by Nick Harlow
THE GIRL IN THE WHITE HOUSE
By Nick Harlow
Copyright © 2017, Nick Harlow
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
10:14 am, November 1
Six days before the Presidential election
Just about every high level political official in Washington, DC considered Sydney Donovan to be a royal pain in the ass.
The President’s daughter considered it a compliment.
After living for nearly four years in the White House, the tall, broad-shouldered redhead had become a walking encyclopedia of politics, having pestered every single member of her father’s cabinet and staff with non-stop questions. The seventeen-year-old First Daughter’s emerald green eyes clicked over to high beams and her constellation of freckles caught fire whenever she picked up any tidbit of information on the inner workings of the country, her insatiable 160 IQ basically a sponge.
One that preferred to soak up life experience rather than regurgitate facts from a book.
She had taken home schooling to a new level, earning a veritable PhD in things like foreign affairs, military strategy and homeland security, her “teachers” members of her father’s cabinet. Her trips to the shooting range with the Secret Service and martial arts classes with the FBI were simply extra credit that had turned her into a buffed tower of muscle. And in her spare time, Sydney studied the languages of the country’s enemies.
Because you never know when any of that stuff will come in handy.
As for more traditional subjects, her mastery of math and science took little effort, her only challenge the minefield of what made the Nation’s Capital tick.
And after her mother’s sudden death two years ago, it became an obsession.
The only child of a widowed President had stepped into the ceremonial role usually held by the First Lady, and the country ate it up. The media couldn’t get enough of a telegenic, whip-smart teenager with the brain of a spunky forty year old who often made ribbon cuttings and charity fundraisers must-see-TV by adding spot-on political comments usually reserved for senior members of Congress. Commentators speculated she’d return to the Oval Office in about thirty years.
As President.
But on a day the country was on the brink of war, she wanted to be doing anything but giving a VIP tour of the White House bunker, even if it was, in her opinion, the coolest place in Washington.
Sydney power-walked to her mother’s old office, long legs eating up huge chunks of hallway, her copper tangles dusting the shoulders of her royal blue jacket with every step. She smiled at the Secret Service agent next to the door. “Morning, Agent Brooks.”
“Good morning, Miss Donovan.” Suddenly the fortyish agent with the olive complexion and eyes to match stepped in front of her. “Quick question... our computer is down and I need to confirm your schedule. Do you still have the two tours of the bunker today?”
She rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately. First one at eleven o’clock. I’ll be taking some of the spoiled brats of parents who donated to my father’s campaign along with some other kids of important people. We all have a cross to bear, Agent Brooks.”
The muscular agent with the black wavy hair chuckled a bit. “Do you remember who’s on the tour?”
She furrowed her brow, wondering why he would care since she did regular behind-the-scenes White House tours for friends of the President and all guests were routinely cleared far in advance by the Secret Service. Then again, Brooks was newly assigned to the White House and was probably just being overly careful. No one on the President’s detail ever wanted to make a mistake. “Not everyone. Like I said, some kids of those with deep pockets, an intern, a Senate relative.” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of one other guest in particular. The only one who would make the tour palatable. “And Speaker Rusch’s son Scott.”
“Is the Speaker’s kid on the first tour or the second?”
The smile got a little bigger as her eyebrows did a little jump. “He’s on the first tour.”
“Thanks. You have a good day, young lady.”
“You too. Be careful out there.”
“I would if I were going anywhere today.” He raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into the microphone tucked into his sleeve as she walked past. “Brooks here. Confirm Spitfire will be leading bunker tour, first one at eleven hundred hours, second at thirteen hundred. Spawn of Loudmouth included on guest list for first tour.”
Sydney couldn’t help but laugh at the Secret Service code name for Speaker of the House Sterling Rusch, who really did have a tendency to yell having never figured out that microphones actually work. She loved her own code name, an obvious reference to her hair color.
Though she liked to think it may as well have referred to her personality.
She opened the door to her mother’s large office, the aroma of fresh flowers filling her lungs as she found administrative assistant Gladys Haines on the phone. The sixty-year-old slender gatekeeper pulled a pencil from her gray hair, made a few notes, then ended the call with her usual, “Yeah, tawk laytuh,” in her wicked Brooklyn accent. She looked up at Sydney, studying her face with dark eyes as she held out her hand. “Homework assignment, young lady?”
“Yes, Miss Haines.” Sydney stood up straight and handed her the paperwork in order to satisfy the local home schooling requirements which kept her out of the social hell known as high school.
Gladys immediately slid the sheets into a file, knowing the assignments didn’t remotely challenge the student. She pointed at the old-school desk blotter she used instead of a computer. “Youse gotta bunkah tour at eleven.”
