“Grace, please, I hope we can—”
She talks right over him. “Hope?” she asks, voice rising. “Here’s what you should hope, fool. You better hope that the American voters are stupider than you think, that they’ll ignore the blatant … idiocy of sinking your chances a month away from Election Day. That they won’t sign on with that yogurt-and-granola-loving governor and kick your sorry butt out of the Oval Office. And to drag me down with this … drama of yours. Harry, I won’t have it. I’ve put up with enough from you over the years, from Columbus to DC, and you know the sacrifices I’ve made … what I’ve given up.”
Her voice chokes, finally, and she bites her lower lip to prevent a sob from coming out. And she doesn’t dare tell him what else is on her mind, that all the good work she’s done as First Lady in the past four years—to rescue the most helpless and vulnerable in this nation, fighting for them even when he and his bastard chief of staff wouldn’t—will now be ignored for the gossip-filled stories to come.
The tears are now rolling right along. Harrison has hurt her, but she doubts he knows just how deeply.
Through the static on the phone—coming from Air Force One’s extensive telephone encryption system—her husband’s voice comes through, soothing and apologetic.
“Grace, please … I made a mistake. A serious mistake. No excuse, it’s all on me … but please … can we discuss this, work through this—”
Now his voice isn’t that of a loving and contrite husband. It’s the voice of a practiced politician trying to make a deal.
It’s too much.
She interrupts him one last time. “When are you getting to Andrews?”
“In … less than two hours.”
“And you want to talk it over after you land?”
“Grace, please. Can we do that?”
The First Lady takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk to you now, or then, or ever.”
And she slams the phone down.
CHAPTER 5
ABOARD AIR FORCE one, President Harrison Tucker gently places the phone back in its cradle. Parker Hoyt lowers his phone as well, having listened in to the strained and angry conversation between the President and one very hurt First Lady.
Parker looks closely at his friend and President, the man he has helped push, drag, and propel from the state house in Columbus to the White House in the District of Columbia. Except for a few years working for an international arms and intelligence corporation—to bank some serious change and make important defense connections here and abroad—Parker has always been at Harrison Tucker’s side. The President is a smart man, a tough man in a very tough job, and Parker’s role is to give him the additional resources and toughness to get the job done. The President is in a light-gray suit and white shirt, no necktie, and even with the troubles of this morning, he’s a handsome man, with a ready smile, jet-black hair with the obligatory white highlights at the temples, and except for a crooked nose— broken as a high school quarterback—he almost looks like a younger brother of George Clooney.
He’s smart, sympathetic, and he has the “gift.” Only a few presidents in Parker’s lifetime have had the gift. Lyndon Johnson had it, as well as Reagan, and God, did Bill Clinton have it … the ability to work a room, to be the focus of attention, to smile, schmooze, and above all, to get things done.
But only if he stays smart and focused.
Which, Parker thinks, is a challenge this morning.
Harrison looks wearily at him. “What the hell do you think she means by that? That she doesn’t want to talk to me now or ever. That sounds so … final.”
He gives his President a reassuring smile. “It’ll all work out. Trust me. Look at what happened the last time a First Lady caught her hubby cheating … there were a few rough months but he came back stronger, won reelection by a landslide, even gained seats in Congress. You’ve got a lot going in your favor, including that you weren’t fooling around with an intern.”
Harrison says, “But we don’t have months.”
Parker gives his President a reassuring touch on his wrist. “You’ve just got to trust me.”
The President shakes his head. Parker goes on. “That’s my job,” he says. “To protect you. To protect your vision and this administration. And I won’t let that bitch—excuse my French— do anything to hurt you.”
If Harrison is offended by the obscenity, he doesn’t show it.
The President speaks quietly. “Ever see a high-wire act? You know, where the guy walks across the wire with a pole, balancing himself so he doesn’t fall?”
Parker doesn’t know where the President is going with this but decides to play along. “Sure, who hasn’t?”
Silence. They are in the most exclusive flying cocoon in the world, but right now Parker wants to get to work to save this man sitting across from him.
Harrison goes on. “You can see that guy up there, going along, slow and steady, making progress. Like this administration: slow, steady steps. Nothing flashy or fancy.” He smiles, the white-toothed smile that has wooed so many millions of voters. “That’s been us the past four years, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it certainly has. And the voters will reward you come November.”
The quiet tone of the President’s voice doesn’t change. “But all it takes is one slip, one misjudgment, one mistake. Then the wire starts to wobble. One foot and then the other slips. And off you go. All that progress … gone … as you fall to the ground.”
Jesus Christ, Parker thinks, let’s get our man back on track. “True, sir, but you forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Another reassuring touch. “There’s a safety net at the bottom. To rescue the high-wire guy. So he can bounce back up and go right back to the high wire.”
The President says not a word.
Parker says, “Mr. President … I’m your safety net. And I’m going to save you. That I promise.”
The President’s eyes are moist; he nods and then pretends to take interest in the forested landscape passing below them.
Parker checks his watch again. After they land, he’ll start making the necessary phone calls, to cast a very wide net—safety or otherwise—to keep things under control.
Air Force One is a magnificent flying machine, with enough communications equipment to enable the President to command a war while forty-five thousand feet in the air, but in these troubled times, Parker doesn’t trust the integrity of these communications systems.
Plans are starting to come to mind, plans he will keep away from his friend and boss, and especially WikiLeaks and the Russian intelligence agencies.
He will do what has to be done no matter what, no matter the risks.
To protect the President.
And to hell with the First Lady and anyone else who gets in his way.
CHAPTER 6
GRACE FULLER TUCKER emerges from her office and stops, stunned, as her entire staff stands before her and starts applauding. Her face flushes with joy and embarrassment—joy at the support and love her children are showing her, and embarrassment because they had no doubt listened to her loud voice going through these old and thin walls as she yelled at the President.