by Stuart Woods
“He’s at the White House now. I suggest a swearing-in ceremony in the East Room tomorrow morning, then Marty can head west for Mike Rivera’s swearing-in. We’re lining up half a dozen stops in California for him after that. There’s a real celebration going on among Hispanics in L.A. and San Diego, and we want to take advantage of that mood.”
“Good idea. Have you cleared my schedule for the swearing-in?”
“We have to move only one half-hour appointment with the Pakistani ambassador and the secretary of state to tomorrow afternoon.”
“Have the secretary call the ambassador personally about that. I don’t want him to feel shunted aside when we shunt him aside.”
“Right. That’s all. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Bye-bye.” Will put away his cell phone and continued to the family quarters.
Martin Stanton was sitting before the fire when Will walked in. “Congratulations, Mr. Vice President,” Will said, shaking his hand. “That went about as smoothly as we could have hoped for. Have you talked to Sam Meriwether?”
“Yes, Will, and thank you again for the appointment. Where’s Kate?”
“She’ll be here in a few minutes. Can I get you a drink?”
“I’ll have some of that bourbon you like,” he replied.
Will tossed his jacket on a chair, loosened his tie, and went to the bar.
“I hear you handled Charlene Joiner nicely last night.”
“Yes, but not so well this morning.” Will told him about the early-morning encounter.”
“She really expected you to pardon the son of a bitch?”
“Charlene is a force of nature,” Will said, “and she’s accustomed to getting what she wants. Did you know she went to Atlanta and screwed the governor of Georgia to get Moody’s death sentence commuted?”
“I’d heard that, but I thought it was just a bawdy joke.”
“Nope. The embarrassing thing is, I facetiously suggested she do that, just to get her off my back. I was astonished when she actually pulled it off… ah, so to speak.”
Stanton laughed. “That’s unbelievable.”
“So is Charlene,” Will said, sipping his drink. “Oh, don’t mention her when Kate gets here.”
“Right.”
“Don’t mention who?” Kate said, closing the door behind her and kicking off her shoes.
“Never mind,” Will said.
“Congratulations, Marty,” Kate said, pointing at the bar. “Will, I’ve got to talk business for a minute. You want to go down to the double O?” They had a rule about not talking business in the family quarters.
“Oh, go ahead,” Will said.
“It’s not good news. We’ve got a report from a previously reliable source in Pakistan that the nuclear warhead taken from the last of the missile sites, south of Islamabad, has disappeared and has, possibly, fallen into the wrong hands.”
“Oh, shit,” Will muttered.
25
The President and Vice President of the United States and the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency dined on the coffee table, sitting on the floor. The White House kitchen had sent up rack of lamb, new potatoes, and haricots verts, with apple pie for dessert.
“I suppose,” Will said to Kate, “you’ve alerted the Joint Chiefs about this warhead, so they can alert their intelligence people.”
“Yes, and I have an eight-o’clock meeting with them tomorrow morning,” she said. “I don’t think you should attend yet. If word got out, it would get the media all stirred up. As it is, we can call it an unsubstantiated rumor, which it pretty much is.”
“Then let’s say no more about it this evening,” Will said, “and just enjoy our dinner.” He tasted the California cabernet and poured them all a glass.
***
They had finished their dinner and were on brandy when the phone rang. Will picked it up. “Yes?” He punched the hold button and turned to Stanton. “For you-your wife.”
“I’ll take it in my bedroom,” Stanton said, getting to his feet.
***
“Hello?”
“Marty?”
“Yes.”
“I hope I’ve called at an inconvenient time,” she said, and there was acid in her voice.
“I’m having dinner with the Lees. What’s wrong?”
“I had a meeting with my lawyers this afternoon. They want me to hire a forensic accountant.”
“What’s a forensic accountant?” Stanton asked, and he had an idea he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“That’s who a party in a divorce hires when she believes the other party is hiding money from her.”
“Betty, have I ever lied to you?”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that.”
“Why do you think I’m hiding money?”
“My lawyer says that, because you have family ties in Mexico, it’s very likely that you have money hidden there.”
“I’ve never lied to your lawyer, either. I gave him a complete and highly detailed financial statement, accompanied by all the backup documents, and nothing was omitted.”
“How about that vintage Cadillac you were born in? I’m told that’s worth a lot of money. California is a community-property state, you know.”
“Yes, I know that, and that car is not community property. It’s been in my family since a year before I was born.”
“How about brokerage accounts?”
“You have my brokerage statements. And by the way, the market is way down at the moment, so we’ll have to get current values when we sign the settlement.”
“So you’re going to try to screw me out of even more money?”
“Betty, you get half of my net worth. If you’d signed the settlement a month ago, when my net worth was higher, you’d have gotten more money. Even your lawyer advised you to sign then.”
“I wasn’t ready,” she said.
