Karen thanked Lee for his advice and kind of wished she had not called him.
CHAPTER 11
Karen did not go over Gleason’s head, at least not entirely. She got the first lady to back her decision before bringing Cam to the MDC in an armored black SUV. It was a little after one o’clock in the afternoon when they arrived. What Karen had told Ellen mirrored what Lee had told her: he should have a CT scan, and it would be best if Cam were already at the hospital should he require emergency surgery. She did not cite Gleason’s attitude as a factor in all of this, but the first lady was exceedingly bright. She must have figured it out on her own, because she asked Karen only to notify Gleason, not consult him on the decision. Karen waited until they were almost at the hospital to make that call.
Two armored SUVs, one ferrying Cam, arrived at the rear entrance of the MDC at the suggestion of Brian Seneca, Lee’s colleague there. Duffy and Lapham had gone on ahead and conducted a thorough security assessment that included a sweep for explosives to make sure Cam’s private suite on the northwest wing met all standards.
Duffy was happy to be summoned back into work, because he qualified for Law Enforcement Availability Pay, essentially a type of overtime. “Don’t get me wrong, K-Ray, I’m psyched for the OT, but I’d prefer you get me a promotion,” he said.
There was always some money complaint with him, but lately Duffy’s gripes about pay were becoming an obsession. Karen understood his frustration. Agents were stretched too thin, working too many hours for too little pay. The solution to every staff shortage was not better organizational planning, but rather more overtime, one of her dad’s major complaints. Karen frequently shared her staffing concerns with Ellen. Having the first lady in her corner gave her a shield behind which she could toss barbs in the hopes of bringing about meaningful changes.
Lapham and Duffy locked Cam’s hospital room down. Only approved people would be granted access to the floor, including the doctors and nurses who tended to this VIP patient. All of Cam’s caregivers would receive expedited background checks. Visitors would have to leave their names and be subjected to a search before they could enter the floor.
Cam seemed better to Karen on the drive to the MDC. Though still a bit peaked, he was not nearly as sweaty as before, and his breathing had returned to normal.
That’s when the doubt set in. If this trip to the MDC proved unwarranted, Gleason would use it as ammo to attack her. Angering the president’s doctor was not a wise career move under any condition.
Karen was helping Cam out of the back of the SUV when Gleason finally returned her call.
“What in hell’s name do you think you are doing? How dare you make this decision without consulting me!”
Karen felt the heat of Gleason’s rage radiate through the phone.
“I checked on Cam. He didn’t seem right to me, so I called Lee.”
“No, Karen. You call me, the doctor assigned to the president and his family. I’m going to be there as soon as I can. The president is coming, too, so do your job and make sure security is in place. And from this point forward, nobody is to call Lee Blackwood for any reason, and that goes for the doctors and nurses at the MDC. Is that understood?”
“Fine. As you wish.”
Karen had no problem tossing him a bone. If the first lady or the president wanted Lee’s consult, they would override Gleason in a heartbeat.
“What you’ve done here is beyond all authority,” Gleason said, his tone still irate. “I’m the one who makes decisions on Cam’s health, not you. Last time I checked, you were hired as his supernanny. I swear I’ll have you fired for this.”
“You didn’t see what I saw, Fred,” Karen said assertively. “If you had, I’m pretty sure you’d be thanking, not threatening me.”
CHAPTER 12
The three-bedroom bungalow in Cleveland Park, a neighborhood of approximately fifteen hundred residents tucked away in the northwest section of D.C., had been Lee’s home for the past twelve years. It was a spacious place for a single occupant, which could explain why it had all the personal touch of an IKEA showroom.
Lee had bought the property not long after his divorce from Karen, but before the cost of modest homes in the area skyrocketed. Usually the place did not feel too big, but on weekends, or the occasional quiet evening, especially now that he and Bethany were on the outs, Lee would think about selling, taking the profit to do something else with his life. He wanted to spend more time hiking and camping, two of his greatest pleasures.
