Red, White, and Blue

by Laura Hayden

Luckily the ancient mariners began to rise from their chairs and wander in their direction, giving Emily an excuse not to respond as their conversation group expanded. To Kate’s relief, the topics lightened somewhat in tone as the informal reception turned more into an impromptu wake with the group recalling some of the lighthearted moments in Dozier’s life.

  The mariners, all of whom were Dozier’s old navy buddies, told stories of his very brief military career on the sea—spending much more time telling tales of Dozier at port than of Dozier at war. Evidently one of the old men had known Dozier when he met Jack’s mother, and the topic changed to Dozier’s life as a husband and father.

  But as the older generation told their stories, Kate watched Jack Marsh’s reactions. He remained polite, making the appropriate responses when called for, but his laughter was restrained as if he didn’t quite find his father’s younger antics as amusing as everyone else did.

  From the conversation, Kate gleaned the fact that Emily and Jack Marsh had spent a considerable portion of their childhood together. Although Emily’s early years had been lived primarily in the limelight, thanks to her family’s public service, somehow Jack Marsh’s role had escaped the notice of the press or the historians.

  Kate knew this for a fact because she’d researched Emily’s life from a journalistic point of view in order to anticipate what a nosy reporter might find if he looked hard and dug deep. And at no time had Jack Marsh ever come up in any excavation into the life and times of Emily Benton other than as a person in passing.

  Nevertheless, the two of them had a discernible history. Emily told stories and Jack added minor details that betrayed a close friendship that seemed to suddenly end shortly after her high school graduation. Neither of them alluded to either a problem or a person that came between them, but Kate had a feeling by the way they danced around the topic that it had something to do with Dozier himself.

  Whatever it was, Jack Marsh had evidently left his home and family shortly after high school to seek his own fortune in places where his last name didn’t come with any appreciable political baggage.

  She figured this out not because of the impromptu wake but because she’d researched him thoroughly after realizing that he might be a key player in their problems concerning Dozier’s financial legacy.

  Kate decided that Jack had deliberately led his life in polar opposition to Emily, seeking to escape his family’s professional birthright rather than embrace it as she did as the next generation of the Benton dynasty.

  While they all talked, Kate stayed in the background as an audience member rather than a participant. That allowed her to watch Emily, a master at work.

  Emily danced with certain subjects, deftly avoiding several potholes as she steered them away from Dozier in his role as a father figure and, instead, kept the topics in far safer areas. She didn’t exercise control over the conversation solely because she was president; such ownership came to her naturally, and Jack easily kowtowed to her control as if quite used to it.

  Kate wondered if that meant he’d be a more willing informant when it came to the irregularities they needed to uncover and perhaps cover up again.

  After the requisite amount of reminiscing, one of Emily’s aides arrived right on prearranged cue to “remind” her of an unavoidable and pressing appointment. Emily rose and apologized for having to return to her duties. “The country isn’t going to run itself, you know.”

  Polite laughter ensued. She made the obligatory salutations to the ancient mariners, showed Jack a surprising amount of affection, and then excused herself, heading back to the Oval Office.

  Kate, along with Burl and Melissa, walked their tottering guests slowly through the Cross Hall and into the Entrance Hall, flanking them like border collies leading an easily distracted herd. Once the three guests were bundled up in their vehicle to be driven back to the old mariner’s home, she was left to make a somewhat awkward farewell to Jack Marsh.

  Before he stepped into his car, he paused, one hand on the door. “According to the doctors, you were with my father when he died.”

  She nodded. “We’d been talking and then he had the second attack. I stayed in the room until they decided he was . . .” How do I say this gently? “Until they realized he couldn’t be resuscitated.”

  Jack held out his hand. “Then let me offer you a special thank-you. I should have been there, but since I wasn’t, I’m glad he had someone like you. Someone he actually liked and trusted.”

  Kate tried to ignore the implication that Dozier neither liked nor trusted his son and, instead, tried to accept the compliment on its surface merits.

  “You’re welcome.” She thought about Dozier’s confession, the unanswered questions about his actions. Added to that, there were his occasional misogynistic comments, how he sometimes clung to old ways and outdated language that tended to grate against the nerves of those more politically correct people who worked with him. But for all his flaws—and he had many—Kate still mourned the loss of the man for his own sake.

  She glanced up into Jack’s eyes, finding only the barest physical resemblance between father and son. “I really am going to miss Dozier.”

  After a beat, Jack released a sigh. “So am I.”

  “Are you going to stay in town for a while or are you headed back to Japan immediately?”

  His expression suddenly became very reminiscent of his father’s. “No, I’m going to go about thirty feet down the driveway, stop, and back up as if I remembered I left my scarf on the chair. Then you’re taking me to the Oval Office, where you, Emily, and I are having a closed-door meeting to try to figure out how to fix this mess my father created with his finances.”

  He paused. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

  JACK MIGHT NOT HAVE PURSUED a career in politics, but Kate realized immediately he had the necessary skill set to survive, if not thrive, in the profession had he chosen to work in that arena.

