“My apologies,” said the waiter. “But our bar menu is quite limited at this hour.”
“In that case, three cognacs,” said Harry.
Harry’s Senate confirmation hearing was scheduled to commence in ten days, but that announcement had been lost in the day’s events. The FBI had given Jack strict orders not to speak to the media about the ongoing investigation, but that wasn’t enough to keep the networks from making him a central part of the night’s lead story-which was playing out again on the TV behind the bar:
“A tense scene unfolded outside the Smithsonian this afternoon, as undercover agents from the FBI overpowered and arrested a man in connection with what White House sources are calling ‘a serious and credible threat against President Keyes.’ With more on the story, including an exclusive report on the key role of Harry Swyteck’s son in today’s arrest, is White House reporter Paulette Sparks-”
The bartender hit the remote, switching from cable news to ESPN.
Harry said, “How is it that every news station on the planet has the same exclusive report?”
“Politically correct journalism,” said Andie. “The inclusive exclusive.”
Harry glanced at the hockey game on the TV screen, but today’s headlines were still clearly on his mind. “So, how does it feel to be a hero, son?”
Jack shook his head. “This was supposed to be your show, not mine.”
“Well, from now on, it’s a two-man show.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was the president’s suggestion, and I think it’s a good one. For the congressional hearings, he would like to see you seated beside me as my lead counsel.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. What do you think of that, Andie?”
“I think…that’s up to Jack.”
“I don’t know a thing about congressional hearings.”
“No worries. You’ll have teams of the best lawyers in America backing you up.”
“So unlike Ollie North’s lawyer, I guess I am a potted plant.”
“Not at all. Look, I’m not going to pretend that there isn’t a public relations component to this decision. Plenty of ink was spilled in the press about our disagreements when I was governor, and making you my lawyer is a very public way of putting those issues to bed once and for all. Beyond that, you’re my son, and you’re a great lawyer. Why shouldn’t you represent me?”
The waiter brought their cognac, but just the sight of it had Harry yawning uncontrollably.
“I’m beat,” said Harry. “I’ll leave you two alone and enjoy this in my room. The plan is to do congressional role-playing tomorrow and get me ready for the hot seat. So don’t stay up too late, Jack.”
“I didn’t say yes,” said Jack.
“You will. Sleep on it. I’ll meet you in the lobby at nine.”
They said good night, and the Secret Service agents followed Harry to the lobby. Jack cast his gaze toward Andie. Even at this late hour, she was the proverbial sight for sore eyes. Jack liked her in sweaters, and he didn’t often see her wearing them in Miami.
She said, “Sounds like you won’t be flying back to Miami with me tomorrow.”
Jack swirled his cognac in the glass. “I should at least see what this is all about.”
“You’re going to end up moving to Washington. I can see it.”
“No way. I love Miami.”
“Is that the reason you won’t leave? You love Miami?”
“You know it’s more than that.”
“Jack, we need to talk.”
He gulped. Those seemingly innocuous words killed with quiet efficiency-the death by lethal injection of relationships.
Best defense is a good offense.
“Suppose I do move up here after my father becomes vice president. What would you do?”
“You mean, would I move up here with you?”
“Yeah. Maybe not now, but say it’s six months from now and things are still going strong between us.”
“Let’s not do this.”
“Just hypothetically,” said Jack.
“I don’t like hypotheticals.”
“Then have another drink.”
“Jack, stop. Have you given a moment’s thought as to how hard this is for me?”
“How hard what is?”
“The whole son-of-the-vice-president Washington scene. Tonight alone, I must have gotten fifty phone calls from people telling me that you were all over the national news.”
“Today was a bizarre day.”
“It’s going to be one bizarre day after another.”
“Until the confirmation hearings are over.”
Her reaction was one of complete incredulity. “Do you really think that’s the way it works? Your father becomes vice president, and your life goes back to the way it was?”
“Absolutely. My father was governor, remember? That didn’t stop me from living my life the way I wanted to.”
“Tallahassee is not Washington. And what about me?”
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve worked really hard to build my career. How do you think my colleagues at the bureau are going to treat me knowing that I’m dating the vice president’s son? What kind of assignments will I get? Who would even want to work with me when, in their minds, I could pick up the phone and get everyone from the cleaning lady to the director of the FBI fired if I wanted to?”
Jack paused. It embarrassed him to realize that he hadn’t seen her side of things. “We’ll work through it. We love each other, right?”
“It’s not a question of how much we care for each other.”
Another gulp. Bad sign when “love” turned into “care.”
Jack said, “Do you honestly think any of this is going to change us?”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“That’s what really scares me, Jack. You don’t even see it coming.”
He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him directly. His brain was working overtime, searching for the magic words. They didn’t seem to exist.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to get into all this tonight.”
“No, I think it’s a good thing.”
She rose and grabbed her coat. “I’m going to bed.”
