Indecent Exposure

by Stuart Woods

  Stone switched on the TV, and every news station was reporting its version of the Heckley/Wafford story. Kate’s victory in the election seemed almost like an afterthought. He switched it off. “I don’t think I can take this on an empty stomach.”

  As if on cue, a maid knocked and pushed a cart into the room. Moments later, Stone and Holly were sitting up in bed eating scrambled eggs and bacon. The TV was back on.

  “And what does your day hold?” Stone asked.

  “I’m visiting the State Department and being introduced to my staff, or at least, those I don’t already know from working with them on the National Security Council. Stan Adamson is going to be there to introduce me. And you?”

  “I’m due for a drink with Kate and Will in the family quarters at six. So are you.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Since they appointed me their personal attorney, I’ve put together a team at Woodman & Weld, which will be known as The Barrington Group. There’s a thick envelope on the table across the room containing a document I put together explaining everything. I’ll deliver a copy to them this evening.”

  “I’ll look forward to reading it.”

  “There’s something else I want to discuss with you, but I don’t want to talk about it here.” He tapped an ear with his forefinger.

  Holly looked shocked. “Really? Not here?”

  “That’s correct,” Stone said. “We’ll talk about it later, when the circumstances are more favorable.”

  “Whatever you say,” Holly replied. She jumped out of bed. “I’ve got to get myself together.”

  3

  That evening they took the elevator to the basement garage, where Holly’s SUV awaited them. The street door was open, and Stone pulled her up the ramp with him.

  “I’ll be just a minute,” Holly called to her security team.

  Stone put his briefcase into the SUV, then they turned down the block.

  “Okay, shoot,” Holly said, taking Stone’s arm.

  Stone didn’t hesitate. “I want you to have the house swept by your security team for listening devices, and I want them to do this at least every three or four days, but not on a regular schedule. Your car, too.”

  “Are you coming over all paranoid on me, Stone?”

  “I don’t think that the political opposition is going to cheerfully accept the election results,” he said, “and we’ve already seen how far they’re willing to go.”

  “But Wafford is already in jail, and Heckley is a fugitive.”

  “Wafford has certainly already been bailed out, and being a fugitive won’t keep Heckley from operating for long. Even if I’m wrong about this, it won’t hurt to be a little paranoid.”

  “All right, whatever you say.”

  “Also, you have to start being more careful in how you proceed with your life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For instance, you had your car meet me at the Manassas Airport yesterday. That’s personal use of an official vehicle, and that could come back to bite you on the ass.”

  “I suppose,” Holly said.

  “When you get to the office tomorrow, I want you to report that to your chief administrative officer, have him give you a bill for the cost of that service, and reimburse the State Department with a personal check. Thereafter, anytime you make personal use of any government property or service, do the same thing. You want to establish a consistent paper trail.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  They reached the next corner, and Stone turned them back toward the house. “The other thing is, we’re probably being photographed while we’re on this little stroll, so you’d better get ready to see the photographs in the National Inquisitor, because that little rag is one of Max Wafford’s properties.”

  “I told you, I’ve already discussed this with Kate, and she’s fine with me being a single woman with a sex life.”

  “Tomorrow morning I want you to meet with your public affairs officer at State and discuss me with him or her.”

  “Her.”

  “Have her prepare a few statements to the press, to be distributed as soon as such an article runs. We’ll be mentioned in the more prestigious papers, too—you can count on that, so be ready for an instant response.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t mention a sex life—make it a personal life. They won’t need any help from you in bringing sex into the story.”

  “Well, they won’t be able to suggest I’m a lesbian.”

  “No, they’ll probably hint that you’re bisexual. Don’t let yourself be photographed hugging or kissing a woman. And, apart from the statements that you and your public affairs officer are going to write, don’t make any statements or answer any questions on your personal life. You’ll want to establish that rule immediately and stick to it.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Do you recall an occasion in your personal life, many years back, when you were chief of police at Orchid Beach, when you liberated a suitcase full of cash before, during, or after a major drug bust?”

  “I seem to recall such an incident,” Holly said.

  “And you may recall opening a numbered account in a Cayman Islands bank, which issued you a credit card for your surreptitious use.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve given a great deal of thought as to how you might legitimize these funds, which now amount to, what, seven million dollars?”

  “Eight and a half.”

  “I’ve come to the conclusion that any action we might take with regard to laundering that money would be far too dangerous to contemplate, so you must immediately stop drawing on those funds with your credit card or depositing or withdrawing further funds. Do you have a legitimate investment account?”

  “Yes, with a brokerage house.”

  “Good. For as long as you’re secretary of state, and maybe for some time after that, don’t go near any of the Cayman funds.”

  Holly nodded. “You’re right.”