  Emily wasted no time sitting him down and telling him exactly what problems his father had caused by failing to disclose that he held a large stock option in Pembrooke. When she mentioned how the company was in the prime position to make a sizable amount of money when Operation: Energy Independence was put into action, he sat up straight.

  Once she was finished, he leaned forward and asked quietly, “What are you going to do?”

  Emily shrugged. “What can we do? Kate and I agree that we have to tell the American public what we learned.”

  He remained quiet as if pondering her words; then he shook his head. “No one would ever believe you.”

  Kate wasn’t sure if Emily’s reaction of shock was real or not.

  “What?”

  “C’mon, Emily. No one would ever believe you didn’t have a hand—both hands—in this. Our families go back too far for anyone to believe Dad could even sneeze without you knowing about it.” He sat back on the couch and draped his arm across its cushions. “They’ll simply believe that you’re trying to minimize your role in what could amount to a huge scandal. One that could result in removal from office.”

  He made a theatrical effort of glancing at his watch. “Congratulations. I think you’ll be setting a record. Your administration lasted almost six weeks before the first talks of impeachment.”

  Emily glanced at Kate as if to say, Sorry, but it looks like we have to scrap our plans. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  His smile wasn’t a particularly pleasant one. “I can think of one or two options.”

  “Such as?”

  “First, I’d just as soon not see my father’s name smeared posthumously.”

  Emily’s gaze sharpened as if she had suddenly made a leap in logic. She dropped down to the couch next to him. “So, do I assume you are his heir? you get everything?”

  His expression grew less predatory. “I get most of it. He had a few charitable requests, but I get everything else. To my utter surprise, may I add.”

  “You shouldn’t be all that surprised. You
two might have had some bad blood, but it was family blood nonetheless.”

  He looked as if he was contemplating her words. “True. But I’m willing to show there’s a difference between father and son, especially when it comes to the concept of greed. And I think that might help you.”

  Emily managed to infuse several meanings into a single word. “Explain.”

  “Sure. What you have to first understand is that I didn’t expect to inherit anything, so I’m ahead of the game. I don’t have to be so greedy that I take everything. Is there a way we can retroactively redirect his stock option—maybe make it appear the future money was earmarked for some higher purpose?”

  Kate took an involuntary step forward, ready to insert an “Absolutely not,” until she saw how Emily’s grin lit her face, softening her sharp features.

  “Exactly! That’s why I’ve always loved you. You think just as fast on your feet as your old man, but you’re actually nowhere as corrupt as that old shark.”

  Kate couldn’t remain quiet any longer. “You’re willing to give up what amounts to a substantial inheritance, just to preserve your father’s name?”

  Emily tried to interrupt her. “Kate—”

  “No. Jack needs to know exactly how much money we’re talking about.” She turned to the man sitting on the couch. “Your father said he was expecting a $15 million return in the first year alone.” She expected Jack to be either amazed or disgusted by the amount, but what she didn’t expect was the reaction she did elicit from him.

  “So?”

  Jack turned toward Kate. “Let me repeat. I’m not a greedy man. I guess you don’t hear this often in Washington, but let me say this again. I don’t need the money. I’m doing quite well on my own.” A thoughtful look dropped over his face. “I’d much rather see the control of the stock option go somewhere worthy to offset his avarice. It seems almost . . . tainted to me.”

  Kate realized this was a prime example of someone doing the wrong thing for all the right reasons.

  Emily ignored his more altruistic reasoning and concentrated on the execution of their solution. “Since he appears to have hidden his ownership through the use of several offshore holding companies, it might be simply a matter of making some retroactive changes to the last company in the chain—once we figure out who holds what. The real difficulty will be unraveling all this quietly.”

  Kate watched numbly, not quite believing what she was hearing.

  Jack stroked his chin in obvious contemplation. “I’m thinking that maybe it ought to go to some charity.”

  Emily nodded eagerly. “That way, if anyone gets nosy and starts to follow the trail, it’ll show that Dozier was involved, but only as a conduit to the final destination, some tree-hugger, green charity that’ll make even the most hardened journalist go ‘Aww. . . .’”

  Jack continued to stroke his chin. “That’d work. But . . . it has to be a charity I don’t currently work with and something Dad might have chosen. After the fact, I can come onto the board as a sort of legacy to my father’s posthumous involvement.”

  Emily leaned over and bussed him on the cheek. “I knew you’d find a solution. I have always been able to rely on you.”

  He adopted his first genuinely warm smile, betraying a current sense of closeness with Emily rather than a nostalgic one. “Are you going to make this happen, or am I?”

  Kate had remained quiet to this point but knew she had to insert herself into the conversation. “I want to go on the record to state that I’m against this idea. I think it would be far better to put your cards on the table and simply explain to the world that Dozier kept this vital piece of information a secret, even from us. After all, it’s the truth. All this under-the-table paperwork could backfire on you if someone catches on.”

  Emily stood, taking advantage of her position to tower over Kate, who had remained seated. “Trust me. They won’t catch on.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  Emily glanced at Jack. “Yeah. I can be sure. The man’s a miracle maker.”

