The First Councel

CHAPTER 2

It takes a couple of blocks of speeding to regain sight of Simon’s car and his “Friend of the Chesapeake” Virginia license plate. “Are you sure that’s him?” Nora asks.

“It’s definitely him.” I drop back and put about a block between us. “I recognize the plates from West Exec.”

Within a few minutes, Simon’s woven his way through Adams Morgan and is heading up 16th Street. Still a block behind him, we hit Religion Row and pass the dozens of temples, mosques, and churches that dot the landscape.

“Should we get closer?” Nora asks.

“Not if we want to be inconspicuous.”

She seems amused by my answer. “Now I know how Harry and Darren feel,” she says, referring to her Secret Service agents.

“Speaking of which, do you think they put out an APB on you? I mean, don’t they call this stuff in?”

“They’ll call the night supervisor and the agent in charge of the House detail, but I figure we’ve got about two hours before they make it public.”

“That long?” I ask, looking at my watch.

“Depends on the incident. If you were driving when we took off, they’d probably treat it as a kidnapping, which is the primary threat for a First Family member. Beyond that, though, it also depends on the person. Chelsea Clinton got a half hour at the most. Patti Davis got days. I get about two hours. Then they go nuts.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, nuts? Is that when they send out the black helicopters to hunt us down?”

“There’re already trying to hunt us down. In two hours, they’ll put us on the police scanners. If that happens, we make the morning news. And every gossip columnist in the country will want to know your intentions.”

“No-no way.” Since we met, my encounters with Nora have been limited to a reception, a bill-signing ceremony, and the Deputy Counsel’s birthday party-all of them White House staff events. At the first, we were introduced; at the second, we spoke; at the third, she asked me out. I think there’re only ten people on this planet who would’ve refused the offer. I’m not one of them. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for the magnifying glass. As I’ve seen so many times before, the moment you hit that glare of publicity is the exact same moment they burn your ass.

I look back at my watch. It’s almost a quarter to twelve. “So that means you have an hour and a half until you become the pumpkin.”

“Actually, you’re the one who becomes the pumpkin.”

She’s right about that one. They’ll eat me alive.

“Still worried about your job?” she asks.

“No,” I say, my eyes locked on Simon’s car. “Just my boss.”

Simon puts on his blinker, makes a left-hand turn, and weaves his way onto Rock Creek Parkway, whose wooded embankments and tree-shaded trails have favorite-path status among D.C. joggers and bike riders. At rush hour, Rock Creek Parkway is swarming with commuters racing back to the suburbs. Right now, it’s dead-empty-which means Simon can spot us easily.

“Shut off the lights,” Nora says. I take her suggestion and lean forward, straining to see the now barely visible road. Right away, the darkness leaves an eerie pit in my stomach.

“I say we just forget it and-”

“Are you really that much of a coward?” Nora asks.

“This has nothing to do with cowardice. It just doesn’t make any sense to play private eye.”

“Michael, I told you before, this isn’t a game to me-we’re not playing anything.”

“Sure we are. We’re-”

“Stop the car!” she shouts. Up ahead, I see Simon’s brake lights go on. “Stop the car! He’s slowing down!”

Sure enough, Simon pulls off the right-hand side of the road and comes to a complete stop. We’re about a hundred feet behind him, but the curve of the road keeps us out of his line of vision. If he looks in his rearview mirror, he’ll see nothing but empty parkway.

“Shut the car off! If he hears us… ” I turn off the ignition and am surprised by the utter silence. It’s one of those moments that sound like you’re underwater. Staring at Simon’s car, we float there helplessly, waiting for something to happen. A car blows by in the opposite direction and snaps us back to the shore.

“Maybe he has a flat tire or-”

“Shhhhh!”

We both squint to see what’s going on. He’s not too far from a nearby lamppost, but it still takes a minute for our eyes to adjust to the dark.

“Was there anyone in the car with him?” I ask.

“He looked alone to me, but if the guy was lying across the seat… ”

Nora’s hypothesis is interrupted when Simon opens his door. Without even thinking about it, I hold my breath. Again, we’re underwater. My eyes are locked on the little white light that I can see through the back window of his car. In silhouette, he fidgets with something in the passenger seat. Then he gets out of the car.

