I Do Solemnly Swear (11 page)

“Suppose it wasn’t as potent as the poison that killed President Rodgers?” Kate said.

“The coffee’s being tested, Madam President,” Cranston said, “but I assure you, you were not poisoned.”

She sat up, and her head began to spin. “Who’s testing it, the same agents who tested David’s last meal?”

Cranston groaned. “I understand your concern, Madam—”

“I don’t think you understand anything.” She threw the washcloth on the cocktail table. “Why don’t you and your agents finish what you’re doing and give me some privacy?”

Cranston gathered his agents and left immediately.

Dr. Weinberg picked up his black bag. “It’d be a good idea for you to have a complete health appraisal, Madam President. I can arrange it at your earliest convenience.”

“Maybe next week doctor. My plate is a little full right now.”

The doctor set his bag on the carpet and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve seen four presidents come and go. Not one of them found time to take care of themselves. Things will keep. Your health may not.”

“I’ll buzz you in a day or so.”

“Your elevated blood pressure concerns me. I’d like to do an upper and lower GI to find out what’s going on with your digestive system as well.”

“It’s nerves, Doctor. I always puke and get excruciating stomach pain when I think I’ve been poisoned.”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “Have a good day.”

***

From the cedar walk-in closet, Kate grabbed her blue business suit and laid it on the bed next to Peter. She could not fathom that he’d slept through her entire ordeal. The sun peeked through the partially opened drapes. When Kate glanced at Peter’s slightly illuminated face, she could see he was sound asleep.

How could she ever look at him again with respect? She considered waking him, but at this particular moment, she despised him. He’d spoken his piece, and to embroil him into another exasperating conversation was not something her stomach could tolerate.

Kate wondered if the president could call in sick. Wasn’t there a law that entitled her to personal and sick days like the rest of the working world? She quickly dismissed the notion and forced herself back to reality. She quietly dressed, slipped on her shoes, checked herself in the full-length mirror, then headed for the West Wing. Her first appointment was not until eight a.m. She glanced at her watch. Good. She had plenty of time to clear her mind and shift her focus to the business of the day.

As she walked through the crowded corridors, she shared good-mornings with those she passed. She took the stairway to the first floor and crossed the hallway toward the executive offices. As she approached the Oval Office, she remembered her early morning adventure. Who had McDermott been talking to at such an early hour?

It’s just a matter of time
.

Kate tiptoed down the hall and knocked on his door. Perhaps she’d blindside him, put him on the spot before he could gather his thoughts.

No answer. Again, she knocked and twisted the doorknob. Locked.

She opened her office door, took one step inside, and stopped dead. Her stomach, still churning and tumbling, warned her to remain calm.

He was standing over her desk. His head snapped up.

“
Charles
?”

McDermott walked around the desk and glanced at his watch. “You’re here bright and early this morning, Madam President.” His voice seemed mellow, more relaxed than usual.

“What are you doing?”

She watched his Adam’s apple rise as he swallowed hard.

“Olivia wants to see you. I penciled her in at four.”

“Do you know why?”

“Something about PR strategies.”

“What time did you get in?”

“Four thirty. Amazing what you can accomplish before the floodgates open.”

She pondered for a moment. Peter’s quick departure would raise a lot of imposing questions, and if the media sniffed marital problems, they’d turn it into a soap opera. She didn’t wish to see her picture on the front page of the
National Enquirer
. She had to speak with
someone
.

“Can I confide in you, Charles?”

***

As president, Kate relished the sumptuous dinners prepared especially for her. It was a presidential benefit she most enjoyed. But she rarely had time to eat a normal midday meal. She had just finished a turkey sandwich; the tang of Grey Poupon hung in the back of her throat. Her stomach had settled down, finally, and it was the first solid food she’d eaten in eighteen hours. She was relieved when the lab results confirmed that the coffee she had drunk prior to her stomach pain hadn’t been tainted in any way. It was pure Columbian hazelnut. On her list of things to do, this was one less issue for her to worry about. At least for now.

