Hot Pursuit

8

Holly woke Stone before dawn by running her fingernails down his back. He rolled over into her arms.

Halfway through, Holly said, “This is probably the last time I’ll get laid for eight years!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Stone said, continuing to enjoy his duty.

When they were done, Holly got out of bed and started laying out clothes.

“What are you doing? It’s six o’clock in the morning!”

“I’ve got to get into a shower and some clothes and get to the White House!”

Stone rolled over and went back to sleep, until she was shaking him at six-forty-five. “Will you please drop off my bags at Bruce’s antique shop on your way to the airport?”

“Of course,” Stone groaned.

She gave him a big kiss and ran from the suite. Stone went back to sleep.

He was awakened again a little after nine. “President Lee for you,” a woman’s voice said. “Will you speak to him?”

“Oh, that President Lee. Of course.”

There was a click on the line. “Good morning, Stone,” Will Lee said. “Is your offer of a ride to New York still open?”

“Of course.”

“I had to get Kate to order the Secret Service to let me do it. How about that?”

“You’d better get used to it, Will.”

“I guess I’ll have to. Are you flying out of Manassas?”

“We are.”

“Is one PM all right?”

“That’s fine. We’ll get into New York ahead of rush hour.”

“Only one Secret Service agent will be coming along.”

“Traveling light, huh?”

“Lighter than I’ve traveled for, what, nine years, including the first campaign. I feel weightless. See you at one.”

Stone got himself into a shower and dressed, then found Dino and Viv reading the papers and waiting for breakfast to arrive.

“I ordered for you,” Dino said. “Bourbon and Alka-Seltzer.”

“I’m not in the least hungover,” Stone replied. “Are you?”

“Police commissioners aren’t allowed to drink enough to get hungover.”

“I’m hungover,” Viv said, “but it’s a champagne hangover, so not so much.”

The doorbell rang, and a waiter pushed a rolling table into the living room and set it up.

“Stone,” Viv said, “that was a sensational evening. Thank you so much for setting it up.”

“I enjoyed it, too,” Stone said.

“Where’s Holly?”

“At the White House, at work. She left at six-forty-five.”

“I guess it’s going to be like that for the duration.”

“She says she won’t get laid again for eight years.”

Viv laughed. “I expect she’ll turn up at your doorstep from time to time.”

“I hope so.”

Holly had signed a lot of documents and been given her White House and NSC ID, which she wore on a ribbon around her neck, and now she was being shown to her new office. She was surprised to find that it was in the West Wing, where the president and higher staff worked, not in the Executive Office Building across the street. It wasn’t huge, but it was comfortably furnished with an antique desk and a seating area, along with a small conference table and some nice paintings, and it was within spitting distance of the Oval Office. As she sat down, her phone rang, as if her ass had pressed a button. She picked it up. “Holly Barker.”

“Good morning, Holly,” Lance Cabot said. Lance was the director of Central Intelligence and her boss until this morning.

“Good morning, Lance.”

“I wanted to welcome you to Washington,” he said. “I saw you across a crowded room at the Saltons’ last evening, but I was held prisoner by the director of the NSA and couldn’t get to you.”

“I didn’t see you at all.”

“That’s because the director of the NSA is a very large man, the kind who blocks views — landscapes, even. Did you enjoy the party?”

“I did, and at the ball I danced with President Lee— Will, I mean.”

“Then you had a better evening than I. The NSA produces lousy dance partners.”

“Lance, I saw somebody at the Saltons’ who rang a bell, but I couldn’t place him. He’s about forty, dark hair and short beard, and he was wearing a diamond earring. Do you know him?”

“I believe that must have been Ali Mahmoud, who is a Saudi diplomat — well, ‘diplomat’ is too strong a term, but he carries a D passport. Handsome, charming, ladies’ man. That’s all I know about him.”

“None of it helps me,” Holly said. “The sight of him induced dread in me, and I don’t know why. It’s driving me crazy.”

“I haven’t cut off your computer access here. Shall I leave it in place? You could check him out, and I expect the computer would be an asset in your new job.”

“Yes, please.”

“Done. Your codes will remain the same. Must run.” Lance hung up.

A middle-aged woman in a business suit rapped on the door and walked in. “Hi, I’m Margery Lyon — Marge — and I’ve been assigned as your secretary, until you get sick of me and ask for somebody else. Got a minute?”

“Sure, Marge, come on in.”

Marge sat down, tossed a file folder onto the desk, and began flipping through her steno pad. “The folder contains the résumés for half a dozen people who want to be your assistant. You start seeing them at eleven, one every fifteen minutes. I’ll arrange call-backs for the ones you like. You’re not bringing someone from the New York station with you, are you?”

“Nope. I haven’t even had time to think about it.”

“Your staff ID card is good for the White House Mess. Anything else you need, ask me. I’m pretty good with computers, too, if you need help. Yours will be delivered” — she consulted her watch — “right now.” There was a knock at the door and a young man wheeled in a cart containing a computer and a printer. “Where do you want this?”

Holly pointed at the shelving behind her. “Go.”

He went to work.

“Oh,” Marge said, “you have your first NSC meeting in the situation room in” — she consulted her watch again — “three minutes. Come on, I’ll walk you over there.”

Holly followed Marge down the hallway to what appeared to be simply a rather cramped conference room. “This is it?”

“Disappointing, isn’t it? You were expecting something more Hollywood, with lots of screens and high-tech stuff, right?”

“Right. My situation room in New York was more impressive.” People were pouring into the room and taking chairs, so Holly grabbed one before they were all gone.

Marge crept up behind her and whispered in her ear, “You’re senior here — it’s your meeting. Have fun!”

The room settled a bit and everybody looked at Holly.

“Good morning,” Holly said “I’ll get to know you all as soon as I can. The president’s first intelligence briefing is not until two o’clock this afternoon, so I have nothing right now. Let’s meet again at four, and I’ll pass on whatever I can. Starting tomorrow, those briefings are at eight AM, and we’ll meet right after that to pass on information in both directions. Anybody have anything pressing for us right now?” She looked around; nobody spoke. “No world crises? How disappointing. See you at four.”

Holly got up and walked out.