The First Counsel

* * *

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I ask as I poke my head in Trey's office.

"Good timing," he says as he hangs up his phone. "C'mon in."

I stay by the door and motion in the direction of his other two officemates. He knows the rest. "Want to take a lap?" he asks.

"That'd be best."

Without a moment's hesitation, Trey follows me out the door. We take the stairs to the second floor. It goes without saying--no one takes a lap on his home court.

Heading up the hallway, I keep my eyes on the checkered black-and-white marble floor. In the OEOB, life is always a chess match.

"What's going on?" we both ask simultaneously.

"You first," he says.

Trying to look unconcerned, I check over my shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure we were set with Vaughn."

"Don't worry, I got everything we need: tube socks, Band-Aids, Ovaltine . . ."

He's trying to cheer me up, but it's not working.

"It's okay to be nervous," he adds as he puts an arm on my shoulder.

"Nervous I can deal with--I'm just starting to wonder if it's even a good idea to go through with this."

"So now you don't want to meet him?"

"It's not that . . . it's just . . . after Adenauer's picture in the paper and the way they're putting the pressure on Lamb . . . I think the FBI is getting ready to pounce."

"Even if they are, I don't see much of a choice," he points out. "You're taking every precaution we can think of--as long as you're careful, you should be okay."

"But don't you see, it's not that simple. Right now, when the FBI asks me about Vaughn, I can look them in the eye and say we don't know each other. Hell, I can pass a lie detector if I need to. But once we get together . . . Trey, if the FBI is watching as close as I think--and they see me and Vaughn talking--every defense I ever had goes right down the toilet."

Reaching the end of the hallway, we both fall silent. During laps, you don't talk until you see who's around the corner. As we make the turn, there're only a few people at the far end. Nobody close. "Obviously, it's not the best situation," Trey replies. "But let's be honest, Michael, how else do you plan on getting answers? Right now, you've got about one third of the story. If you get two thirds, you can probably figure out what's going on, but who you gonna get it from? Simon? All that leaves you is Vaughn."

"What if he's setting me up?"

"If all Vaughn wanted was to screw you over, he would've already gone to the police. I'm telling you, if he wants to meet, he's got something to offer."

"Yeah, like copping a plea and serving me up to the FBI."

"I don't think so, Michael--it doesn't make sense. If Simon and Vaughn were working together, and they used your name to sneak Vaughn in, why--when he came in the building--would Vaughn link his own name to the one person he knows is about to look like a murderer?"

Trey looks at me and lets the question sink in. "You think Vaughn got screwed over too?" I ask.

"He may not be a saint, but there's obviously something we're missing."

As we walk, I run my fingertips against the hallway wall. "So the only way to save myself . . ."

". . . is to jump in with the lions," Trey says with a nod. "Everything has a price."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"Me too," Trey says. "Me too--but as long as you've kept your mouth shut, you should be fine."

Slowly, we turn another corner of the hallway.

"Please tell me you've kept your mouth shut," he adds.

"I have," I insist.

"So you didn't tell Pam?"

"Correct."

"And you didn't tell Lamb?"

"Correct."

"And you didn't tell Nora?"

I wait a millisecond too long.

"I can't believe you told Nora!" he says, giving me the rub. "Damn, boy, what're you thinking?"

"Don't worry--she's not going to say anything. It only makes things worse for her. Besides, she's good at this stuff. She's full of secrets."

"No crap, she's full of secrets. That's the whole point. Silence--good. Full of secrets--bad."

"Why're you being so paranoid about her?"

"Because while you're up in the Residence drooling all over the First Nipples, I'm the only one who's still planted in reality. And the more I dig, the less I like what I see."

"What do you mean, 'dig'?"

"Do you know who I was on the phone with when you walked in? Benny Steiger."

"Who's he?"

"He's the guy who shines the mirror under your car when you come in the Southwest Gate. I snuck his sister onto the South Lawn for Fourth of July last year, and since he owes me a solid, I decided to call it in. Anyway, remember that first night when you and Nora were trailing Simon? I had Benny do a little check on the guardhouse records for us. According to him, Nora came home alone that night. On foot."

"I dropped her off. Big deal."

"Damn right it's a big deal. Once you lost the Secret Service in your little car chase, you also lost your alibi."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the single easiest way for Nora to cover her ass. If she wanted to, there's absolutely nothing preventing her from saying that after you lost the Service, she got out of your car and you went your separate ways."

"Why would she do that?"

"Think about it, Michael. If it comes down to your word against Simon's, who's gonna back up your story? Nora, right? Only problem is, that's bad news for Daddy. This close to reelection--with our lead barely an eyelash above the margin of error--she's not going to put him through that. But if she wasn't there when Simon made the drop--no more problems. You and Simon can scratch each other's eyes out. Of course, in a catfight, he'll eat you like tuna."

"What about the cop who pulled us over? He saw us."

"C'mon, man, you said it yourself: He pretended not to know her. He's the last person I'd count on."

"But for Nora to do all that on purpose . . ."

"Riddle me this, Batman: When you got back to the Southeast Gate, why didn't you drive her through?"

"She figured the Service would be mad, so she said I should--"

"Ding, ding, ding! I believe we have a winner! Nora's suggestion. Nora's plan. The moment you got busted with the money, her brain was churning its way out of it." As we turn another corner of the hallway, he lets the argument sink in. "I'm not saying she's out to get you; I'm just saying she's got her eye on number one. No offense to your love life, but maybe you should too."

"So even though they haven't classified it as a murder, I should screw her over and turn myself in?"

"It's not such a terrible idea. When it comes to a crisis, it's always better to get in front of it."

I stop where I am and think about what he's saying. All I have to do is give up. On myself. On Nora. On everything. My mother taught me better than that. And so did my dad. "I can't. It's not right. She wouldn't do that to me--I can't do that to her."

"Can't do that to . . . Aw, jeez, Michael, don't tell me you're in l--"

"I'm not in love with her," I insist. "It's just not the right time. Like you said, the meeting's this afternoon. I'm too close."

"Too close to what?" Trey calls out as I head back to the stairs. "Vaughn or Nora?"

I let the question hang in the air. It's not something I want to answer.