“Right behind you,” he said, rising.
His BlackBerry chimed, signaling a “new” voice mail message that was actually four hours old. Jack was getting crappy wireless service in Washington. Jack listened as he and Andie walked toward the elevators.
“This call is for Jack Swyteck. Paulette Sparks from CNN International.”
She paused for more than just a moment. Jack might have hung up on another reporter, but he would have recognized Paulette as an important Washington player and a television personality even before his father’s nomination.
“I’d like to meet with you,” she said. “Tonight, if possible. Or first thing tomorrow. There’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s important.”
There was another pause, and Jack sensed that it wasn’t just for effect. The silence between thoughts and halting cadence were very unlike her confident on-air delivery. It only intrigued Jack further.
“This is not another reporter hounding you and your father for the Washington scoop. In fact, this will be totally off the record.”
One more pause.
“It’s…personal, you might say. Call me. Please.”
The message ended, and Jack tucked away his phone, thinking.
“Who was that?” said Andie.
“A reporter.”
“As Ronald Reagan once said, ‘There you go again.’”
“No, this sounded different. She says it’s personal.”
“Funny,” said Andie, as the elevator door opened.
“What?” said Jack.
Andie stepped inside. “I didn’t think anything in Washington was personal.”
Chapter 13
At 6:0
0 A.M. Jack walked Andie down to the cab stand in front of the hotel.
“Now remember, Jack. When you go up Capitol Hill without your Jill, don’t fall down and break your crown.”
“Very funny,” he said, then kissed her good-bye. She had an early flight and, as she’d predicted, Jack wasn’t going back with her.
Jack hadn’t slept well last night. He wasn’t really worried about that team of Washington lawyers. He’d dealt with those types before.
The call from Paulette Sparks was on his mind.
Jack walked back upstairs, showered, and dressed. He figured 7:00 A.M. was a civilized hour to return Paulette’s call, given the urgency she had seemed to attach to their meeting.
“Thanks for calling,” she said. “Can you meet me at the Pennsylvania Avenue Caribou Coffee at seven-thirty?”
His meeting with the lawyers wasn’t until nine-thirty. “What’s this about?”
“Can’t discuss it on the phone. We have to meet.”
She made it sound as though they really did have to meet.
“Sure, I’ll see you there,” he said.
Jack did his best to be on time, but he had so much on his mind that he walked right past the coffee shop without even realizing it. Paulette was on her second cup by the time he doubled back and apologized for being late, but she thanked him just for showing up. Either she was the nicest journalist he’d ever met, or she really wanted something from him.
“I enjoy your coverage of the White House,” he said.
“Thank you. Let’s hope that doesn’t change.”
She was smiling when she said it, showing Jack a warmth that seemed more genuine than her television personality. She was prettier in real life, too. Less makeup.
“I saw the e-mail you got on Sunday,” said Paulette.
“Really? That hasn’t been made public.”
“I’m a Washington reporter. I see lots of things that haven’t been made public.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss it with you.”
“That’s fine. I’ve already promised the FBI that I wouldn’t go on the air with it.”
“A journalist with self-restraint is a good thing,” said Jack, “at least until the FBI has a better handle on the threat against the president.”
“Nor do I want to jeopardize the investigation into my sister’s murder.”
Jack paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. When did that happen?”
“Saturday night. She was shot at a bus stop here in the district a few hours before you got your e-mail.”
“Are you saying there’s a connection?”
She took her iPhone from her purse, pulled up an image on the screen, and slid the phone across the table to him. “You tell me.”
“What is this?”
“It’s a picture I took of Chloe’s e-mail inbox on Sunday morning, right before the FBI came to her apartment with a warrant and took away her computer. Look at the subject line for the message third from the bottom.”
Jack didn’t have his e-mail memorized, but Chloe’s message-“I can bring down Keyes. No Bullshit. Meet me at…”-was so similar to his message-“I can make your father president. No bullshit. Meet me”-that it triggered perfect recollection.
“Eerie, isn’t it?” said Paulette.
“What did the full message say?”
“The FBI won’t show it to me, and I’m still working on a source to leak it.”
“I’m not your source.”
“Don’t need one yet. When I do, I’ll let you know. You’ll come around.”
Jack wasn’t sure if she was kidding, serious, or somewhere in between. He took another look at the photograph.
“I need some context here. Why would your sister get an e-mail like this?”
She began with a sigh, and Jack listened to the compressed version of what he knew was a much longer story. Juxtaposed with Chloe’s most recent job at the Inquiring Star, her work for Vice President Grayson as a White House intern jumped out most for him.
“Why did she get fired?”
“They said she got caught with a joint in her purse.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“Chloe always denied it was hers. Claimed somebody planted it on her. I didn’t believe her. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“What changed?”
“As I’m sure you can imagine, Chloe was kind of an embarrassment for me around the White House.”