Growing up in West Virginia had kindled a boundless love for the forest. Many of his fondest childhood memories involved forays into nature, and to this day Lee found the fresh mountain air rejuvenating in profound ways. While he romanticized the possibility of a second career as a park ranger, Lee’s pragmatic side told him it was nothing but a pipe dream. More likely, he would work at his family practice until his partner, Paul Tresell, got his way and they sold out to a hospital or some medical conglomerate. Then he’d retire and take up golf like the rest of his aging pals.
Lee noticed the time on the stove clock in his modest kitchen and thought about Karen. It had been more than two hours since she had agreed to bring Cam to the hospital. He had tried her cell, but his calls kept going straight to voice mail. His contact at the MDC, Brian Seneca, was not returning his calls either. Lee figured one of them would be in touch eventually.
At four o’clock the doorbell finally rang and there was Josh, standing on the front porch with a big smile on his face. A car parked curbside honked as it drove away. Josh gave a slight wave. Lee suspected the driver was one of Josh’s D.C. friends who he’d be seeing later in the weekend.
Josh wore a backpack from REI and had nothing in his hands. Lee opened the screen door and embraced his son. It was hard to believe he had not seen his boy since September, but at least he looked much the same. He was still tall and broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a face dotted with scruff. A flannel shirt and dark jeans made Josh look even more ruggedly handsome. His big brown eyes still held a hint of mischievousness when he smiled. The earnestness of his face warmed Lee’s heart.
“Hiya, Pop. Good to see you.”
Having spent his career caring for the sick and dying, Lee should have had more appreciation for the ephemeral nature of time, should have been insistent on getting together more frequently. But Josh was here now, and that was all that mattered. His son asked for a beer, and Lee got himself the same. No run for him tonight, but Lee would get plenty of exercise on the hike. Tomorrow they would set off at first light. Tonight, they could chat, maybe catch the Wizards game on TV.
They spent some time looking over the camping gear laid out on the living room floor, discussing what they should bring. Afterwards, they settled on the comfy living room armchairs and sipped beer from chilled glass bottles.
“When are you seeing your mom?”
“Sunday, I think,” Josh said.
“When do you go back?”
“I don’t know.” A dark look crossed Josh’s face, his eyes suddenly brimming with sorrow. “I’m missing some pretty sick spring skiing.”
Lee squinted, appraising his son carefully. Something seemed off.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah … it’s all right.”
But talk of Colorado had zapped the sparkle from Josh’s eyes and given him a saturnine face.
“You’ll be back on the slopes in no time,” Lee said encouragingly.
“Actually, I might not go back at all.”
Lee’s insides clenched. “What? Why?”
Josh went silent.
“Hannah dumped me,” he eventually said in a flat, monotone voice, folding his arms like a hermit crab retreating into its shell.
Lee groaned as though the wound Josh had suffered physically hurt him as well. “Oh, buddy, I’m so sorry.” But not at all surprised, he thought. “What happened? When? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not much to say,” J
osh said glumly. “She, um—just stopped all contact with me. A friend of hers said she was back with her old boyfriend, but that’s an unconfirmed rumor.”
At Josh’s description, Lee could not help but think of his last girlfriend.
“She ghosted you,” said Lee.
Josh returned a little laugh. “Oh yeah, I forgot you know all about ghosting. What was her name?”
“Bethany.” A hint of animosity seeped into Lee’s voice.
“Well, it sucks,” said Josh. “Hannah was—she was so great, Dad. I really thought she was the one.”
“There’ll be another,” Lee said. “You’re a terrific guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you.” He knew not to say anything disparaging, such as “You’re better off” or “She wasn’t good for you anyway.” Now was the time to be supportive, to be a friend more than a parent.
“I’m here for you,” said Lee. “That’s the best I can offer right now.”
“Thanks.” Josh sounded genuinely appreciative. “I’ll figure it out.”