“Then you’ll have to accept the responsibility for that. I’ve done all I’m required to do, all I’ve agreed to do.”
“Then why didn’t you announce the divorce at the hearing, the way you said you were going to.”
“The president’s people decided it would be better to wait until I’m sworn in.”
“And when is that?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“And, of course, I’m not invited to Washington for that.”
“You told me you didn’t want to come to Washington.”
“So I can’t change my mind?”
“It’s too late now.”
“So what about this money you’ve hidden? Where is it?”
“Betty, neither you nor your lawyer has the slightest reason to think I’ve hidden money. Why would I put money in a Mexican bank?”
“Because you could.”
“Betty, I can only give you my word that I have no money that isn’t included in that financial statement. If you aren’t willing to accept that, then there’s nothing more I can do. I’ll ask my lawyer to call your lawyer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to dinner. Good-bye.” He hung up, and he was sweating. He was glad he wasn’t in Sacramento, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to strangle his wife. She had been reasonable up to now, but she seemed to have become deranged. Perhaps it was that she was being egged on by a mercenary divorce lawyer. He hoped that was all there was to it.
26
Will was wakened from a sound sleep by a heavy object being dropped on his abdomen from what seemed like a great height, making a whomp noise. “Huh?” he managed to say after he had gotten his breath back.
Kate was fully dressed. “Got your picture in the paper,” she said. “Enjoy!” She slammed the bedroom door on her way out.
Will struggled to sit up in bed. The object that had struck him was the combined weights of The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, the Los Angeles Times, and the New York Daily News. A headline from the News screamed at him: PREXY PAWS STAR. This was accompanied by a half-page full-color pho
tograph of him with his hand on Charlene Joiner’s left breast. Will flung the newspaper across the room, just as the butler was entering with his breakfast on a tray.
The butler dodged the paper just in time. “Good morning, Mr. President,” he said, setting the tray in Will’s lap.
“Good morning,” Will replied. “Sorry about the newspaper.”
“Quite all right, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
The man left, and Will began searching for the TV remote control among the covers. By the time he found it and turned on the set, his breakfast was getting cold. He looked at the tray: a single, poached egg on dry toast, a small glass of orange juice, and a pot of coffee. He began eating as the Today show popped onto the TV screen.
“… and the president managed to get himself photographed in a compromising situation with Charlene… ”
Will switched to Good Morning America. “… Joiner, Hollywood’s biggest sex symbol,” the program continued. Will switched off the TV set and attacked the lonely egg.
***
Will entered the Oval Office at the stroke of eight o’clock. His top campaign staff were waiting, sipping coffee and eating Danish. Will grabbed a cheese Danish and poured himself some coffee. “Morning, everyone,” he said.
“You’ve seen the papers?” Tom Black asked.
“You mean the picture of me with Charlene Joiner’s breast in my hand?”
“That’s the one.”
“I put out my hand to hold her off,” Will said. “She walked right into it.”
“Funny there was a photographer on station at that very moment,” Sam Meriwether said.
“Yeah, funny,” Will said.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Moss Mallet said. “In the past, every time your name has been linked with Charlene’s, your polls have gone up.”
“This time my hand was linked with her breast,” Will said. “That ought to make me the most popular man in the country.”
“With men,” Kitty Conroy said. “Women will want to kill both of you.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Moss said.
“As long as they get Charlene first,” Will said. “We’re going to have to take further steps to see that she doesn’t get near me again between now and the election.”
“What sort of steps?” Sam asked.
“I ordered Kitty to tell the Secret Service to shoot her, but Kitty failed me.”
“Mea culpa,” Kitty said.
“Charlene has this new thing,” Will said. “She wants me to pardon Larry Eugene Moody.”
There was laughter in the room.
“It’s funny to everybody but Charlene,” Will said. “And when she wants something, it’s very hard to stop her.”
“What is it you want done?” Tom asked.
“The first thing is, we have to be sure she is not on the guest list for any White House dinner. If she turns up here, Kate will shoot her and save the Secret Service the trouble.”
“Done,” Kitty said, making a note.
“It’s not enough just to screen the guest lists for her name,” Will said. “She’s perfectly capable of sneaking in here on the arm of some invited guest. In those circumstances it would be very hard to stop her.”
“I think what we have to do,” Tom said, “is to start a sort of Charlene Watch. If we know where she is at every moment, we can sound the alarm if she gets within a mile of you.”
“Within a hundred miles of me,” Will said. “But don’t go hiring any private detectives. That would not look good on the campaign fund’s reporting forms.”
“We’ll do it with volunteers,” Tom said.
“That might work,” Kitty said, “if they’re male volunteers.”
“Please, please,” Will said, “don’t let the press track this back to the campaign. Tell the volunteers that if they get caught, they’ll have to plead to stalking her.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Tom said. “If she gets close, we’ll head her off at whatever pass she’s riding in from.”
