The only person who appeared unaffected by the recent turmoil was the new chief White House counsel, Elizabeth Fox Cricket.
The scuttlebutt was that there was an internal war going on in the White House, and bets were being laid down as to who would win, the president or the people who worked for her. The current score was zip to zip.
The latest rumor to circulate was that heads were going to roll. But probably not till after the president’s cockamamy patriotic party in February.
The night chef looked at one of four clocks he kept in his kitchen, four clocks so no matter if he was standing north, south, east, or west, he could see the time. Right now it was shy of five minutes to four in the morning. He anticipated a call any minute, because the president had a guest, who would undoubtedly be leaving soon. He was almost certain a call would come down for coffee, juice, and possibly bagels. He’d just made a batch, and they were still warm. He looked over at one of his assistants, pointed to a bowl of oranges, and said, “Squeeze them. Be sure there are no seeds left, and leave the pulp. The president likes pulp.”
Sad to say, the president and her guest would not be partaking of the chef’s efforts on this particular morning.
Martine Connor rolled out of bed, took one look at the mangled sheets, then at the man sleeping peacefully on the left side of the bed. She pulled on her favorite robe to cover her naked body and ran to the kitchen. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl as she made coffee, squeezed six oranges, and sliced several stale bagels. When they were toasted, no one could tell that they weren’t fresh, she told herself. She quickly set the table for two. Then she leaned against the counter to stare at her reflection in the black glass on the microwave’s door. Considering the wild night she’d just had, she didn’t look all that bad.
Where this relationship was going with Hank Jellicoe, she had no idea. She did admit to herself that she would like to see it go somewhere, though. She let a smile tug at her lips. Here she was, the leader of the free world, wondering where this particular relationship was going and worrying about her messy hair.
She heard him before she saw him. He was fully dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and sturdy boots. His hair was slicked back, and he smelled minty and manly when he took her in his arms. They both laughed when he nuzzled her neck and whispered, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Then they both laughed out loud when she responded, “Better.”
The toaster oven pinged. Martine extricated herself from Jellicoe’s embrace and proceeded to serve him breakfast.
“This is one for the books. The president of these United States is serving this lowly peon breakfast in the White House. I like it,” Hank said, chomping down on a bagel. “These are stale. You know that, right?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. I like extra crunch.”
“I do, too, as long as it doesn’t crack my teeth. Look at me, Marti. What’s wrong? You’re with me, but you’re not. I’m a good listener, and you know I will never divulge anything you tell me. My clearance is at the top of the ladder.”
“I’m not trying to be evasive, Hank. It’s personal, and I have to work it out in my own way and deal with it. I’m just not ready to talk about it to anyone.”
Hank finished his coffee in one long gulp and handed her the cup. The president hustled to fill it. Hank was chauvinist enough to appreciate the president hustling to please him.
“Don’t you have any friends you can talk to? Women do that, I hear.”
“You can’t have friends, living here. I used to have friends. I suppose you could say Lizzie Fox, my new chief White House counsel, is a close friend. At least she used to be. That’s why I fought so hard to get her to take the job. I felt like I needed an ally in here. The only problem is, I don’t have time to spend with her. I made a lot of concessions to get her to come on board, which means she’s either eight to five or nine to five. She makes her own hours, and I think it’s safe to say, she makes her own rules, too. I live in fear that she’s going to bail on me.”
“Why would she do that?”
The president got up and pulled the belt of her robe so tight, she actually winced. “I didn’t say she would. I said I live in fear that she might. She just got married, and her first loyalty is to her new husband. If her husband needed her, and she was in the middle of some earth-shattering crisis, she would flip me the bird, and off she would go. That’s Lizzie, and there is no one in this whole wide world that I admire more than her.”
Jellicoe appeared thoughtful. “Does she feel the same way about you?”
“She used to. I don’t see the harm in telling you I owe her a debt, and I made a promise to her, but I am having a hard time honoring that debt and honoring that promise. I want to so badly, I can taste it, but…other people are standing in my way. That’s part of my problem.”
Jellicoe leaned in closer to the table. “Then get rid of those people, Marti. A person is only as good as her word. I personally want to believe that I am solid gold when it comes to my word or promises that I make. How else do you think I managed to survive in this business? I want you to think about that. Lizzie Fox is someone you never want to make an enemy of.”
Martine Connor’s eyes popped wide. “Just like that? Get rid of them? Where do I find their replacements? I seem to be batting zip here with staff. Do you know Lizzie?”
“All you have to do is call me, and I can have your replacements on board within hours. People who will be loyal to you, people who have no agenda other than to serve at your command, people you will be comfortable with. People you can trust. Of course I know Lizzie. I know Cosmo, too. They’re at the top of my short list of friends.”
“You never told me you knew Lizzie.”
The president’s voice was so accusatory, Hank reared back in his chair. He looked at his breakfast partner and saw the panic on her face. “I know a lot of people, Marti. Why would you think I should mention the names of my friends to you? I didn’t see you mentioning any of yours first crack off the bat. What difference does it make, anyway, if I know Lizzie and Cosmo Cricket?”