When you stand face-to-face with Edgar Simon, you can’t miss how big he is. Not in height, but in presence. Like many White House higher-ups, his voice is charged with the confidence of success, but unlike his peers, who’re always raging over the latest crisis, Simon exudes a calmness honed by years of advising a President. That unshakable composure runs from his ironing-board shoulders, to his always-strong handshake, to the perfect part in his perfectly shaded salt-and-pepper hair. A hundred feet in front of us, though, all of that is lost in silhouette.

Standing next to his car, he’s holding a thin package that looks like a manila envelope. He looks down at it, then slams the door shut. When the door closes, the loss of the light makes it even harder to see. Simon turns toward the wooded area on the side of the road, steps over the metal guardrail, and heads up the embankment.

“A bathroom stop?” I ask.

“With a package in his hand? You think he’s bringing reading material?”

I don’t answer.

Nora’s starting to get fidgety. She unhooks her seatbelt. “Maybe we should we go out and check on-”

I grab her by the arm. “I say we stay here.”

She’s ready to fight, but before she can, I see a shadow move out from the embankment. A figure steps back over the guardrail and into the light.

“Guess who’s back?” I ask.

Nora immediately turns. “He doesn’t have the envelope!” she blurts.

“Lower your voi-” I fall silent when Simon looks our way. Nora and I are frozen. It’s a short glance and he quickly turns back to his car.

“Did he see us?” Nora whispers. There’s a nervousness in her voice that turns my stomach.

“If he did, he didn’t react,” I whisper back.

Simon opens the door and gets back in his car. Thirty seconds later, he pumps the gas and peels out, leaving a cloud of dust somersaulting our way. He doesn’t put his lights on until he’s halfway up the road.

“Should we follow him?” I ask.

“I say we stay with the envelope.”

“What do you think he has in there? Documents? Pictures?”

“Cash?”

“You think he’s a spy?” I ask skeptically.

“I have no idea. Maybe he’s leaking to the press.”

“Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad. For all we know, this is his drop-off.”

“It’s definitely a drop-off,” Nora says. She checks over her shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “What I want to know is what they’re picking up.” Before I can stop her, she’s out the door.

I reach to grab her, but it’s too late. She’s gone-running up the road, headed for the embankment. “Nora, get back here!” She doesn’t even pretend to care.

I start the car and pull up alongside her. Her pace is brisk. Determined.

She’s going to hate me for this, but I don’t have a choice. “Let’s go, Nora. We’re leaving.”

“So leave.”

I clench my teeth and realize the most obvious thing of all: She doesn’t need me. Still, I give it another go. “For your own sake, get in the car.” No response. “Please, Nora, it’s not funny-whoever he dropped it for is probably watching us right now.” Nothing. “C’mon, there’s no reason to-”

She stops in her tracks and I slam on the brakes. Turning my way, she puts her hands on her hips. “If you want to leave, then leave. I need to know what’s in the envelope.” With that, she climbs over the guardrail and heads up the embankment.

Alone in the car, I watch her disappear. “See you later,” I call out.

She doesn’t answer.

I give her a few seconds to change her mind. She doesn’t. Good, I finally say to myself. This’ll be her lesson. Just because she’s the First Daughter, she thinks she can-There it is again. That pain-in-the-ass title. That’s who she is. No, I decide. Screw that. Forget the title and focus on the person. The problem, however, is it’s impossible to separate the two. For better or worse, Nora Hartson is the President’s daughter. She’s also one of the most intriguing people I’ve met in a long time. And much as I hate to admit it, I actually like her.

“Dammit!” I shout, pounding the steering wheel. Where the hell is my spine?

I rip open the glove compartment, pull out a flashlight, and storm out of the car. Scrambling up the embankment, I find Nora wandering around in the dark. I shine the light in her face and the first thing I see is that grin. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“If I abandoned you, your monkeys would kill me.”

She approaches me and pulls the flashlight from my hands. “The night’s young, baby.”

I glance down at my watch. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

Up the hill, I hear something move through the brush and quickly realize that Simon could’ve been meeting someone up there. Someone who’s still here. Watching us. “Do you think… ”

“Let’s just find the envelope,” Nora says, agreement in her voice.

Cautiously walking together, we zigzag up the embankment, which is overflowing with trees. I look up and see nothing but jagged darkness-the treetops hide everything from the sky to the parkway’s lamps. All I can do is tell myself that we’re alone. But I don’t believe it.