“Thank you,” Will said, “I feel better now.”
Kitty held up a sheet of paper. “Here’s the veep’s statement.” She read it aloud. “Vice President Martin Stanton and his wife, Elizabeth, announced today that they are divorcing after twenty-nine years of marriage because of irreconcilable differences. The parting is mutual and amicable, and Mr. and Mrs. Stanton request that the media respect their privacy in this matter.”
“First question they’ll ask,” Tom interjected, “is, Why was the announcement not made during the hearings or before the swearing-in?”
“The delay was at the request of Elizabeth Stanton,” Kitty said. “She didn’t want their personal differences to overshadow an important time for the country.”
“Is that true?” Will asked.
“I spoke with her myself,” Kitty said. “She was very reasonable about requesting that, after I suggested she request it.”
Moss spoke up. “I give the story one news cycle,” he said. “Unless there’s another woman.”
“What about another man?” Kitty asked.
“Is Stanton gay?”
“You know what I mean: What if Betty Stanton has something on the side.”
“That would be the very least of our problems,” Moss said. “The question is still on the table: Does Stanton have something on the side?”
There was silence in the room.
Will broke it. “Surely, someone asked him.”
“I asked him the more general question,” Tom Black said. “You know: ‘Is there anything in your life we should know about?’ ”
“Well,” Moss said, “if it happens, it happens, and we’ll just have to deal with it.”
“I hope not,” Will replied.
***
At ten o’clock, a cast of media, congressional leaders, White House staff, and invited guests assembled in the East Room and watched as a Supreme Court justice swore in Martin Stanton as vice president of the United States. Hands were shaken all around, and, after the president and his new vice president and the justice had left the room and the president had walked the vice president to a waiting helicopter, the press secretary distributed the release concerning the divorce of the vice president.
There was, of course, a clamor of questions from the press, but the press secretary reminded them that the vice president and his wife had requested privacy, and that, anyway, the vice president was already in the air and unavailable for comment.
27
Vice President Martin Stanton had hoped for Air Force Two to wing him west, and he got that, but not in the form he had expected. Air Force Two turned out to be not the Boeing 747 he had anticipated but a Gulfstream III. His disappointment must have been apparent when he alit from his limousine, because the Air Force pilot had rushed over, introduced himself, and apologized.
“Mr. Vice President,” the man said, “I’m very sorry about the equipment today, but one of our 747s is down for an unscheduled engine change and the other, of course, has to be held for the president, should he require it.”
“Of course, Colonel,” Stanton replied. “I understand perfectly, and I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable.” Stanton walked up the stairs to the airplane, turned, and waved to the crowd, which consisted of two mechanics in coveralls and a pool television cameraman, there in case he should die on the way to the airplane.
Stanton briefly inspected the tiny private cabin at the rear of the airplane, which contained a single bunk and an uncomfortable-looking chair, then took a seat at a desk just outside the cabin. At least, he thought, this was an improvement over his California State aircraft, a short-legged Citation that had to stop and refuel on its way across the country.
Stanton took a look at the papers. Then, as the jet climbed to cruising altitude, he learned that he was not, even in the smaller airplane, incommunicado. The phone on the desk in front of him rang. He hesitated, then picked it up. The pilot must b
e calling him.
“Vice President Stanton, this is the White House operator,” a woman’s voice said.
“Good morning,” Stanton replied, surprised to be in touch with Earth.
“I have a gentleman on the line named Jacob Friedman, who claims to be your attorney and who insists on speaking with you.”
“I know him, I’ll take the call,” Stanton replied.
There was a click, then a male voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello, Jake,” Stanton said.
“Oh, Governor?”
“Not anymore.”
“Sorry, Mr. Vice President.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you when you’re… Where are you, anyway?”
Stanton looked out the window. “I guess that’s Virginia down there.”
“Then you’re on Air Force Two?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Wow, that must be impressive.”
“What’s going on, Jake?”
“Henry Wilcox-that’s Mrs. Stanton’s attorney-has just written to me, saying that they’re appointing a forensic accountant to go over your finances.”
“Yes, Betty told me that last night.”
“This is not a good thing, Gov… Mr. Vice President.”
“You can call me Marty, Jake.”
“It’s not a good thing, Marty. This could hold up a decree for months while this guy runs up as many billable hours as he can, all to no avail, of course, since you reported all your assets and liabilities on your financial statement.” He paused. “You did report all your assets, didn’t you?”
“I did. If I think about it hard, though, I might be able to come up with a few more liabilities. Tell Wilcox that Betty can have half of those.”
“Heh-heh, very good. I’ll put that in my petition.”
“What petition?”
“My petition to the court to suppress the appointment of a forensic accountant.”
“On what grounds?”
“Ah, too late in the process, no evidence of hidden assets, harassment, unreasonable delay, that business about new liabilities, and, of course, malice. A woman scorned and all that.”
