. To ease her conscience, she gave him a quick nod of thanks.

  Once both men had left, she turned to Nick. “You know . . . knew Tim Colton, right?”

  His face betrayed the emotion he withheld earlier. “Yes.” A harsh light entered his eyes.

  “So I gather he’s not a friend?”

  “Hardly.” He leaned closer. “Remember earlier when we talked about people who rose through the ranks by eliminating those above them?”

  She nodded, recalling the conversation over their dinner. “You mean . . . Tim?”

  “I have no proof, but I always suspected it was him. He opposed bringing me onto the staff and wasn’t afraid to say it. Often. I always thought it was nothing more than petty jealousy. Before I came on board, he was their big authority on Emily because he dated one of her cousins for a while.” Nick sighed. “I guess I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” His expression suggested that not worrying was a good thing. Then he cocked his head, as if remembering there had been two victims. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bit insensitive, aren’t I? The woman. She was a colleague of yours, right? I’m so sorry.”

  Kate said nothing, and it took Nick only a moment or two to read the right meaning into the silence.

  “She’s not the one who . . . The files?”

  Kate nodded. “One and the same.”

  His posture sagged as if the news deflated him somewhat. “Your thief and my tormenter—in the same car together. That’s painting a picture I don’t think I like at all. And both of them capable of everything from blackmail to character assassination to outright crime. I wonder what they were up to? And I bet we wouldn’t like it if we found out.”

  “Me either. But now with both of them gone, we might never know if it was a conspiracy or not.”

  His gaze clouded over. “You realize that when this hits the news tomorrow, media speculations are going to run wild.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  Nick seemed taken aback, and his unfocused gaze sharpened suddenly. “You’re going to stop it from reaching the public?”

  The thought had never occurred to her—that she might be in a position of such influence that she could exert enough pressure to alter a small stream much less dam a potential flood.

  “No, no. . . . I mean that she works for Marjorie Redding. You know how careful Marjorie is about not aligning with any one political party. Her business depends on getting clients from both parties. Maia is . . . was . . . much too savvy to say anything to anyone—besides me—about wanting to work for Emily. Marjorie would have thrown her out on her ear.”

  “You never told Marjorie?”

  “I thought about it, but I realized it might inadvertently give her insight into my weaknesses or, more importantly, Emily’s.”

  Nick nodded. “Marjorie could just as easily become the image consultant for Emily’s next opponent.”

  “Exactly. I’d figured it was safer knowing Maia was under Marjorie’s watchful eye.” She glanced at the watch peeking out from the sleeve of his tuxedo. “Is it nine yet?”

  “Five till.”

  She reached deep into her portfolio of manners and tried to find an appropriate and diplomatic way to say good-bye. “I hate to leave, but I really do have to push on to the next event and catch up with my brother.” She reached over and grasped Nick’s arm. “I’m very glad we ran into each other tonight.”

  He patted her hand. “Me too. If you learn anything else about the accident, will you let me know?” He shrugged. “Curiosity, you know.”

  Kate thought the request was odd but reasonable. “I will. Take care.”

  After their somewhat congenial but no less awkward farewell, she exited through the VIP door, where her limousine waited, a perk that came with her elevated position.

  Once she arrived at the Commander in Chief Ball, her evening as Brian’s date proved to be much more easygoing and entertaining. The casual topics of the evening were just that—casual as opposed to political. No one wanted her ear to tout their own particular brand of political influence. No one wanted to make nice in order to pave a possible path to the Oval Office. They were more apt to talk planes, tanks, and ships at this all-military event.

  Kate never anticipated being the belle of this particular ball, but until Emily arrived, Kate held unexpected court.

  Brian was to blame mostly. Her affable brother made sure she didn’t lack any dance partners, and when they weren’t dancing, he told the most horrendously embarrassing stories about his big sister, Katie.

  However, Kate got her revenge on him by telling an equal number of irreverent childhood tales of baby Brian, Boy Scout Brian, and Brian the brain. But the pièce de résistance occurred when Emily arrived.

  Tradition meant that first, the president would speak briefly, thanking the military members for their service to their country and then offering an additiona
l thanks to the family members who stood beside them. Then the president would dance with a specially selected military partygoer.