That was Josh’s life motto. He’ll figure it out. He went where the wind blew him. After high school that wind blew him into the military instead of college. Josh did four years active service and after that two more years of individual ready reserve (IRR, in military parlance) before his career came to an end. While he was going overseas on deployments, knee-deep in the shit as he would say, Josh’s friends were back home posting to social media all sorts of fun and carefree pictures from their college and spring break antics. Josh would be the first to admit he simply got the itch to try something new.
By that point the military had already turned his son from a boy into a man. Josh had picked up leadership and technical skills to go along with self-discipline and tenacity. He could fire a weapon accurately under the most stressful conditions one day, and the next day dress up in his military uniform for formal dining under the microscope of the strictest social standards.
After he left the military that proverbial wind blew again, this time sending Josh out west, to Colorado, where he’d been working as a ski instructor, while avoiding conversations about what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Maybe this Hannah jolt would help get him unstuck. Maybe over the course of a few days camping, Lee could find a way to speed that process along.
The doorbell rang.
“Are you expecting someone?” Lee asked.
“Nope. No one.”
When Lee opened the door his jaw fell open. Standing on his front porch were Woody Lapham and Stephen Duffy from the Secret Service, dressed in their trademark dark suits and sunglasses.
“Dr. Blackwood, we need you to come with us right away.”
“Is it Cam? I’ve been trying to reach Karen for hours.”
Josh rose from his seat and joined Lee at the front door.
“It’s Bishop,” Duffy said, using the code name. “Brave Heart has requested we bring you to the MDC right away.” Brave Heart: the president. “He wants your opinion. I guess you made an impression.”
Lee’s mind clicked into gear. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” said Lapham. “That’s why we need you to come with us, right now.”
Lee glanced at Josh. “I’ll only be gone for a little while,” he said. “Keep getting our gear together. I’ll explain everything when I come back.”
Josh gave a nod, but Lee could see where this was headed. Their big camping trip was over before it had even started.
CHAPTER 13
Lee had never been to the ninth floor of the MDC’s northwest wing before. He knew the deluxe rooms were up there. They had been modified to attract the rich and powerful, and D.C. had plenty of foreign dignitaries who did not have to contend with insurance-imposed spending caps. The floors on the private wing were carpeted, the walls decorated with fine art, and many rooms had a glorious view of the National Cathedral.
Lapham and Duffy escorted Lee to the concierge desk, where two agents from the Secret Service stood guard. The agents perked up like Dobermans as Lee reached for his wallet to show them his ID. After authenticating Lee’s ID, an agent used a wand to check for hidden weapons. Satisfied, they opened the frosted-glass doors and Duffy and Lapham led Lee into the reception area. An aroma of some splendid cuisine wafted down the hall, which Lee found incongruous with a hospital setting.
A perky receptionist seated behind a mahogany desk offered a genuine smile at Lee, who smiled back. Duffy and Lapham gave her no notice. A cadre of Secret Service agents stood guard outside a set of solid oak doors leading to the waiting room.
“Karen is in there,” Duffy said, pointing, “probably getting an ass-chewing from Gleason and the president.”
“The president is here?”
“He and the first lady. You know, historically speaking, a shaman had the most influence over the chief.”
Duffy’s glib manner and a trace of foreboding Lee picked up in the agent’s voice set him on edge. It was Lee who had ultimately set this chain of events into motion. If this all proved unwarranted, Karen would not be the only one taking heat.
At that moment, Brian Seneca popped out of a hospital room and waved Lee over. The two shook hands. Seneca, who had an athletic build, wore a long white lab coat over his blue scrubs. His well-trimmed beard and thick head of dark hair enhanced his olive complexion. He was a talented and committed golfer, which was why Lee saw Seneca at the hospital and nowhere else.
The name “Lincoln Jefferson” was written on a small whiteboard mounted to the wall outside the room from which Seneca had emerged. This was the alias the hospital had picked for Cam, aka Bishop. Lee peeked inside the room, which more resembled a suite at a fancy hotel than a hospital, and found the bed was empty.
