Bruce raised his hand in mock surrender. “Okay, I understand you’re ‘in the trenches.’ You probably deal with it too closely to be able to have the perspective. I appreciate that. I call a truce. Let’s go see how the Braves are doing and put the steaks on, if you think the baked potatoes are about ready.” Standing up with him, Rebecca took his hand and said, “Your truce is accepted and, by the way, if Mary gets a hold of you, you’ll probably wish you were still talking to me.” She laughed.
WASHINGTON—Leslie Sloane stood with the White House behind her in one of the spots designated for the network press corps to file evening news reports, going over her notes one final time. Ryan Denning, the network anchorperson in New York, would soon cut to her as the lead reporter for the first story that night. She had already taped a piece with clips from the president’s press conference that afternoon, to which she would now add a live introduction and a live close.
Leslie had been the U.S. Network’s White House correspondent for almost a year, and she was thankful for the spring warmth and the recent switch to Daylight Savings Time so that she was no longer doing these reports in the dark and cold of winter. But still the television required a bank of artificial lights.
The director gave the cue in her earpiece, and on the monitor by the minicamera she saw Ryan Denning beginning to speak on the set in New York. Then she was on.
“Yes, Ryan, President William Harrison held the first press conference of his new administration this afternoon, and by all accounts he did very well, answering virtually every question with precision and occasionally with some wit as well.” On cue, the prerecorded tape rolled, showing short segments from three of the president’s answers, in all cases portraying him as firmly in control, gracious, and smiling.
At the end of the tape the camera cut back live to Ryan Denning in New York, who looked very serious as he asked their preplanned question. “Leslie, were there any surprises at today’s conference?”
“Not really, Ryan. Other than perhaps the especially strong tone in which the president defended the legal rights of abortion clinics against those who have recently stepped up their scare tactics on women trying to get help. The president sent a clear message that his administration will not tolerate those tactics and will prosecute violators to the full extent of the law.”
“Thank you, Leslie,” Ryan continued. “Now from Kiev, Sam Rollins has the latest on that American embassy employee who was found dead in Odessa last week.”
Leslie Sloane put down her microphone and removed her earpiece. She was done for another day. “Thanks, guys,” she said to her regular crew behind the camera. “A good report. See you tomorrow.” And she headed toward Pennsylvania Avenue to catch a taxi back to her apartment.
She felt good about her report. The president had by no means been perfect, but she had decided even before the news conference began that unless he really blew something wide open, she would put a good “spin” on his performance.
It had been an open secret during the campaign that Leslie, like many in the press, agreed with William Harrison’s stands on most issues, and she particularly admired his choice of Patricia Barton-North as his vice presidential running mate. Now that Harrison had been elected, Leslie hoped his administration would get off to a good start and quickly pass many of his campaign promises into law, despite opposition from the other party. She never said so to anyone, but she felt a part of her job was to help him. His policies were too important to leave to chance. And she had appreciated being chosen by the White House to do his first interview right after the election. She smiled, thinking that the two of them made a pretty good team.
What a day, William Harrison thought as he hung his suit jacket in his closet and loosened his tie. Besides all the work we’re doing on policy and legislation, like this morning’s frustrating meeting, we had all of those high school kids before lunch and then the press conference this afternoon. Finally the state dinner for the French president. Sometimes I wonder how one human being is supposed to do all this! As much as Abraham Lincoln supposedly complained, I wonder if he would trade places with me now, or figure that fighting the Civil War was maybe a better deal than he knew.
Carrie looked up from the mirror at her dressing table where she was seated and noticed his silence and his frown. Trying to continue the new communication her husband had seemed to encourage, she smiled and said, “It’s been particularly rough these last couple of weeks, hasn’t it? I’m afraid we didn’t win any points tonight with Katherine by suggesting she attend the state dinner.”
“But she looked lovely in that new dress, and she’s been studying French all these years. I thought she would have wanted to practice on the French president. Sometimes I feel like I can’t win with her, no matter what I do.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know. We just happened to catch her on a night when she wanted to wear jeans and eat popcorn and study for her history exam. Anyway, she did look lovely, and you did score some points yesterday by having that meeting with the chief of the Secret Service detail. I think she feels a little more in control of that situation now. And the loosening of the procedures a bit will give her some much needed freedom. Thanks.”
“Well, I don’t want her to suffer, for heaven’s sake,” William said, walking into the bathroom. Carrie followed him a few minutes later and saw him leaning on the sink, a hand on each side, lost in thought, looking down at the running water.
“William, what’s the matter?” she asked, coming up behind him and gently putting a hand on his shoulder.
He began to speak slowly, almost in a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if being president of the United States is really all it’s cracked up to be, Carrie. Here we worked so hard and sacrificed so much, and now I hardly see our children, one of whom lives right here with us. We almost never have any time to ourselves. Every member of our family is studied like a rat in a laboratory. The press is always taking shots at us. And, worst of all, everyone from the man on the street in Des Moines to the president of Russia thinks I somehow have an answer for every problem facing the world today.”