  “And avoid any trips—official or unofficial—to the Cayman Islands. When you opened the account, was your passport stamped on entering that country?”

  “No. I’m not that stupid.”

  “You’re going to be issued a diplomatic passport, so shred your old one and lock your credit card in your safe at home.” He paused. “On second thought, give the card to me, and I’ll secure it.”

  “All right, I’ll give it to you tonight.”

  “And I hope I don’t have to tell you not to use a personal e-mail server?”

  Holly laughed. “Of course not.”

  “And close any personal e-mail accounts you already have. Have you usually done your personal e-mail on your own computer?”

  “Yes, it’s at home.”

  “Then remove the hard drive from it and give it to me, along with your credit card, and install a new hard drive.”

  “I know how to do that.”

  “The State Department will issue you a new phone, perhaps more than one. Give me the old one and buy a new iPhone for strictly personal use, as in e-mails to your father and his wife or to me. Even then, be very circumspect about what you say in any e-mail and use that phone as little as possible.”

  “Why not just destroy the old hard drive and the phone?”

  “Because you may find yourself in circumstances where it’s to your advantage to turn over old devices. That way, no one can say you’ve destroyed them to hide something.”

  “I see.”

  “You’re also going to have to be circumspect in your personal life, especially with what invitations you accept, even to dinner parties. In those cases, always ask your hostess to send you a guest list. You don’t want to find yourself backed into a corner by a journalist who demands some background or a quote.”

  “Can I s
ee men other than you?” she asked slyly.

  “Of course not!”

  “I thought not.”

  “Oh, all right, but before you make any dates, ask your people to run a background check on the men.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Do you want to find out later that somebody you’ve slept with is an unregistered lobbyist for some creepy foreign regime? Or that he has two wives and families in different cities?”

  Holly sighed. “You know what I’m really happy about?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I’m just delighted that I don’t have an ex-husband out there, spreading lies about me, or even worse, the truth!”

  Laughing, they got into the car and left for the White House.

  4

  They drove through the main gate of the White House and were met by two men, one who parked the car, the other who escorted them upstairs to the family quarters.

  The Lees greeted them with hugs, handshakes, and kisses, and so did Kate’s son Peter Rule, and his fiancée, Celeste Saltonstall.

  “Would you like a drink?” Kate asked them. A White House butler stood by to take the order.

  “Yes, but first we have some business to conduct,” Stone said. “I’ll be as brief as possible.”

  Everyone took a seat, and Stone placed his briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. “Presidents Lee, have you any objection to Holly, Peter, and Celeste being present during this meeting?”

  “None,” the two said simultaneously.

  “We’re going to need a notary standing by to authenticate your signatures.”

  “We’re ahead of you on that,” Will said. “There’s one waiting outside in the hallway.” A Secret Service agent, who had been standing inside the outer door, discreetly stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him, and the butler vanished.

  Stone removed three handsomely leather-bound, thick folders from his briefcase and handed them to Will, Kate, and Holly, whose names were embossed on the covers.

  “I would like to make a recording of these proceedings,” Stone said, “for both accuracy and historical purposes. Have I your permission?”

  “Yes,” they all said.

  He set a recorder on the coffee table and switched it on. “If you will open your folders, the first document you see will be a letter appointing my firm and me as your personal attorneys. You have seen this before, and no changes have been requested since then. If you are agreeable, please sign the document. My signature is already present, representing the firm.”

  Everybody signed.

  “Now, we have set up a sort of mini law firm inside the larger firm, to be called The Barrington Group at Woodman & Weld. The members of the group are four partners, including me, four associates, and eight assistants. The second in command, as it were, is Herbert Fisher, who speaks for me in my absence. Their photographs and biographies are in your folders, along with all their contact information—phones, faxes, e-mail, et cetera. At some point when you’re in New York, drop by and be introduced to all of them. They are all available to you twenty-four/seven, and all of them will be briefed on all the client information, so that any one of them can help you. As you know, I live in more than one place, but in my physical absence, I am always available by cell phone and e-mail.”

  Everybody leafed through the sheets.

  “Currently eight clients are served by the group, the Presidents Lee, Secretary Barker, and five of my existing clients—Strategic Services, the Steele Insurance Group, the Arrington Hotel Group, Laurence Hayward, a private client, and Triangle Partnership, a new investment group set up by myself and two others, Michael Freeman of Strategic Services and Charles Fox, formerly of Goldman Sachs, who is our chief investment officer. Charley Fox will always be available if, in addition to your brokers, you require another opinion concerning the purchase or sale of an investment. Over the next few years the partnership will be conducting IPOs from our existing holdings, and you may have the opportunity to invest in those on favorable terms, after consulting your own financial advisors.

