Collin shrugged. If he were the guy he would’ve disappeared. Taken the
stash and gone. Millions of dollars. As loyal as Collin was, what he
could do with that kind of money. He would disappear too. For a while.
He looked at her. With that kind of money would she condescend to go
with him? Then he turned his thoughts back to the discussion at hand.
Maybe the guy was a member of the President’s political party, maybe he
had voted for him. In any event why bring yourself that kind of trouble.
“Probably scared to,” he finally replied.
“There are ways of doing it anonymously.”
“Maybe the guy’s not that sophisticated. Or maybe there’s no profit in
that. Or maybe he doesn’t give a shit. Take your pick. If he was going
to come forward, he probably would have. If he does, we’ll sure know
soon enough.”
She sat up in bed.
“Tim, I’m really worried about this.” The edge in her voice made him sit
up too. “I made the decision to keep that letter opener as is. If the
President were to find out . . .” She looked at him. He read the message
in her eyes and stroked her hair and then cupped her cheek with his
hand.
“He’s not going to find out from me.”
She smiled. “I know that, Tim, I really believe that. But if he, this
Person, were to somehow try to communicate with the President directly.”
Collin looked puzzled. “Why would he do that?”
Russell shifted to the side of the bed, let her feet dangle several
inches from the floor. For the first time Collin noticed the small
reddish oval birthmark, half the size of a penny, at the base of her
neck. Next he noticed that she was shivering, even though the room was
warm.
“Why would he do that, Gloria?” Collin edged closer.
She spoke to the bedroom wall. “Has it occurred to you that that letter
opener represents one of the most valuable objects in the world?” She
turned to him, rubbed his hair, smiled at the vacant expression that was
slowly co conclusion.
“Blackmail?”
She nodded at him.
Ming to a
“How do you blackmail the goddamned President?”
She got up, threw a loose robe around her shoulders and poured another
drink from the almost-empty decanter.
“Being President doesn’t make you immune from blackit just gives you
that much more to mail attempts, Tim. Hell, lose … or gain.”
She slowly stirred her drink, sat down on a couch and tipped her glass
back, the liquid warm and soothing going down. She had been drinking
much more than usual lately.
Not that her performance had been impaired, but she would have to watch
it, especially at this level, at this critical point.
But she decided she would watch it tomorrow. Tonight, with the weight of
political disaster lurking above her shoulders, and a young, handsome
man in her bed, she would drink.
She felt fifteen years younger. Every passing moment with him made her
feel more beautiful. She would not forget her primary goal, but who was
to say she couldn’t enjoy herself?
“What do you want me to do?” Collin looked at her.
Russell had been waiting for that. Her young, handsome Secret Service
agent. A modern white knight like the kind she read about as a wide-eyed
girl. She looked at him as the drink dangled from her fingers. She used
her other hand to slowly pull off her robe and let it drop to the floor.
There was time enough, especially for a thirty-seven-year-old woman who
had never had a serious relationship with a man.
Time enough for everything. The drink soothed away her fear, her
paranoia. And with it her cautiousness. All of which she needed in
abundance. But not tonight.
“There is something you can do for me. But I’ll tell you in the
morning.” She smiled, lay back on the couch and put out her hand.
Obediently he rose and went to her. A few moments later the only sounds
were intermingled groans and the persistent squeaks of the overwrought
couch.
A HALF-BLOCK DOWN THE STREET FROM RuSSELL’S HOME, e Bill Burton sat in