“Yes, ma’am.” While technically Gladys worked for Sydney, she had acted as a strict Aunt since the death of the First Lady. Sydney was smart enough to realize she needed an adult in the room with her father gone so often, and actually enjoyed the structure Gladys provided. She could have easily called her by her first name, but wanted to show respect to the woman who had taken her under her wing. Her mother had adored Gladys, and she was beginning to feel the same way.
“Yestuhday I noted a certain Democratic progeny is on the list for the early tour.” She shot a little smile at Sydney.
Sydney’s face flushed a bit. “Oh, uh, who would that be? I forgot who’s coming.”
Gladys raised one eyebrow as she always did when anyone tried to sneak one by her. “Oh, gimme a break. Just be careful, young lady. He’s a cute little thing. Boys who look like that are dangerous. I oughta know. Been married to one for thirty-six years.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got my eye on a guy who works in the kitchen. You’d like him. The one with the motorcycle and all the tattoos. He’s taking me out for dinner at a hot dog cart and then we’re going for his-and-hers body piercings.”
“Smartass. But I will admit the young man who has captured your interest of late ha
s a lot of good qualities.”
“I’ve known that since I met him in fourth grade.”
“I realize that, but now you see him in a different light, yes? I’ve seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you. Like I said, he’s dangerous.”
“Can we please change the subject?” Sydney glanced at the framed portrait of her mother on the wall, then moved around the desk, leaned down and gave the woman a hug. “I’m glad you look after me, Miss Haines.”
“Hell, somebody has to when your father isn’t here. Can’t have the Spitfire running wild around the White House.” Suddenly Gladys turned serious. She cocked her head at the door and lowered her voice. “Honey, close the door. I need to talk to you for a minute and the hallway has ears.”
“Sure.” Sydney moved back to the door, closed it, and sat in front of the desk. “What’s up? You look worried. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. But watch what you say around that new agent.”
“Why, what’s wrong with Brooks? He seems okay.”
Gladys shook her head. “I dunno. I gotta sixth sense about things. Something’s up with him. I overheard a conversation he had with another agent. Pretty critical of your father. And his handling of the current situation with the Russians. Most new agents are smart enough to keep their political views to themselves.”
Sydney shrugged. “I’m sure not all the agents voted for my dad.”
“Yeah, but you want the guys who will take a bullet for you to be on the team one hundred percent. And he’s awfully nosy.”
“Maybe he’s trying to be thorough since he’s new. Isn’t that his job?”
“Most of the time. He asks too many questions about stuff that has nothing to do with his regular duties. I’ve been here a long time, honey, seen a lot of agents come and go. Something worries me about that one. You can talk to him, but don’t say anything about your father’s business.”
“Copy that. He shouldn’t be on the tour anyway. I’ll be with Agent Ryan as usual.”
“Your father always has his best guy watching your back. Now go make a pot of coffee or I’ll get cranky.”
“Excuse me, you’ll get cranky?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want I should call the Speaker’s office and tell his kid the tour is canceled?”
Sydney quickly stood up. “Black, two sugars, coming right up.”
“And make a big pot, it’s gonna be a long day.”
Sydney turned and started to head for the coffee machine just as her father arrived. President Frank Donovan looked haggard, his lean, rugged face drawn, eyes bloodshot. The tall, distinguished fifty-year-old with graying temples forced a smile at the secretary. “Morning, Gladys.”
“Morning, Mister President.”
He moved toward Sydney and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “Hey, Shortcake.” He handed her a small red shopping bag.
She hugged him hard in return, breathing in his earthy cologne, knowing the stress of the current negotiations was off the charts. “I missed you, Dad. How was New York? Any progress last night?”
He shook his head in disgust. “Sadly, it was a total waste of time. You know how much I love going to the United Nations. Most useless people on the planet wasting waterfront real estate in Manhattan while breaking the law under diplomatic immunity. They think diplomacy is the solution to everything. In reality it just prolongs a crisis.”
“I know. They want you to be Captain Picard and talk the enemy to death. Sometimes you have to be Captain Kirk. Fire a photon torpedo up the Russian Premier’s ass.”
He laughed a bit. “You’re my daughter, all right.”
“Hey, everything I needed to know about politics and warfare I learned from watching original Star Trek.” She looked in the shopping bag and took out a snow globe of the Chrysler Building for her massive collection that had exploded after the media got wind of it. “Dad, you’ve got enough on your mind between the Russians and the re-election campaign without stopping to get me a souvenir.”
“Sorry, my most important job is still being your father. And I know that’s your favorite building in Manhattan.” He brushed a hair from her forehead. “Speaking of being your dad, I understand you’re doing a tour today in your favorite hangout. With the Speaker’s son.”
Sydney shot a quick look at Gladys and shook her head. “I’m so glad my life does not fall under a classified heading.” She turned back to her father. “It’s just a tour, Dad.”
“Uh-huh. I might have to turn on the surveillance cameras in the bunker to keep an eye on you two.”