“That’s because I don’t have any friends. I did mention Lizzie when you asked. I just find it strange that you know Lizzie and didn’t see fit to mention that you knew her and that she now works here. How…how well do you know Lizzie?”
Hank laughed. “Well enough that I sent a smashing wedding present and well enough to get ticked off that I wasn’t asked to be Cosmo’s best man, but I understand the serendipitous decision to get married, and I wasn’t around at the time. Actually, I was in Angola at the time, but I would have done my best to get back if I had been asked. Lizzie and I used to have dinner when I was in town. I can’t think of a more perfect couple than Cosmo Cricket and Lizzie. Listen, honey, I have to leave now. It’s getting late. I guess I should say early. So, do I get to see you sitting behind your desk in the Oval Office before I go, or are you going to weasel out on me? I’d kind of like to take that particular memory with me when I leave.”
Martine Connor bit down on her lower lip. “Why does that sound to me like you aren’t coming back? But as you like to say, a promise is a promise. How’s that memory going to look, me in my bathrobe, my hair all messy?”
Jellicoe smiled. “Why would you think I won’t be coming back? I will if you want me to. But to address your question, that’s the beauty of a memory, Marti. The real you. I want to see the real you behind that desk. I want to see where you live and work so when I think of you, I can visualize it. That’s why I love memories. They can be so real at times when you don’t have anything else. So, is it a go or not?”
Martine slipped into presidential mode. “Come along. Don’t look at anyone or make eye contact, okay?”
“Got it! I know the drill, Marti.”
“Why are we doing this, Hank? I think you know this building better than I do. Off the top of your head, how many times have you been here?”
Hank stopped in his tracks so abruptly, t
he president smashed into him. “Thousands. I told you why. But I wasn’t sleeping with my commander in chief then. Therein lies the difference. If I wanted to, which I don’t, I could sketch this out for you right down to the tiles and the wormholes in the wood on the floor. Like I said, I just want to see you sitting behind your desk in your bathrobe. Humor me. Or, I can leave now and let you get back to running the world. Your call, Marti.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re here. I have to take a deep breath each and every time I walk into this room. I don’t know if I will ever get used to it. So, you just want me to sit behind my desk and look presidential in my ratty old bathrobe?”
“Exactly!” He grinned. “Now, lean forward and look straight at me.” He made a box with his hands, like a photographer framing his next shot. “You are now speaking to the man who is falling in love with you.”
“Oh, Hank, really?” She wasn’t the president then, even though she was sitting in the president’s chair. She was just Martine Connor, who was falling in love with the man staring at her.
“Yep. Now, wink at me like we share a secret. Ah, now, you see? That’s the memory I’m going to take with me. My turn now.”
“What do you mean, your turn?” Martine asked nervously.
“My turn to sit behind the desk so you can capture my likeness. I want us both to have the same memory. What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Well, no…I don’t…this is…”
“Highly irregular?”
“That, too,” Martine said, getting up from behind the desk and walking over to where Hank was standing.
Hank did some arm flapping and foot shuffling as he seated himself. The toe of his boot snaked out imperceptibly to open the bottom drawer of the president’s desk. He raised his ankle a little higher as he smiled into the make-believe camera the president was holding.
“Do I look handsome and dashing? Do I look like a man you could maybe fall in love with?”
Clearly flustered, Martine smiled weakly. All she could do was nod, because she didn’t trust herself to speak. This wasn’t right. Some internal something or other was twanging away at her insides.
“Okay, here comes the wink! Did you capture me in all my glory?” Hank asked as he slid the bottom drawer shut, with barely any foot movement at all.
“I did. I have to get back. They’ll be bringing me the PDB to look over.”
“Ah, yes, the President’s Daily Brief. Okay, I’m outta here. Do I get to kiss the president in the Oval Office?”
Hank had a bad moment when Martine jammed her hands into the pockets of her robe and looked him in the eye. “Do you want to?”
“I do, but I can see your heart isn’t in it. I guess it’s all those cameras. I’m sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable by asking you to bring me down here. I know there are a hundred sets of eyes on me, so I can find my way out. Thank you for a wonderful evening, Marti.”
The president licked at her lips, turned, and left the room without another word. She turned right, and Hank turned left. Her shoulders slumped, and there were tears in her eyes as she walked down the hall. She felt one of them splash on her hand.
Every pore in her body shrieked that the leader of the free world had been conned, and it had all just been captured on film.
But it wasn’t captured on film. Hank Jellicoe had seen to that. The only thing captured on film was the contents of the president’s bottom desk drawer.
Hank waved offhandedly to some of the Secret Service agents as he made his way out of the West Wing. Outside it was still dark, and a light rain was falling. He climbed into his specially equipped Humvee, which was outfitted just the way the Secret Service Suburbans that transported the president to various destinations within the District were.
The Humvee seemed to have a mind of its own as Hank drove with one eye on the side of the road for an all-night establishment that served food and coffee. It wasn’t the food and coffee that he wanted, but the anonymity of a dark parking lot.