Having been in the White House only ten days, Kate observed that the endless meetings with everyone from Cabinet members to senators to generals, solving problems, brainstorming, and strategizing were rudimentary functions of the presidency. Everything revolved around conferences.

Emily knocked. “Madam President, Vice President Owens is here.”

“He’s early.” She could think of few things as unsavory as facing Owens.

“He’s a
very
impatient man.”

“I’ll be with him in a couple of minutes.”

Kate had felt uneasy with it, but confided in McDermott. She asked the COS how to handle Peter’s departure. He had said, “Sit tight until we have an opportunity to evaluate our options.” She couldn’t afford to let fate take control. She dialed Peter’s cellular number.

“Miles here.”

“It’s me.”

“I missed you this morning,” Peter said. “Wanted to say good-bye.”

“My office is a five-minute walk.”

“Had I known you were there—”

“Where are you?”

“On my way to the airport.”

“Are you alone?”

“I’m in one of your limos.”

Agents, of course, would accompany him.

“I want you to keep our separation confidential. Nobody needs to know our business. You
are
going to continue helping Ben, correct?”

“More than likely.”

“Then make that the reason we’re apart.”

“In a week or so, a lot of people are going to ask questions,” he said.

“Let them.”

“What happens when the Alexander trial is over?”

She didn’t answer.

“Kate?”

“I’ll cross that bridge then.”

“Consider it done.”

There was a long pause. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was unsteady.

“You all right?”

“Fucking terrific, Peter.”

She didn’t let him say good-bye. For a moment, she sat silently, bits and pieces of their relationship dangled in her mind like a collage. Kate forced the memories out of her thoughts. She opened her center drawer, removed a small mirror, and checked her eyeliner. It really was waterproof. When she regained her composure, she buzzed Emily.

The vice president, former Speaker of the House, entered her office with a harrowing flourish. His overbearing posture was immediately visible. He extended his hand as he shuffled his portly body toward the president. Kate stood and reached across her desk.

How had he ever been elected to Congress?

He grasped her hand with a viselike grip. “Good afternoon, Madam
President
.”

The pretense hidden in his distinct annunciation set Kate’s nerve endings ablaze. Along with a sleepless night, the recently acquired title of estranged spouse, and a gut turned inside out, Owens’s smug attitude removed any possibility of an amiable conversation. Walter Owens was a champion of the double entendre, an Olympian in the sport of subtle one-liners. Kate was not mentally prepared for this battle. She was still brooding over her disorderly life. Even Gandhi could antagonize her today.

Owens sat in the wing chair and craned his neck, gazing around the office like he’d never been here before. “The presidency certainly affords you enviable luxuries, doesn’t it?”

She tried to smile, but her lips narrowed to a thin line. Owens was pushing her.

He adjusted himself in the chair, his wide hips barely fitting between the armrests. Kate noticed blood filling his cheeks. He folded his fat little fingers together as if he were going to pray. She couldn’t imagine the god to whom Owens prayed.

“Madam President, I’ll not waste time with pleasantries. There’s an uneasiness in Congress. My colleagues presume that I have a privileged link to the White House or some magical influence over you, so many come to me with their concerns.”

“Considering that you’re the VP, I can understand why.”

He fixed his stare on her and leaned forward. “My constituents ask me a lot of sensitive questions.”

“What goes on in the White House is common knowledge. Tell them to read the
Post
.”

“There is deep concern with the Healing of America platform. Do you intend to follow through and introduce these radical bills to Congress?”

She wasn’t quite sure what his angle was just yet but knew better than to respond yes or no. “That’s a difficult question. I’ll reserve the answer until I’ve had the opportunity to confer with my advisors.”

“But as I understand it,
you
drafted these bills.”

“That is correct, Walter.”

“Then why would you require consultation from your advisors?”