  At Emily’s request, Kate arranged with the ball committee for Emily to dance with not one, but two military men—the first, a decorated sergeant newly returned from a long tour of duty in the Middle East and the second, Major Brian Rosen.

  As Kate watched her red-faced brother fox-trot with the president of the United States, she knew that despite his apparent embarrassment, the episode would become the newest entry in his repertoire of great military adventures. It would give him a one-upmanship that he would exploit shamelessly as an “Oh yeah? Let me tell you what I did” tale.

  Kate wasn’t sure which was better: watching Emily and Brian on the dance floor or going to an inaugural ball that lacked the political jockeying of the others. In either case, it was the wonderful ending to a less than perfect evening.

  And the lingering glow of satisfaction lasted until the phone call came in the wee hours of the morning.

  “WE HAVE A PROBLEM.” Emily’s voice shot through the receiver like a bolt of lightning, jangling Kate’s nerves.

  “Most people say hello first. What problem?”

  “Maia’s dead.”

  “I know.”

  “You knew?” Disbelief faded to indignation. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  Perhaps it was because Kate had been awoken from a dead sleep and her usual filters weren’t up. Or maybe she’d developed a new attitude to go with her new position. “You didn’t have a need to know at the moment.” She realized how harsh that sounded and softened it slightly by adding, “There was nothing you could do anyway. The Secret Service contacted me, and since it seemed likely it was an accident, I decided that you could wait until morning to hear about it.” Kate squinted at her bedside clock. “Later in the morning.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “C’mon, M. Don’t start looking for conspiracies where there are none. You have to be in office for at least a month before you’re allowed to do that.” She stifled a yawn. “Of course it was an accident. A stupid mixture of alcohol-impaired judgment and high speeds. When I got the briefing, the victim’s families hadn’t even been notified yet. So I made a judgment call. As sad and as unfortunate as the news was, I didn’t need to interrupt your evening with it. There simply wasn’t anything you could do at the moment.”

  There was a long moment where Emily didn’t speak.

  Finally she sighed. “And I guess that’s your job, right?” There wasn’t a single drop of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Yep. It is. Now go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” The clock numbers swam in her vision. “Today.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kate hung up, rolled over, and buried her face in the pillow. I think I’m going to like the job. But maybe not the hours.

  By noon that day, Kate felt as if she’d already put in an eight-hour day. A breakfast meeting with the senior staff led to separate meetings with each to clarify ongoing and new departmental policies and programs. In the midst of that, Kate’s office received 146 requests from various government officials, business leaders, and congressional members, all wanting to speak with the president about a subject of utmost importance.

  The trouble was everything was of utmost importance. Everybody had a reason, almost all of them good, to want Emily’s ear. However, only a handful of those many requests would be granted.

  Kate didn’t see it as playing bad guy, per se. The twenty-four hours of Emily’s day had to be carefully proportioned to get the maximum amount of work done—people seen, policies discussed, information received, information imparted. Plus, there had to be a little Emily time embedded in there as well. All work and no play would dull her razor-sharp mind.

  After what seemed a lifetime on the Benton campaign trail, Kate knew better than anyone how to broker Emily’s time and therefore her attention. Although, unlike many chiefs of staff before her, Kate would step away from actual policy making, she would, nonetheless, have a front-row seat for all policy meetings—domestic and foreign—tempering Emily’s decisions with guidance and advice and, once those decisions or policies were made, charting a course to market those ideas to Congress and the public.

  In some ways, it was just another campaign—to stay in office rather than attain it.

  By Friday, Kate had settled into a basic pattern of meetings and schedule reviews. Even then, she realized how rare this would likely be—having a discernible pattern from one week to the next. It was as if the world were holding its breath until Emily got comfortably into office before exploding with a new earth-shattering event.

  So far, Kate’s lunches had all been working ones with Emily, but today, she had the opportunity to eat in the peace and quiet of her own office. It was a nice office, suitably designed for the needs of her position—a conference table that could seat eight, a sitting area for more intimate conversations, and a desk that blended fashion and function nicely. She’d already tested the leather couch and determined that it would make a suitable place for a purloined nap or an overnight stay, if world events made either a necessity.