“Shine it over here,” I tell Nora, who’s waving it in every direction. As the flashlight rips through the night, I realize we’re going to have to be more systematic about this. “Start with the base of each tree, then work your way upward,” I suggest.

“What if he stuffed it high in a tree?”

“You think Simon’s the tree-climbing type?” She has to agree with that one. “And let’s try to do this fast,” I add. “Whoever he left it for-even if they’re not here now, they’re going to be here any minute.” Nora turns the flashlight toward the base of the nearest tree and we’re once again encased in underwater silence. As we move up the hill, my breathing gets heavier. I’m trying to look out for the envelope, but I can’t stop checking over my shoulder. And while I don’t believe in mental telepathy or other paranormal phenomena, I do believe in the human animal’s uncanny and unexplainable ability to know when it’s being watched. Racing to the top of the embankment, it’s a feeling I can’t shake. We’re not alone.

“What’s wrong with you?” Nora asks.

“I just want to get out of here. We can come back tomorrow with the proper-” Suddenly, I see it. There it is. My eyes go wide and Nora follows my gaze. Ten feet in front of us, at the base of a tree with a Z carved into it, is a single manila envelope.

“Son of a bitch,” she says, rushing forward. Her reaction is instantaneous. Pick it up and rip it open.

“No!” I shout. “Don’t touch… ” I’m too late. She’s got it open.

Nora shines the flashlight down into the envelope. “I don’t believe it,” she says.

“What? What’s in there?”

She turns it upside down and the contents fall to the ground. One. Two. Three. Four stacks of cash. Hundred dollar bills.

“Money?”

“Lots of it.”

I pick up a stack, remove the First of America billfold, and start counting. So does Nora. “How much?” I ask when she’s done.

“Ten thousand.”

“Me too,” I say. “Times two more stacks is forty thousand.” Noticing the crispness of the bills, I again flip through the stack. “All consecutively numbered.”

We nervously look at each other. We’re sharing the same thought.

“What should we do?” she finally asks. “Should we take it?”

I’m about to answer when I see something move in the large bush on my right. Nora shines the flashlight. No one’s there. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.

I pull the envelope from Nora’s hands and stuff the four stacks of bills back inside.

“What’re you doing?” she asks.

“Throw me the flashlight.”

“Tell me why-”

“Now!” I shout. She gives in, tossing it to me. I shine the light on the envelope, looking to see if there’s any writing on it. It’s blank. There’s a throbbing pain kicking at the back of my neck. My forehead’s soaked. Feeling like I’m about to pass out, I quickly return the envelope to the base of the tree. The late summer heat isn’t the only thing that’s got me sweating.

“You okay?” Nora asks, reading my expression.

I don’t answer. Instead, I reach up and pull some leaves from the tree. Putting the flashlight aside, I fold the leaves and scrub them against the edges of the envelope.

“Michael, you can’t wipe off fingerprints. It doesn’t work like that.”

Ignoring her, I keep scrubbing.

She kneels next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is strong, and even in the midst of it all, I have to admit it feels good. “You’re wasting your time,” she adds.

Naturally, she’s right. I toss the envelope back toward the tree. Behind us, a twig snaps and we both turn around. I don’t see anyone, but I can feel a stranger’s eyes on me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

“But the people who’re going to pick up the package… ” I take another glance around the darkness. “To be honest, Nora, I think they’re already here.”

Looking around, Nora knows something’s wrong. It’s too quiet. The hairs on my arm stand on edge. They could be hiding behind any tree. On our left, another twig snaps. I grab Nora by the hand and we start walking down the embankment. It doesn’t take ten steps for our walk to turn into a jog. Then a run. When I almost trip on a wayward rock, I ask Nora to turn on the flashlight.

“I thought you had it,” she says.

Simultaneously, we look over our shoulders. Behind us, at the top of the embankment, is the faint glow of the flashlight. Exactly where I left it.

“You start the car; I’ll get the light,” Nora says.

“No, I’ll get the-”

Once again, though, she’s too fast. Before I can stop her, she’s headed back up the embankment. I’m about to yell something, but I’m worried we’re not alone. Watching her run up the hill, I keep my eyes on her long, lithe arms. Within seconds, though, she fades into the darkness. She said I should get the car, but there’s no way I’m leaving her. Slowly, I start heading up the embankment, walking just fast enough to make sure she’s in sight. As she gets farther away, I pick up speed. My jog again quickly turns into a run. As long as I can see her, she’ll be okay.

