“Would you mind if I take a minute to change? I’ve been in this suit
long enough.”, Collin watched as she went into her bedroom. She did not
close the doors all the way. A sliver of the room was visible from where
he was sitting. He turned his head away, tried to focus all his
attention on the scrolls and designs of an antique fireplace screen that
would be seeing activity soon. He finished his beer and instantly wanted
another one. He lay back in the thick cushions. He tried not to but he
could hear every sound she made. Finally, he couldn’t resist it. He
turned his head and looked straight through the open doorway. With a
pinch of regret he saw nothing. At first. Then she moved across the
opening.
It was only a moment, as she lingered by the end of the bed, to pick up
some article of clothing. Chief of Staff Gloria Russell parading naked
in front of him sent a jolt through Collin, although he had been
expecting it, or something close to it.
The night’s agenda confirmed, Collin turned his head away, more slowly
than he probably should have. He licked the top of the beer can,
absorbing the last few drops of the amber liquid. He felt the butt of
his new weapon dig against his chest. Normally the mass of metal felt
comforting against his skin. Now it just hurt.
He wondered about fraternization rules. Members of the First Family had
been known to become quite attached to their Secret Service agents. Over
the years there had always been talk of fooling around, but the official
policy was clear on that point. Were Collin discovered in this room with
a naked Chief of Staff in her bedroom, his career would be short-lived.
He thought rapidly. He could leave right now, report in to Burton. But
how would that look? Russell ‘ would deny it all. Collin would look
like a fool, and his career would probably be over anyway. She had
brought him here for a reason. She said the President needed his help.
He wondered now who he would really be helping. And for the first time
Agent Collin felt trapped. Trapped. Where his athleticism, his quick
wits and his 9nim were useless to him. Intellectually he was no match
for the woman. In the official power structure he-was so far below her,
it was like he stared up from an abyss with a telescope and still
couldn’t glimpse the bottom of her high heels. it promised to be a long
night.
WALTER SULLIVAN PACED WHILE SANDY LORD WATCHED. A bottle of scotch
occupied a prominent position on the corner of Lord’s desk. Outside, the
darkness was marred by the dull glow of street lamps. The heat had
returned for a short spell and Lord had ordered the air conditioning to
remain on at Patton, Shaw for his very special visitor tonight. That
visitor re a halfstopped his pacing and stared down the street whe dozen
blocks away sat the familiar white building, home to to Sullivan and
Lord’s Alan Richmond, and one of the keys as not thinking about grand
scheme. Sullivan, however, w business tonight. Lord was. But he was far
too cunning to show it. Tonight he was here for his friend. To listen to
the grief, the outpouring, to let Sullivan mourn his little hooker.
The quicker that was done, the sooner they could get down to what really
mattered: thertext deal.
“it was a beautiful service, people will remember-it for a long time.”
Lord chose his words carefully. Walter Sullivan was an old friend, but
it was a friendship built on an attorney-client relationship and thus
its underpinning could experience some unexpected shifting. Sullivan was
also the only person in Lord’s acquaintance who made him nervous, where
Lord knew he was never in Complete control, that the an he was dealing
with was at least his equal and probably more.
“Yes it was.” Sullivan continued to look down the street.
He believed that he had finally convinced the police that the one-way
mirror was not connected to the crime.
Whether they were completely convinced was another matter. In any event