Hank knew this place, had conducted business here on other occasions. It was a mind-your-own-business kind of hole-in-the-wall that drew a certain clientele. Hank had a way of fitting into any group or situation. He whipped out his satellite phone the minute he put the Humvee into park and dialed the number that would put him in contact with Charles Martin. There were no greetings. Hank’s words were minimal. “I’m uploading it now.” Five seconds later he was out of the Humvee and striding toward the hole-in-the-wall, where he would order a man-size breakfast of pancakes, eggs, sausage, and a double side of bacon, along with toast, juice, and coffee.
Hank settled himself on a ratty stool at the counter so as not to take up a whole booth and looked up to catch the early-morning news.
Another day in the life of Hank Jellicoe.
Chapter 17
Martine Connor entered her quarters and immediately walked over to the window that she’d stood at hundreds of times since moving into the White House. The temperature had risen during the night and had climbed still higher throughout the morning. It was raining out now, a slow, steady rain that was melting the snow even as she stared at it. She turned and looked around as she tried to remember why she’d come up here to her quarters in the first place. Did she come because she couldn’t concentrate? Or did she come to cry? Well, she’d never been a crier, so that wasn’t it. She swiped at a tear at the corner of her eye.
How could she not have known that Henry Jellicoe knew Lizzie? How? She was the president of the United States and was supposed to know everything. Well, almost everything.
Frustrated with her thoughts and where they were taking her on this dismal morning, Martine walked over to the refrigerator, a stainlesssteel monstrosity she had chosen from a catalog and had come to hate. She poured herself a glass of orange juice, which she didn’t want, but before she did that, she banged her clenched fists so hard on the countertop, she thought she’d broken some fingers. She gave a very unpresidential snort. If she broke her hand or her fingers, how could she sign her name to all the different things that were put in front of her every day of the week?
Where in the name of God had her backbone gone? The orange juice, which she’d been holding in her hand, spilled over the side of the glass as she plopped it down on the counter. She whirled around, then squared her shoulders before she marched out of her quarters and made her way to the West Wing and the Oval Office.
Martine settled herself behind her desk. She licked at her lips before she bent down to open the bottom desk drawer. Before she could change her mind or think twice, she picked up the folders that contained the presidential pardons for the vigilantes and placed them on her desk. She kicked the drawer shut with her foot. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let it out with a long loud swoosh of sound.
Her foot inched out, and she pulled open the opposite drawer and withdrew the file on Global Securities, which she had asked Lizzie to pull for her. It had to weigh at least ten pounds. “That would have been the time when you should have told me you knew Henry Jellicoe, Lizzie,” she whispered to herself. “Makes me wonder why you didn’t,” she continued to whisper.
Martine took another deep breath, then picked up the phone. “Toby, can you come in here for a minute? Bring my schedule for today.”
She made a second call to her secretary, Jackie Hollis. “I want you to call Lizzie and invite her for lunch in my quarters. Ask her if she prefers corned beef on rye or pastrami on rye. Some potato salad would be nice and some apple pie for dessert. Call the kitchen and ask them to serve us around one fifteen. Do not take no for an answer where Lizzie is concerned. Thank you, Jackie.”
The president looked up to see Toby Daniels standing in the doorway with a sheet of paper in his hand. She motioned for him to come forward. The president scanned the sheet of paper and said, “Reschedule this, this, and this. Then I want you to call all my advisors and have them up here at exactly three o’clock. This is not negotiable.”
“Sh
ould they ask why, what would you like me to tell them?” Toby asked.
The president laughed. Toby thought it was the strangest sound he’d ever heard in his life. “Now, that depends, Toby, on whether you want me to tell them or you want to tell them yourself that they’re all going to be fired. I want security in place to escort them out of the White House the moment they leave this room. You know the drill. I want to see the press release before you send it out. That will be all, Toby. You’re smiling, Toby. Why is that?”
“Just wondering what took you so long,” he replied, grinning.
“I got a swift kick in the pants this morning that made me see the light. I’m feeling pretty good right now, Toby.”
“Replacements?”
“It’s being taken care of as we speak. Well, almost. I have to make a phone call. That’s why I want to see the press release first. The press will want to know the names of the replacements. I take it you approve?” It was more a question than a statement.
“I do.”
Toby gave an airy wave of his hand before he closed the door behind him.
The president walked out to Jackie Hollis’s office and said, “I want you to call the head of Global Securities and tell him…to…tell him I’m ready to take him up on his offer and to have his trusted advisors in my office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Tell him to watch the news. The White House will be making an announcement later this afternoon. What did Lizzie say about lunch?”
“I went down to her office, and she seemed in a bit of a daze this morning. She said lunch is fine.”
“Lord, she isn’t sick, is she? There’s so much flu going around.”
“Oh, no. I think she was preoccupied, and she just wasn’t being Lizzie. We all have days like that, or maybe it was me, and I didn’t read her right, Madam President. And she wants corned beef.”
Game Over Page 14