  Kate waited until she got back into her office before she allowed her sense of concern to turn into open panic. Discounting the eventual funding of some yet unnamed charity, what Emily was doing was still wrong on all levels. As much as Kate understood the need to protect self, lying to the American public—even with good intentions—was rife with problems, not to mention a dozen or so large pits filled with alligators.

  Her head throbbed as her imagination began to work overtime to spell out exactly what sort of mess Dozier had put them in and how much messier it might get once Emily and Jack started their “renovation” plans.

  “Lord, what do I do?” she prayed aloud, frightened by the amount of panic she heard in her own voice. “We didn’t know about Dozier. Given how many scandals have torn apart the White House in the past, I hate to admit Jack’s right—no one will believe we had no knowledge of this. But what Emily’s planning to do—to hide the truth—that’s not right, either. What should I do?”

  The answer didn’t come in the guise of a burning bush, a clap of thunder, or any other overt symbolism. She simply looked up.

  Hanging above her desk was a photograph of her and Emily on graduation day, both decked out in cap, gown, and colors. They’d been standing on the steps of the library, and in taking the snapshot, her father, their intrepid photographer, had also gotten the inscription over the library’s entrance.

  Cognoscetis Veritatem et Veritas Liberabit Vos.

  “You will know the truth and the truth will make you free.”

  If Jack was going to make widespread changes to organizational records through whatever manner—bribery, break-in, or such—what Kate needed was a pristine copy of those records before they were altered. She needed a snapshot of the real world before Emily’s revisionist handiwork gave it a makeover.

  She picked up the phone to call District Discreet, then hung up after the first ring. Call it paranoia, call it being overly cautious, but since she’d already made her objections known, Emily might predict what her next actions would be and easily guess what company Kate might use to ferret out the unfindable.

  Kate needed to use a different route than her usual one, and that meant trusting somebody other than Lee and Sierra to dig up the truth.

  But who? The more people who knew the truth, the less security they had.

  Who did Kate trust enough to reveal this less-than-flattering side of Dozier Marsh, revelations of Maia the blackmailer, and Emily’s efforts to sanitize the past?

  One person.

  Nick.

  She used her cell phone to call him, and it rang four times before he picked up.

  “Beaudry.”

  “It’s me. Kate. I saw you at the funeral,” she said, realizing only after she spoke that she sounded slightly accusatory.

  “Yeah, I felt like I needed to go.”

  “It was a nice gesture. But I’m not sure why.”

  “I guess I got to know Dozier pretty well when M and I were together.”

  “As I recall, you never really liked him.” She was beating around the non–burning bush, but she needed time to formulate her plans, then find her courage to implement them.

  “I didn’t like Dozier butting into my marriage, but I guess he felt like he was protecting her like a father protects his daughter. I didn’t . . . dislike the man. For an old-time politician used to twisting the truth when it was convenient for him, once we made peace, he was always pretty straight with me.”

  Nick offered a rosier view of the past than she’d anticipated, but his description of Dozier twisting the truth was all too accurate.

  “Can we talk?”

  He cleared his throat. “Aren’t we doing that now?”

  “I mean—” she searched for the right words—“privately.”

  “Sure. When? Where?”

  She’d already come up with the answer. “There’s a diplomatic reception here this evening for the new ambassador from Ecuador. I c
an put you on the guest list.”

  “At this late date?”

  “Hello? Chief of staff here.”

  He paused as if contemplating the idea. “Can you get me a little face time with the ambassador? Nothing antagonistic or long. Strictly business.”

  She bristled a bit. “Is it a conditional yes, then?”

  He backpedaled quickly. “No, nothing like that. I was just wondering if I could kill two birds with one White House visit. I’m still willing to come whether you can get M to let me talk to him or not.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke again, his words holding a hint of confusion mixed with mild regret. “I don’t play those kinds of games, Kate. I thought you knew that.”

  “Well, I was hoping that was the case.” She splayed her hand across her forehead, her headache reminding her that she really needed to take some meds or risk it turning into a migraine. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day already, what with the funeral and everything.”

  Emphasis on everything.

  “I wasn’t trying to be accusatory.” She searched for the right phrase of apology and settled on a legal one: “Absit iniuria verbis.” Let injury by words be absent.

  He made a choking noise, then laughed. “I know it’s been a hard day if you’re resorting to law school Latin.”

  You don’t know the half of it, she thought.

  “Rest assured, no offense taken.” His voice remained lighter. “I’ve had days like that too. When you’re the person at the top, you get used to the idea that without exception, everybody wants something. Or so I’ve been told. I’m still a very small cog in a great big lobbying machine.”

  She heard a tapping sound at her door. “Hang on,” she said to him. She covered the mouthpiece and then called out, “Come in.”

  An aide cracked open the door, realized she was on the phone, and made the universal expression for Oops! Sorry. I can wait until you’re off the phone.

  She held the aide at bay with a raised forefinger and turned back to the phone, trying to sound light and carefree. “If it’s any consolation, sir, this job has its coglike attributes too. But apparently, this cog is being paged. I have to go. See you tonight?”