surrounded by incompetents. Gloria Russell sat dronelike in a chair
across from him. He had bedded the woman a half-dozen times and now had
completely lost interest. He would catapult her away when the time was
right. His next administration would be comprised of a far more capable
team. Underlings who would allow him to focus on his particular vision
for the country. He had not sought the presidency to sweat the details.
“I see we haven’t gained an inch in the polls.” He didn’t look at her;
he anticipated her response.
“Does it really matter so much whether you win by sixty percent or
seventy percent?”
He whirled around. “Yes,” he hissed. “Yes, it goddanin does matter.”
She bit her lip and retreated. “I’ll step up the effort, Alan.
Maybe we can pull a shutout in the Electoral College.”
“At a minimum, we should be able to do that, Gloria.”
She looked down. After the election, she would travel.
Around the world. Where she knew no one and no one knew her. A fresh
start. That was what she needed. Then everything would be okay.
“Well at least our little, problem is cleared up.” He was looking at
her, hands clasped behind his back. Tall, lean, impeccably dressed and
groomed. He looked like the commander of an invincible armada. But then
again history had proven that invincible armadas were far more
vulnerable than people imagined.
“It’s been disposed of?”
“No, Gloria, I have it in my desk, would you like to see it?
Perhaps you might wish to abscond with it again.” His air was so thick
with condescension she felt the urgent need to bring their consultation
to a close. She rose.
“Will there be anything else?”
He shook his head and returned to the window. She had just put her hand
-on the doorknob when it turned and opened.
“We’ve got a problem.” Bill Burton looked at each or them.
“SO WHAT DOES HE WANT?” THE PRESIDENT LOOKED DOWN AT the photograph
Burton ha ‘ d handed him.
Burton replied quickly. “Note doesn’t say. I can guess that the shape
the guy’s in with cops on his ass he’s looking for some quick funds.”
The President looked pointedly at Russell. “I’m very puzzled as to how
Jack Graham knew to send the photo here.”
Burton picked up on the look from the President, and while the last
thing he wanted was to defend Russell they had no time to misanalyze the
situation.
“It’s possible Whitney told him,” Burton answered.
“If that’s true, he waited a long time to dance with us,” the President
fired back.
“Whitney may not have told him directly. Graham could’ve figured it out
for himself Pieced things together.”
The President tossed down the photo. Russell quickly averted her eyes.
The mere sight of the letter opener had paralyzed her.
“Burton, how could this possibly be damaging to us?” The President
stared at him, seemingly probing through the inner areas of the agent’s
mind.
Burton sat down, rubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand. “I’ve been
thinking about that. It could be Graham’s grasping at straws. He’s in a
pretty tight fix himself And his lady friend is cooling her heels in the
lockup right now. I’d chalk it up to him being desperate. He gets a
sudden inspiration, puts two and two together and takes a flyer on
sending us this, hoping it’s worth it to us to pay his price, whatever
it might be.”
The President stood up and fingered his coffee cup. “Is there any way to
find him? Quickly?”
“There are always ways. How fast I don’t know.”
“So if we ignore his communication?”
“He may do nothing, just hightail it and take his chances.”
“But again we’re confronted with the possibility of the police catching
up to him—2’
“And him spilling his guts,” Burton finished the sentence.
“Yeah, that’s a possibility. A real possibility.”
The President picked up the photo. “With only this to back up his
story.” He looked incredulous. “Why bother?”
“It’s not the incriminating value of what’s in the photo per se that
bothers me.”
“What bothers you is that his accusations coupled with whatever ideas or