The First Counsel

* * *

At two-fifteen in the morning, a delayed flight from Chicago arrives at the US Airways terminal. When the crowd clears off the plane, two security guards approach and tell me that the terminal is now closed.

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ask you to leave," the second guard says.

Trying to make sure they don't get a good look at my face, I keep my head down and give them nothing but Dolphins logo. "I thought you were open twenty-f--"

"The gates close for security purposes. The main terminal's open all night. If you want to wait out there, you're welcome to."

Refusing to look up, I take my paper-thin garment bag and leave CNN behind.

By three A.M., I'm spread out on a small bench next to the information booth, with the garment bag draped over my chest. In the past fifteen minutes, the guards have chased away two homeless men. I'm wearing a suit. They leave me alone. It's not the best hiding spot, but it's one of the few that'll let me sleep. Unlike New York, the subway here closes at midnight. Besides, if the authorities are searching, they're looking for someone trying to leave. I want to stay.

Over the next fifteen minutes, I'm having a hard time keeping my head up, but I can't calm myself enough to actually welcome sleep. Naturally, I'm wondering about Nora and how she's going to react, but the real truth is, I can't stop thinking about my dad. By now, the press is already bulldozing through the rest of my life. It's not going to take long to find him. I don't care how independent he is, he's not built for something like this. None of us are. Except maybe Nora.

Fading out, my mind trips back to Rock Creek Parkway. Trailing Simon. Getting caught with the money. Saying it was mine. That's where the snowball started. Barely two weeks ago. From there, the images rush forward. Vaughn dead in the hotel room. Nora on the White House roof. Caroline's eyes, one straight, one cockeyed. The moments blur together, and I mentally sketch how it could've been different. There was always a simple way out, I just . . . I didn't want to take it. It wasn't worth it. Until now.

In Washington . . . No. In life . . . there're two separate worlds. There's the perception of what's important, and then there's what actually is. It's been too long since I realized there's a difference.

As my eyelids sway shut, I pull the garment bag all the way up to my chin. It's going to be a cold night, but at least I've made my decision. I'm sick of being stuck in a phone booth.

Chapter 36

Simon wakes up at four-thirty in the morning and hustles through a quick shower and shave. On most days, he sleeps until at least five-thirty, but if he wants to beat the press today, he's going to have to get out early. Naturally, there's no paper on his doorstep yet, but he checks anyway.

Outside, where I'm sitting, it's still completely dark, so as he goes from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen, I follow the trail of lights. As near as I can tell, he's got a tasteful house in a tasteful neighborhood. It's not the best of Virginia's sprawling suburbs, but that's why he chose it. I remember him telling the story during the last staff retreat. The day he and his wife were going to bid on the house, their Realtor called about a brand-new home in a coveted section of McLean. Sure it was more expensive, Simon's wife argued, but they could afford it. Simon wanted nothing to do with it. If he was going to teach his kids proper values, they had to have something to shoot for. There's nothing gained by always being on top.

Looking back, the story's probably bullshit. Up until a few weeks ago, Simon was a man to be taken at his word. Which, in a strange way, is precisely why I'm now sitting in the passenger seat of his black Volvo.