  But instead of world events intruding, it was a local call that interrupted Kate halfway through her salad.

  She glared at her insistent cell phone, then succumbed to the need to answer it.

  A pleasant voice hit her ear. “So how’s the first almost week in office?”

  Nick. She smiled, then flushed, surprised by her own reaction. “Pretty good. How’s the lobbying business?”

  “You know the drill. A lot of schmoozing. Curiosity is opening a lot of doors.”

  “Curiosity?”

  “Sure. The president’s ex-husband? Everyone’s expecting a bit of gossip. Or at least the inside scoop. We’ll see if it’s a lot harder to get a second meeting after they’ve learned a smart divorced man tells no tales.”

  “You’re definitely smart.”

  “And divorced. Listen, I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you long. I was just wondering if, in light of the impending announcement of the oil independence program, I could get a few minutes of her nibs’s time next week. Under the guise of ex-family, of course.”

  Kate hesitated. Lobbyists met with presidents all the time, but for propriety’s sake, they didn’t meet as lobbyists, per se. Nick had essentially given her the right official reason, but would Emily agree? Kate had never questioned Emily as to the reason behind his invitation to the inaugural ball. Maybe this was a good time to broach the subject. If nothing else, Kate needed to know if Nick was slowly becoming part of the picture again.

  “Let me sound her out. Okay?”

  “Great.”

  “I’ll call back later after I’ve had a chance to talk to her about it.”

  “Thanks.” A brief moment passed before he added, “Later, then.”

  After she hung up, Kate pushed back in her chair. That was awkward, she thought.

  However, things grew more awkward only a few hours later when Emily called her into the office for an unexpected meeting.

  When Kate entered, Emily was standing near the fireplace. A man sat with his back toward the door, and it wasn’t until he stood and turned that Kate recognized who he was.

  George Richfield, the director of the FBI, held out his hand as she approached. “Ms. Rosen, good to see you again.” They’d met at least two times before in social situations. But this time, social didn’t seem the right word to describe what was unfolding in front of her.

  She accepted his handshake, trying not to appear too hesitant. “Director. Likewise. To what honor do we owe your unexpected visit, sir?” Her initial salvo had to be polite, but if she was going to protect her own position within the administration, she knew she had to play the control card immediately. It was a lesson she’d learned as a female carving out a position in a more male-dominated business. “I wasn’t aware we had any meetings scheduled with you.” Her tone said what she couldn’t�
��And I should have known.

  He shared a sidelong glance at Emily. “We have a possible issue, and I wanted to brief the president first.”

  Kate sat down without invitation. In the British monarchy, it would be considered the height of insult to sit prior to the queen taking her own seat. However, Kate did it for no other reason than to remind the FBI director and Emily that there was no royalty present. “Then please . . . sit. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Emily smothered a small grin in response to the deliberate break in protocol. But any sense of veiled amusement vanished when she and Director Richfield sat on the opposite couch in a classic us-versus-you seating position. The director laced his fingers, propped his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward to lessen the harshness of their almost confrontational arrangement.

  “No doubt you remember the tragic accident that occurred the night of the inauguration.” He managed to rip all sense of emotion from the word tragic. “Timothy Colton and Maia Bari were killed in a one-car accident on Rock Creek Parkway.”

  How could I forget? “Yes, I was the one who decided not to interrupt the president’s evening with the unfortunate details.”

  Emily shifted slightly. “I called Kate later that evening—actually in the wee hours of the morning—complaining about her decision, but what I should have done instead was thank her.” She turned to Kate. “You were right, as always. Had you told me, it would have put an unnecessary damper on the evening. And like you said, there was nothing I could do until morning, anyway.”

  Kate acknowledged Emily’s belated thanks with a quick nod and turned her attention back to the director. “So what seems to be the problem? The FBI isn’t usually called in for traffic accidents.”

  “True. But in light of Ms. Bari’s connection to the president and Mr. Colton’s connection to Governor Talbot, the Park Police requested our assistance when they uncovered some signs of . . . tampering.”

  “Tampering? As in evidence tampering?”

  Richfield shook his head. “No, as in evidence that the car had been tampered with prior to the accident.”