Next thing I know, I feel a sharp blow against my forehead. I fall backwards and hit the ground with an uneven thud. Feeling the dampness of the grass seep into the seat of my pants, I look for my attacker. As I prop myself up on an elbow, I feel a slick wetness on my forehead. I’m bleeding. Then I look up and see what put me down: a thick branch from a nearby oak tree. I’m tempted to laugh at my slapstick injury, but I quickly remember why I wasn’t looking where I was going. Squinting toward the top of the embankment, I climb to my feet and search for Nora.

I don’t see anything. The faint glow of the flashlight is in the same spot, but there’s no one moving toward it. I look for shadows, search for silhouettes, and listen for the quiet crunching of broken sticks and long-dead leaves. No one’s there. She’s gone. I’ve lost the President’s daughter.

My legs go weak as I try to fathom the consequences. Then, without warning, the light moves. Someone’s up there. And like a knight with a luminescent lance, the person turns around and barrels straight at me. As the figure approaches, I feel the piercing glow of the light blinding me. I turn away and stumble through the black woods, hands out in front, feeling for trees. I can hear him hopping through bushes, gaining on me. If I drop to the ground, maybe I can trip him up. Suddenly, I slam into a thicket as strong as a wall. I turn toward my enemy as the glaring light hits me in the eyes.

“What the hell happened to your forehead?” Nora asks.

All I can muster is a nervous laugh. The trees still surround us. “I’m fine,” I insist. I give her a reassuring nod and we head for my car.

“Maybe we should stay here and wait to see who picks it up.”

“No,” I say, holding her tightly by the hand. “We’re leaving.”

At full speed, we race out of the wooded area. When we emerge, I hurdle the guardrail and make a mad dash for my Jeep, which is up the road. If I were alone, I’d probably be there by now, but I refuse to let go of Nora. Slowing myself down, I swing her in front of me, just to make sure she’s safe.

The first one to reach the car, she jumps in and slams the door shut. A few seconds later, I join her. Simultaneously, we punch the switches to lock the doors. When I hear that click of solitude, I take an overdue deep breath.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” she says as I start the car. She sounds scared, but from the gleam in her eyes, you’d think it was a thrill ride.

I hit the gas, turn the wheel, and tear out of there. A sharp U-turn causes the wheels to scream and sends us back toward the Carter Barron/16th Street exit. As I fly forward, my eyes are glued to the rearview mirror. Nora’s staring at her sideview.

“No one’s there,” she says, sounding more wishful than confident. “We’re okay.”

I stare at the mirror, praying she’s right. Hoping to tip the odds in our favor, I give the gas another push. As we turn back onto 16th Street, we’re flying. Once again, D.C.’s rugged roads are tossing us around. This time, though, it doesn’t matter. We’re finally safe.

“How’d I do?” I ask Nora, who’s turned around in her seat and staring out the back window.

“Not bad,” she admits. “Harry and Darren would be proud.”

I laugh to myself just as I hear the screech of tires behind us. I turn to Nora, who’s still looking out the back window. Her face is awash in the headlights of the car that’s now gaining on us. “Get us out of here,” she shouts.

I take a quick survey of the area. We’re in the run-down section of 16th Street, not far from Religion Row. There’re plenty of streets to turn on, but I don’t like the looks of the neighborhood. Too many dark corners and burned-out streetlights. The side streets are filthy. And worst of all, desolate.

I gun the engine and swerve into the left lane just to see if the car follows. When it does, my heart drops. They’re a half a block behind and closing fast. “Is it possible they’re Secret Service?”

“Not with those headlights. All my guys drive Suburbans.”

I check their lights in the rearview mirror. They’ve got their brights on, so it’s hard to see, but the shape and the height tell me it’s definitely not a Suburban. “Get down,” I say to Nora. Whoever they are, I’m not taking any chances.

“That’s not Simon’s car, is it?” she asks.

We get our answer in the form of red and blue swirling lights that engulf our back window. “Pull over,” a deep voice blares from a bullhorn mounted to the roof.

I don’t believe it. Cops. Smiling, I slap Nora’s shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re cops.”

As I pull over, I notice Nora isn’t nearly as relieved. Unable to sit still and in full frenzy, she checks the sideview mirror, then looks over her shoulder, then back to the mirror. Her eyes are dancing in every direction as she anxiously claws her way out of her seatbelt.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as we come to a stop.