  “All the personal files you have given us have been digitized and are available to all those in the group, and the originals will be stored in a separate, secure area of Woodman & Weld’s storage facility. The group has its own local area network, and stringent security measures are already in effect.

  “Next in your folders are the wills and trusts we have drawn up for you, and your living wills, each incorporating any changes you may have asked for. Please sign these where indicated, and we will need the notary and three other witnesses to sign, as well.”

  The notary, two agents, and the butler were called in to witness the documents, then departed.

  Stone removed copies of another document and gave them to Kate. “This is a deed of gift of your former Georgetown residence from my ownership to that of the State Department, for the purpose of housing secretaries of state. You have already approved the terms and conditions.” Stone closed his briefcase. “And that concludes our business, unless you have further questions or requests.”

  No one said anything for a moment, then Peter Rule cleared his throat. “Stone, I would like to retain you and your group as my personal attorneys, if that is agreeable to you.”

  “Of course, Peter,” Stone said. “Let’s meet when you’re next in New York to discuss that in detail.”

  “And, of course, when Celeste and I are married, she would also like to retain your services.”

  “I’d be delighted. Anything else?”

  No one spoke.

  “In that case, I’d like to extend an invitation to you all. I am a partner in the ownership of a recently completed yacht of a hundred and twenty-five feet, with seven guest cabins, and I’d like to invite you on a cruise during the holiday season, dates to be agreed later. The yacht will be based in Fort Lauderdale for the winter, but we can all meet it at any convenient port. Presidents Lee, you should know that there is a helicopter landing pad aboard, should you wish to arrive with extra discretion, and there is room aboard for two Secret Service agents. I would expect that the remainder of your detail would travel in an escort vessel of the Navy or Coast Guard.”

  “We accept!” Kate Lee cried, and the others echoed her.

  “Wonderful!” Stone said. “Please consult with each other and let me know your dates, and I will make all the arrangements.”

  “Time for a drink,” Will said.

  “Not just yet—first, I have a little surprise for you.”

  “I’m getting pretty thirsty,” Will said.

  “Restrain yourself, you’ll be happy you did.” Stone produced another document from his briefcase. “I have here an offer for each of you from an important New York publisher, with whom I have negotiated terms, which I commend to you. Holly, your offer is for an advance of five million dollars for a work of autobiography, to be completed within two years of your leaving office. The initial payment is one million dollars, on signing.” He handed her the offer. “Of course, as a public official, you may not accept this offer until you leave government service, so I will keep it on file for you.

  “Kate, your offer is for three works of autobiography for twenty-five million each, and your check is for fifteen million, less commission comprised of the initial payment for each, the remainder to be paid on a schedule to be negotiated. Like Holly, you may not accept until you leave office, and I will keep the offer on file for you.

  “Will, your offer is for three works of autobiography, the first of which you have already completed and which the publisher has accepted. The advance for each book is twenty million, and since your manuscript has been accepted, and since you are no longer in public service, I give you a check for thirty million, less our commission, the check being comprised of the entire contract sum for the first volume, and two payments of five million each as the initia
l payments for the next two books, the remainder to be paid on a schedule to be negotiated.” He handed Will the check.

  Will clapped his hands, and the butler appeared. “Rex, please locate the best magnum of champagne in the White House cellars and serve it!”

  “First, Will,” Stone said, “you should sign the offer.”

  Will did.

  Stone tucked the documents into his briefcase. “And don’t forget to pay your taxes,” he said, accepting a glass of champagne.

  —

  The following morning the maid wheeled in the breakfast cart and handed Stone the papers.

  He glanced at the Washington Debater and winced. “Now it starts,” he said to Holly, handing her the paper, which featured a large front-page photograph, above the fold, of the two of them, arm in arm, during the previous evening’s stroll. The headline read:

  NEW SECRETARY OF STATE AND LOVER

  NEAR GEORGETOWN NEST

  Holly looked at the paper. “Oh, God,” she said.

  5

  Holly came back from her dressing room, ready for work. Stone was still in bed, reading the papers.

  “I’ve gotta run,” she said. “Do you want to come over this afternoon and see my splendid new offices?”

  “I’d love to,” Stone replied, “but you’ll be far too busy for that, and I have to get back to New York.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I know, but you can come and see me.”

  “Don’t count on it until after the inauguration,” she said. “I should have everything in better shape after that.” Her cell phone rang. “Hello? . . . Good morning, I’m just leaving the house. . . . Oh, yes, I saw it. I’m canceling my subscription to the Debater—I didn’t even know I had one. We’ll deal with it when I get there. Goodbye.” She hung up. “That was my public affairs officer, warning me of my new tabloid fame.” She kissed him.