“It’s lateral thinking. Perspectives from a different angle are quite illuminating.”

“Madam President, your State of the Union address is in three days. Surely you must know whether or not you will discuss your bills.”

“I’m going to postpone the State of the Union address.” It was a decision she hadn’t made until this moment.

He sat upright in the chair. “May I speak candidly?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“It is not my intention to undermine you, Madam President, but you have not been in Washington long enough to fully understand the dynamics.”

Kate was nearly over the edge. “Why don’t you give me a crash course, Walter?”

Her comment seemed to excite him. He struggled to cross his legs. “Politicians are really gymnasts. We are forced to juggle voters while balancing on a very narrow platform. If we lean too far right, we alienate the liberals. And if we lean to the left, the conservatives are up in arms.”

“Sometimes it’s good to fall on your ass. It puts things in proper perspective.” She could see Owens’s face flushing. “Instead of waltzing around the issue, Mr. Vice President, why don’t you save both of us a lot of time and tell me what’s on your mind.”

His forehead was dripping wet. He blinked several times and folded his hands. “Introducing the Healing of America bills is a huge mistake. There is a vast difference between ideology and reality. Initiating drastic policy changes is a tricky business. Legislation is a slow, tedious process. One cannot approach delicate and sensitive issues so recklessly. Your Healing of America bill tries to tackle tax and welfare reform, a Medicare and Social Security overhaul, and reducing the national deficit, all at the same time. That’s a tall order, Madam President, and it places lawmakers in a precarious situation. Voters get their dander up.”

“If my bills are good for the country, why shouldn’t I move forward in a timely manner?”

“Because journalists and naive voters do not understand the complexities of running a country. Not everything is black and white. They see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear. They don’t bother to examine a bill line by line. They blindly endorse any proposal having to do with tax reform, the environment, or health care, whether it’s practical or insane. It’s all about voter perception.”

She pondered his speech for a moment, desperately wanting to give him a tongue-lashing. But her father had taught her to count to ten. “You make some good points, Walter. But is this what government is all about, treading water for four years? Is getting reelected more important than doing what’s best for the country?”

“Madam President, getting reelected is
everything
. If you believe differently, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

Counting to ten didn’t always work, especially when she was dealing with a pretentious clod. “When the time is right I have every intention of introducing these bills, Walter, and I don’t care how much resistance I get from Congress.”

His hands tightened around the armrests. She could see his knuckles turning white. With an unsteady voice, he said, “I have been asked to advise you, Madam President. If you introduce the Healing of America bills to Congress...They’re going to be dead on arrival.” Owens’s face looked like it was going to explode.

“So you and the boys on Capitol Hill want to play hardball?”

“I’m merely giving you a reality check, Madam President.”

“Are you familiar with these bills, Walter?”

“Not in great detail.”

“Has
anyone
in Congress bothered to examine the bills thoroughly?”

He blinked nervously. “That’s unlikely.”

Her eyes narrowed with contempt. “So what you’re saying is that even if these bills have tremendous merit and could effect necessary changes in government that would be beneficial to all American citizens, Congress isn’t interested?”

“It’s not that cut-and-dried, Madam President.”

Kate was seething with anger.

He sighed deeply. “What shall I say to my constituents?”

“Tell them to load their six-shooters, Walter, because there’s a new sheriff in town and she doesn’t take prisoners.”

He didn’t look flustered. There was a hint of joy in his brown eyes. It seemed to Kate that he’d wanted her to stand her ground.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he said, his voice affable. He didn’t offer his hand.

“It was my pleasure, Walter.”

He turned, walked toward the door, then stopped. “Madam President, there is one more thing.” The level of his baritone voice dropped to a whisper. “How well do you know Charles McDermott?”

He seemed determined to jab her one more time.

“As well as I could know anyone I’ve worked with for ten months. Why do you ask?”

“You might want to be careful when taking him into your confidence.”