he had just come. The sea of reporters had parted. Even the wall of cops
had hinged back just enough to let her through.
Kate stood there for a long minute, no coat on, shivering in the wind
that swept down through the funnel-like space between the buildings. She
looked straight ahead, her eyes so focused they seemed to register on
nothing and everything simultaneously. Jack started to rise, to go to
her, but his legs did not have the strength. Just a few minutes ago,
juiced and prepared to do battle, mad as hell at his uncooperative
client, now every scintilla of energy had been stripped from his being.
With Frank’s help he rose on unsteady legs and went to her. For once in
their lives, nosy reporters did not attempt to ask questions.
Photographers seemingly forgot to take their requisite shots. As Kate
knelt beside her father and gently laid her hand on his still shoulder,
the only sounds were the wind and the distant whine of the approaching
ambulance.
For a couple of minutes the world had stopped right outside the
Middleton County Courthouse.
AS THE LIMO WHISKED HIM BACK TO TOWN, ALAN RICHMOND smoothed down his
tie and poured a club soda. His thoughts ventured to the headlines that
would drown the upcoming papers. The major news shows would be
salivating for him, and he would milk it. He would continue on his
normal schedule for the day. The rock-solid President. Shots fired
around him and he doesn’t flinch, goes on about the business of running
the country, of leading the people. He could envision the polls. A good
ten points at least. And it had all been too easy. When was he ever
going to feel a real challenge?
Bill Burton looked over at the man as the limo neared the D.C. line.
Luther Whitney had just caught the business end of the most deadly piece
of ammo Collin could find to chamber his rifle with, and this guy was
calmly sipping soda water. Burton felt sick to his stomach. And it still
wasn’t over. He could never in his wildest dreams put any of this behind
him, but perhaps he could live the rest of his life as a free man. A man
whose children respected him, even if he no longer respected himself.
As he continued to look at the President it occurred to Burton that the
sonofabitch was proud of himself. He had seen such calmness before
amidst extreme and calculated violence. No remorse because a human
being’s existence had just been sacrificed. Instead, a rush of euphoria.
Of triumph.
Burton thought back to the marks on Christine Sullivan’s neck. To the
busted jaw. To the ominous sounds he had heard from behind other bedroom
doors. The Man of the People.
Burton thought back to the meeting with Richmond where he had filled in
his boss on all the facts. Other than seeing Russell squirm it had not
been a pleasant experience.
Richmond had stared at each of them. Burton and Russell sat side by
side. Collin hovered next to the door. They were clustered in the First
Family’s private quarters. A component of the White House the eager
public was never permitted to see. The rest of the First Family was on a
brief holiday visiting relatives. It was best that way. The most
important member of that family was not in a pleasant mood.
The President was, finally, fully cognizant of the facts, the most
remarkable of which had been a letter opener bearing some particularly
incriminating evidence, and which had ended up in the hands of their
intrepid and felonious eyewitness. The blood had almost frozen in the
President’s veins when Burton had told him. As the words fell out of the
agent’s mouth, the President had swiveled his head in Russell’s
direction.
When Collin recounted Russell’s instructions not to wipe the blade and
handle clean, the President had stood up and hovered over his Chief of
Staff, who had pushed herself so far back in her chair that she seemed
to have become part of the fabric. His stare was crushing. She finally
covered her eyes with her hand. The underarms of her blouse were soaked