“I’m sure you’ve already briefed Agent Ryan on the situation and that he will break the Speaker’s son in half if his eyes aren’t up here.” She pointed at her face.
“I wonder what your mother would say about you having a crush on the son of a flaming liberal.”
Sydney looked at her mother’s portrait for a moment, then turned back to her father. “Mom would use your proper name, as she always did when she wanted to let you know she was the boss of the household even though you’re the leader of the free world. She would have said, Francis, the girl will be eighteen in a few months and has to learn from her own mistakes. And then she’d turn to me and say, Sweetie, if this young man treats you badly I want you to kick the living shit out of him. Which wouldn’t be a problem since I’m taller than the guy.”
“Oh, so you admit this is a mistake.”
Gladys laughed. “He’s got you there, honey. You forgot he was a lawyer and can twist your words. The prosecution rests.”
Sydney took her father’s hands. “Look, Dad, this isn’t the Montagues and the Capulets here. You know we’ve always been best friends and now it’s a little... different. Besides, he still hasn’t ever asked me out on a real date. And you know he’s nothing like his father and barely speaks to him. He even showed me his absentee ballot that he just mailed in. He voted for you.”
“Sounds like a teenage boy trying to make points with my daughter.”
“Dad, you’ve known him for years. He wants nothing to do with politics and stays away from his father as much as possible. He’s always been his own man. I mean, geez, if Gladys likes him, what better reference do you need?”
“I know. I’m just giving my daughter a hard time. Part of my duties as a dad. Scott really has turned out to be a fine young man with a bright future and I wouldn’t mind it at all if you two ended up together. But thank God that apple fell a long way from the tree. Probably because he’s adopted and doesn’t have the genes of the devil.”
“Besides, being in the public eye twenty-four-seven doesn’t exactly allow me the opportunity to run off with him and do something inappropriate. Not that I would anyway.”
“I know. It’s just that his father is a horrible human being and he’s doing everything in his power to make me lose the election. Sometimes it is hard to look past that.”
She patted her father on the shoulder. “I know he’s the biggest thorn in your side. You two can bury the hatchet at the wedding.”
“Very funny. Though I’d bury it in his back.” He pulled her close and gave her a strong hug. “I’m so glad I raised a sensible daughter.” He leaned back, his hands on her shoulders. “Anyway, today’s going to be a rough one. I don’t know if we can have dinner together. Might be an all-nighter.”
“I expected as much. I’ll have dinner with Miss Haines and wait up.”
“I want lobster if I’m staying,” said Gladys.
Sydney laughed. “You got it. Dad, you think the Russians will honor the deadline?”
“I don’t know. If they don’t, I don’t have much choice. I’ve drawn a line in the sand, and if they cross it I can’t back up and draw another one. It’s a scary time, Shortcake. A lot at stake today.”
“Wish I could be in the Situation Room with you.”
“I do too. Hell, you’ve got as much common sense as most of the people in there, and more street smarts.”
Sydney smiled and
cocked her head at Gladys. “You can thank her for the latter.”
“No kidding.” He looked at his watch, then kissed her on the forehead. “Well, gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too. Good luck, Dad.”
He smiled, wished Gladys a good day and left the office.
She turned to Gladys. “God, my father looks fried. I know he hasn’t been sleeping much. Sure wish I could help him.”
“Trust me, honey, you already did.” She pointed at a credenza with a bunch of colorful small shopping bags. “Don’t forget your freebies.”
Sydney grabbed the swag bags for the tour guests, filled with playing cards, coffee mugs and key chains, all with the presidential seal. She grabbed them all along with the shopping bag that held the snow globe. “Let me get this stuff down to the bunker before the tour gets here. If the Speaker’s son arrives before I get back, promise me you won’t interrogate him.”
“Damn, I was looking forward to using hot lights and thumb screws.”
10:55 am
HARRY TRUMAN WAS RIGHT.
The buck stops here.
President Frank Donovan couldn’t help but think of the sign on Truman’s desk. He ran his hands through his thick dark hair and leaned back in his chair as everyone in the Oval Office looked to him for answers on how to avoid a conflict with a superpower.
And now that it seemed like the Russians were about to cross the line he’d drawn in the sand, he had none.
He couldn’t back down.
He turned to take quick look at the television tuned to a cable news station, the sound muted.
Not that any was necessary.
The Russians troops were poised on their side of the demilitarized zone, ready to march toward the red line.
And Donovan was out of time.
The Secretary of State held up his wrist watch and pointed at it. “Mister President? We need a decision. What do you want to do?”
Donovan folded his hands and leaned forward. “We have no choice. We cannot back down after issuing the ultimatum. We cannot show any weakness.”
The Secretary nodded. “I agree. It is unfortunate but diplomacy has failed. Not that I expected it to work. Not that it ever does with the Russians. I’m sorry, Sir, I feel like I’ve failed you.”