A nurse in floral-pattern scrubs was busying herself with the telemetry monitors that transmitted Cam’s vitals to the nurses’ desk down the hall.
“Where’s Cam?”
“Coming back from CT.”
Lee turned to Duffy. “Do you think you can give me a little time before I speak with the president and first lady? Let them know I’m here and getting a debrief from Dr. Seneca, and I’ll come see them in a moment.”
Lee could not believe he was asking the president of the United States to wait for him, but he needed to get abreast of the situation privately before confronting parental royalty.
“The shaman speaks, the chief listens,” said Duffy with a tilted smile, before he slipped into the waiting room to inform the president.
“I think he’s going to be okay, Lee,” said Seneca after Duffy departed. “He was a bit tender when I compressed his left lower ribs, but he’s not splinting to avoid pain. I went over the scans with the radiologist, Dr. Patel.”
“Do you mind if I take a peek?” Lee asked.
“No problem.”
Lee followed Seneca over to the nurses’ station, which was expensively constructed from dark wood. He was mindful of the plush carpeting under his feet and fragrant air piped through the vents. Comfortable as he was roughing it in the woods, Lee liked how the 1 percent lived.
With a few clicks of the mouse, Cam’s scans magically appeared on the high-definition monitor. If Lee’s father were alive, he would have marveled at the advancements in medical technology. Then again, his dad was an amazing diagnostician without all the gizmos, and had taught Lee to rely more on his observations than on machines.
Come home, son. Come back to Beckley and run the practice for me.
Lee heard his father’s voice in his head all the time, even at the most unlikely moments. The practice his father opened back in 1961 was the only one around for miles, nestled within the mountains of Appalachia, where coal mining was still thriving, guaranteeing its share of black lung disease, poverty, and alcoholism, but also a binding sense of family and pride.
Lee had revered his dad. He did it all. Delivered babies, treated the mumps and measles, doled out pills, and stitched up the wounded. Lee spent most of his free time in h
igh school helping his father out in the clinic. He’d say that’s where he caught the bug to be a family doc, and taking over his father’s practice had always been Lee’s plan. But Karen had given him no choice, or so he told himself. She was committed to her new career, and Lee was committed to her.
He knew his father would grow too old to run things on his own. Sure enough, when the hospitals came courting, Lee’s dad sold his practice for a fraction of its worth and tried settling into retirement. He grew morose, then got sick, and was dead five years later—a death Lee believed he had hastened. A year after his father’s death, Lee’s mother was gone. Now his sister, a pastor at the church where he and Karen had married, was the only Blackwood living in Beckley.
Lee’s dad might not have been an early adopter of new medical technology, but there was a place for advanced machinery, and high-resolution CT imaging was extremely useful for uncovering rib fractures that x-rays might miss. The CT scan also made injuries to soft tissues and blood vessels easier to spot, which was why Lee had encouraged Karen to have Cam brought to the MDC in the first place. The variety of angles and cross-sectional slices of the body’s internal structures gave Lee a crystal-clear view into the underlying architecture.
What he saw was not particularly alarming. The lungs were healthy, the bones intact, the tissue unbroken, the vessels functioning fully. But Lee’s eyes narrowed when Seneca brought up a scan showing Cam’s spleen.
“That doesn’t look enlarged to you?” asked Lee.
Seneca gave it a closer inspection. “No. Dr. Patel would have said something if he thought so. I’d say normal.”
Lee did not feel like getting into a heated debate about spleen sizes. He could perform other tests to rule out his concern. Out of his peripheral vision, Lee caught sight of an attendant and nurse pushing Cam in a wheelchair down the carpeted corridor on his way back to his room. Three Secret Service agents, disguised in casual business attire, accompanied them. If Lee did not know to check, he never would have noticed the earpieces all three wore.
The First Family Page 7