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she reaches down for her clunky black purse, which is on the floor in front of her. When she starts rummaging through it, a cold chill runs down my back. This isn’t the time to hold back. “Do you have drugs?” I ask.

“No!” she insists. In my rearview mirror, I see a uniformed D.C. police officer approaching my side of the Jeep.

“Nora, don’t lie to me. This is-” The police officer taps on my window. Just as I turn around, I hear my glove compartment slam shut.

I lower my window with a forced smile on my face. “Good evening, Officer. Did I do something wrong?” He holds a flashlight above his shoulder and shines it right at Nora. She’s still wearing her baseball cap and doing her best to remain unrecognizable. She won’t look the cop in the face.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, hoping to divert his attention.

The officer is a thick black man with a crooked nose that gives him the look of a former middleweight boxer. When he leans into the window, all I see are his huge hairless forearms. He uses his chin to motion toward the glove compartment. “What’re you hiding there?” he asks Nora.

Damn. He saw her.

“Nothing,” Nora whispers.

The cop studies her answer. “Please step out of the car,” he says.

I jump in. “Can you tell me wh-”

“Step out of the car. Both of you.”

I look at Nora and know we’re in trouble. When we were in the woods, she was nervous. But now… now Nora has a look I’ve never seen before. Her eyes are wide and her lips are slightly open. She tries to tuck a stray piece of hair between her ear and the edge of the baseball cap, but her hands are shaking. My world comes to an instant halt.

“Let’s go!” the officer barks. “Out of the car.”

Nora slowly follows his instructions. As she walks around to the driver’s side, the officer’s partner approaches the three of us. He’s a short black man with an arrogant cop stride. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Not sure yet.” The first cop turns back to me. “Let’s see ’em spread.”

“Spread? What’d I do?”

He grabs me by the back of the neck and whips me against the side of the Jeep. “Open up!”

I do as he says, but not without protest. “You’ve got no probable cause to-”

“You a lawyer?” he asks.

I shouldn’t have picked this fight. “Yeah,” I say hesitantly.

“Then sue me.” As he pats me down, he jabs a sharp thumb into my ribs. “Should’ve told her to calm down,” he says. “Now she’s going to have to miss work tomorrow.”

I don’t believe it. He doesn’t recognize her. Keeping her head as low as possible, Nora stands next to me and spreads her arms across the side of the Jeep. The second officer pats Nora down, but she’s not paying much attention. Like me, she’s too busy watching the first officer head for the glove compartment.

From where I’m standing, I see him open the passenger door. As he climbs inside, there’s a jingle of handcuffs and keys. Then a quiet click near the dashboard. My mouth goes dry and it’s getting harder to breathe. I look over at Nora, but she’s decided to look away. Her eyes are glued to the ground. It’s not going to be much longer.

“Oh, baby,” the officer announces. His voice is filled with shove-it-in-your-face glee. He slams the door shut and strides around to our side of the car. As he approaches, he’s holding one hand behind his back.

“What is it?” the second officer asks.

“See for yourself.”

I look up, expecting to see Nora’s brown prescription vial. Maybe even a stash of cocaine. Instead, the cop is holding a single stack of hundred dollar bills.

Son of a bitch. She took the money.

“Now either of you want to tell me what you’re doing driving around with this kinda cash?”

Neither of us says a word.

I look at Nora, and she’s paste white. Gone is the cocky and wild vitality that led us through the stop signs, out of the bar, and up the embankment. In its place is that look she’s had since we got pulled out of the car. Fear. It’s all over her face and it’s still making her hands shake. She simply can’t be caught with this money. Even if it’s not against the law to have it, even if they can’t arrest her, this isn’t something that’s going to be easy to explain. In this neighborhood. With this amount of cash. The drug stories alone will shred what’s left of her reputation. Rolling Stone will be the least of her problems.

She turns to me and once again opens her soft side. Her usually tough eyes are welled up with tears. She’s begging for help. And like it or not, I’m the only one who can save her. With a few simple words, I can spare her all that pain and embarrassment. Then she and the President… I catch myself. No. No, it’s not about that. It’s like I said before. It’s not for her father. Or her title. It’s for her. Nora. Nora needs me.

“I asked you a question,” the officer says as he waves the pile of cash. “Whose is this?”

I take one last look at Nora. That’s all I need. Shoving confidence back into my voice, I turn to the officer and say two words: “It’s mine.”