“Because she got fired?”
“That. And the rumors.”
“What rumors?”
Paulette smiled thinly. “We’re here.”
“Here-where?”
“That place I mentioned earlier. Where you trust me enough to be my source.”
“Your source on what?”
“These threats, if more come in. The investigation, if there are any breaks into who sent the e-mail you already received.”
“And why would I be your source?”
“Because I’m not coming to you as a journalist. I just want to find out what happened to my sister. And because I can tell you things that you couldn’t possibly have learned in just two days at the White House. All you have to do is trust me.”
“I don’t even know you. I can’t promise you anything.”
“Tough guy, huh? That’s okay. I’ll tell you a few things anyway. After all, sharing knowledge is power.”
“I think the actual saying goes, ‘Knowledge is power.’”
“Not in Washington. Here, the real power is in deniability. If I share knowledge with you, I take away your deniability. It’s the ultimate power play.”
Jack took a second to process that one. Andie’s words were suddenly tumbling around in the back of his mind: You don’t even see it coming, Jack.
“Okay, I’m listening,” he said. “I guess.”
Paulette said, “Last month, a friend in the White House told me that Chloe was trying to get in touch with the vice president. It got to the point where Grayson’s chief of staff called me into her office to see if I could put a stop to it, before the FBI stepped in.”
“The FBI? She was a journalist who used to work for the vice president. She has every right to try to contact him.”
“Contact, yes. Stalk, no.”
“Your sister was stalking the vice president?”
“Depends on your definition of stalking. Chloe had some history that worked against her.”
“You mean getting fired?”
“Other issues.” She drank some coffee, then continued. “The protocol for White House interns is strict: how to dress, where they’re allowed to go, and most important, how to act when the ‘principals’ are present.”
“She violated that?”
“The White House is the only place where the president is not a celebrity. Interns aren’t supposed to hang out in halls that they expect the president or vice president to walk through, or park themselves outside rooms where they may be meeting. Chloe was one of the few interns who earned a blue pass, which gave her access to the West Wing. Frankly, I think she became a little star-struck. Chloe started to, shall we say-hover-around Grayson.”
“What happened?”
“Well, she ended up getting fired.”
“For drugs.”
“That’s what they say,” said Paulette.
“Again, you sound skeptical.”
“I can’t help it. I’m a journalist,” she said, her tone turning more serious. “And because this is my sister we’re talking about.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand you,” he said. “But I really don’t see where this is leading.”
“It comes down to this e-mail,” she said, holding her iPhone. “I’m guessing that it wasn’t the first communication between Chloe and her source. Why else would the FBI have shown up at her apartment with a warrant to get her computer? So let’s say the give-and-take between Chloe and her source went back a few weeks, maybe longer. If you read Chloe’s e-mail-the promise of a story
that will bring down Keyes-in tandem with the message you got-an offer to make your father president-it makes you stop and think. Maybe there was a reason Chloe was trying so hard to reach the vice president. Maybe she was trying to convey the same information.”
“About an assassination attempt?”
“No. Don’t you get it? The key word here is not ‘threat.’ It’s information. Chloe had information that could bring down Keyes and make Grayson president. Your source has information that could still bring down Keyes and make your father president. That’s why the FBI won’t let me see the full e-mail that Chloe received.”
“Wow” was all Jack could say.
“So?” said Paulette. “Are we there yet?”
Jack was about to ask where, but she had that look on her face again, and he knew she was talking about trust. “Are you proposing some kind of partnership?”
“The FBI is not going to tell me anything. Mark my word: they are not going to tell you anything, either. I have sources. You’ll have yours. If we cooperate, I might just find out what happened to my sister. And you might find out what your father is walking into-before it’s too late.”
“That makes some sense.”
“It will make even more sense if you’re free for about another hour.”
Jack checked his watch. He had time. “Free for what?”
“I have a meeting, and you’re welcome to tag along.”
“Who’s it with?”
“Someone who is now terrified to talk to anyone, thanks to the strong arm of the FBI. He may be the only man alive who can identify the person who sent you that e-mail.”
“Are you talking about that homeless guy who hand-delivered the message to me yesterday?”
“You got it.”
“The FBI wouldn’t even tell me his name. How did you find him?”
“Sources.”
“Must be nice to have them,” said Jack.
“Good boy,” she said, smiling thinly. “You’re learning.”
Chapter 14
Ascenic walk down Pennsylvania Avenue took Jack and Paulette to Lafayette Park, a seven-acre public green space directly north of the White House. At the southeast entrance they were greeted by a statue of Marquis Gilbert de Lafayette, a French hero of the American Revolutionary War and France’s “pay-it-forward” answer to World War II and the liberation of Paris. A block north was St. John’s Episcopal Church, the unofficial chapel to the White House since James Madison staked out pew 54 almost two centuries ago.
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