He looked up into the mirror and met Carrie’s eyes. “I know it’s more than just Katherine tonight, William,” she said softly. “Please don’t worry. You’re doing a great job. You’re the best man for the job. No one expects perfection, and you’re doing great. We’ll get through it.”
A month ago he would have just grunted and turned away, but he had to admit that his first attempts at communicating again with Carrie had not been all bad. He still found it awkward, but she’d even helped him with some unusual insights once or twice this week. So he turned to face her and responded. “Carrie, we both know the majority of the voters wanted someone else. The press says I have a ‘mandate’ for change, and I certainly would never deny that publicly. But you and I know that if there had not been a split-away conservative third party, we wouldn’t be in this room tonight. And the problems and programs that seemed big but manageable in North Carolina just defy understanding here in Washington. Without one party in control there is constant gridlock. Everyone protects his or her own turf. I knew foreign policy would be difficult, but now I’m worried our important domestic policy will never get off the ground.” He paused and looked away. He had not shared feelings like these with her in a very long time. “Frankly, Carrie, our domestic program’s in trouble, and I’m running out of answers.”
“Well, maybe there was a majority for the others. But we’re here nonetheless. Answers will come,” Carrie said calmly. “Maybe God has a reason for you being here. I certainly feel that way.”
“You’ve been talking to Mary again,” William said, a faint smile momentarily replacing his frown.
“Mary’s not the only one who believes in God,” Carrie smiled back, trying to be open with him. “I guess I just don’t know whether he has time to control every little detail of every day, like she apparently believes. But on the big issues, yes, I believe in him. And I don’t think we w
ould be here if there were not some reason.”
“Hmm.” He leaned against the sink, crossed his arms, and said with a note of sarcasm, “Now on top of everything else, you think I should be listening for God’s purpose? What if I miss his signal? Will he sound a trumpet?”
Carrie felt the moment slipping. He opens up just a little bit and I have to talk about God! Why did I do that? “Please, William. Don’t worry so much. Look at today’s press conference. I watched you on television and you were magnificent. I understand why everyone thinks you have all the answers. You certainly seemed to have them today. I was so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Carrie, for that completely unbiased assessment. I’ll tell Jerry to think about firing Chris and hiring you as my press secretary.” She couldn’t really tell if he meant it as a compliment or as a put-down. She hated not being able to read her own husband, but she decided to let it pass; he had been trying, she knew.
“Really, William, you were very good today, and I was quite proud. Sometimes you get down on yourself, but no one is perfect. I still say that there must be a reason why we’re here.”
William turned and walked past her toward his closet, unbuttoning his shirt. “Well, maybe so,” he said. “But I tell you, if they want to see real commitment and confidence, they ought to let our vice president hold a press conference! She never seems to doubt one single thing. It sure would be nice to know how to approach every issue with such single-minded certainty. I mean, give her an issue, and she’ll tell you the answer!”
“I know, William,” Carrie said, sitting down at the dressing table again and picking up her brush. “Sometimes I worry that Patricia sees everything from only one perspective.”
“Well she’s right, of course. Our nation has got to change and be more progressive. That’s obvious. But unlike Patricia, I feel we have to do a little educating of our people as well. I’m not sure we can just cram all these changes down everyone’s throats in a matter of months, even with congressional help. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I worry that the majority of this country doesn’t really want our domestic program at all, even though it’s best for them.”
Carrie turned on the dressing table bench to face him. “Please don’t get down on yourself and your programs again, or you won’t be able to sleep. It has been a very difficult few weeks, and it’s been hard on you. I’m worried that you haven’t been sleeping well. I’m so glad we’ve got this weekend with your family at Camp David. William, you need to rest and relax with your family.”
William paused and said, “You’re right. It will be good to relax and see everyone again. Also, I want the family to see a little bit of what our new life is like. I really hope they enjoy it. It’s wonderful that Graham and Mary can bring Mom and Dad from Raleigh. By the way, do you know exactly how many of us will be there?”
“I think the total count is twenty-one, including Robert and the Russian friend he wants to bring from Chapel Hill; plus Rebecca’s new boyfriend, whose name, I think, is Bruce.”
“Well, I hope you’ve left plenty of free time for us just to ‘be,’” he said. “I promised Katherine. And you’re right that we need a rest. I’d like to have a few days together without a whole lot of scheduling.”
“I agree,” Carrie confirmed, continuing to brush her hair. “And William, please leave your papers here. You need a real change for a few days, not just a move of the White House to Maryland.” He returned her smile and saluted in agreement as he headed for the shower.
She had done her best to reinforce her husband’s confidence. But she was quietly worried. In their more than twenty years of politics together, she had never seen him so down on himself. I want to help you, William. Please, just let me, she thought. But she was glad for their small exchanges over the past week. Well, she thought, maybe he does just need to recharge his batteries. Some time with the family will be good for all of us. Hopefully he’ll come back refreshed and relaxed.
ON BOARD THE BRIGHT STAR—It was still dark in the early morning hours in the Eastern Mediterranean. Sadim Muhmood lay in his bunk on the Bright Star, having passed another sleepless night. But Sadim’s sleeplessness was not due to worry or self-doubt; those were two emotions Sadim never allowed himself. Rather, he had been awake all night because of a fire that burned inside him. A fire that burned more intensely the closer he came to his goal. And a fire that increasingly would not let him sleep.
One did not grow up in the Palestinian refugee camps and become at an early age one of the acknowledged leaders of the Movement by doubting one’s abilities. As a young street lieutenant he had been singled out by the elite, very secret, and totally committed Free Palestine Movement. He had learned a great deal in the twenty-year period from the early seventies to the early nineties. He had learned how to steal and how to kill. He had learned how to organize men so that secrets would be kept. But because of his special abilities, which were recognized early by the Movement’s leadership, Sadim also learned how to move transparently in international circles, how to blend into the highest circles of power in the world, whether in the Mafia leadership or in the most conservative governments, and how to play the shifting winds of the cold war to secure the greatest material and political benefits for his comrades.
The end of the cold war and the isolation caused by the Persian Gulf War had cut the Movement off from its primary sources of funds and support in the Eastern Bloc countries. But by then the Movement had amassed enough financial wealth to be self-supporting, and the end of the cold war had created another very beneficial effect: a period of three years in which the former Soviet Union was essentially without order or discipline. During this period Sadim and the Movement had acquired the nuclear bomb that now rode safely in the modified cargo hold of the Bright Star, less than two hundred feet from his stateroom.
Despite this great victory, or rather because of it, Sadim occasionally could not sleep. The Council’s plan, of which he was the partial author and now the single leader, was running like clockwork. But the clock was running too slowly for Sadim’s internal fire. This fire had been kindled in the camps of his youth, as he watched his parents humiliated and driven from their land, his teenage friends punished, and his faith belittled by callous politicians and the necessities of ‘world order.’ He wanted the clock to run faster so the end they planned would come sooner. And on those nights when he heard the clock ticking too slowly he sometimes could not sleep.
He rubbed his temples, trying to relieve a mild headache. Nevertheless he smiled, considering how all of the events had played into their hands, from the acquisition of the warhead to the availability of the parts and expertise they needed, even to the obvious weakness of the current American president. It would be eighteen more months before they attacked the United States, but he doubted whether William Harrison would be a worthy adversary, given the weak and indecisive president he appeared to be.
Sadim had never met President Harrison, but he had watched him many times on television. The eyes. He had studied Harrison’s eyes and seena politician, not a warrior. And of course an infidel who did not believe in the Prophet Mohammed. What will he do when the pictures start arriving? Feel helpless and confused, as we have done for three generations? He smiled again. That morning as he began his prayers, Sadim thanked Allah for giving him William Harrison. Sadim even prayed for the president’s continued good health, at least for another eighteen months.
3
Religion in America...must nevertheless be regarded as the foremost of the political institutions of that country.... I do not know whether all the Americans have a sincere faith in their religion; for who can search the human heart? But I am certain that they hold it to be indispensable to the maintenance of republican institutions. This opinion is not peculiar to a class of citizens or to a party, but it belongs to the whole nation, and to every rank of society.... Christianity, therefore, reigns without any obstacle, by universal consent.
ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE
> Easter Weekend
Two Days Later
WASHINGTON—A cold front blew across the East Coast on Thursday, replacing the first really warm weather of April with a reminder of the winter just passed. It rained in Washington on Thursday, but Friday morning dawned clear, cool, and windy, with the promise of a beautiful Easter weekend ahead. Congress had already adjourned for the Easter recess, and Washington assumed the slightly slower pace that was possible when the House and Senate were not in session.
The previous evening the president’s son, Robert, had arrived from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, along with Alexander Piminov, an exchange student from Kiev. Robert met Sasha, as he was called, through his Russian language studies, and they happened to live in the same dorm.
The extended Harrison family gathered at the White House at noon. They came from as nearby as Norfolk, home for Hugh, Jennifer, and their three children, and as far away as Denver, where Rebecca’s daughter Courtney lived. Carrie and her daughter, Katherine, conducted the family’s tour of the White House, for which there had been no time at the inauguration, and the president walked along with them, listening to his wife and daughter describe the national monument in which he hoped to live for eight years. He was pleased to see that Katherine appeared to be enjoying herself. But on three occasions he was called away to phone calls.
Will they leave him alone at Camp David? Carrie wondered.
The first lady designed the luncheon to be casual yet with enough ceremony to give her husband’s family a taste of what White House formality could be like.
The President Page 8
