Mistress

Chapter 108

“Mr. President,” says Craig Carney. “Sir, I think we have this all cleared up.”

The president, dressed in a suit and tie, his eyes squinting, focuses on me. “Hello, Ben,” he says.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

The president looks around the room, unimpressed. “Apparently, you wanted my attention. And now you have it.”

“Mr. President,” says Carney. “I think Ben here will tell you that he’s been under a lot of strain, and he’s made some statements that he regrets. He’s willing to publicly disavow those statements.”

President Francis looks at me for confirmation.

“That depends,” I say.

“Mr. President, I have this under control,” says Carney. “You don’t have to listen to any of this, sir. I’ll take care of this.”

And then it comes to me, like the parting of the seas-no, wait, that was Moses, that wasn’t really a revelation so much as a miracle from God-let’s try this again.

And then it comes to me, like a shot of sunshine piercing a dark cloud-that works-a glimmer of hope for me. I hadn’t really given this thought serious consideration. It might have been floating around the recesses of my brain, but it never got my full attention. How stupid I’ve been. How utterly naive I’ve been this whole time.

“Your wife,” I say to the president.

“That’s enough!” Carney shouts at me. “Mr. President, really-”

“What about my wife?” says the president, approaching me, fire in his eyes.

Carney raises his hands as though he were a referee separating boxers. “This man is a traitor and a murderer, Mr. President. I promise you I have this under-”

“What about my wife?” the president repeats.

“Mr. President-”

“Goddamn it, Craig, that’s enough. I want to hear what this man has to say.”

Carney goes silent, but he turns to me. His face is a shiny crimson and his eyes are trying to tell me something. They’re telling me to keep my mouth shut.

“Your wife was having an affair with Diana Hotchkiss,” I blurt out. “Diana made a video of a sexual encounter with the First Lady and sold it to the Russians. They’re hanging it over your head so you’ll stand down while they invade Georgia and then every other former satellite, country by country, until they’ve rebuilt their Soviet empire.”

The president’s mouth opens and he steps back. His skin has gone pale, his eyes vacant.

That was my glimmer of hope. I can’t believe it never occurred to me before now.

The president didn’t know about any of this. He didn’t know about the video. He didn’t know the Russians were blackmailing the United States government.

“Craig,” he says. “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” says Carney. “This is preposterous.”

“If it’s preposterous,” I say, “then why did Carney lie to you about Diana Hotchkiss being dead? She’s alive, Mr. President. You eulogized her at the White House press briefing. I was there. But she’s not dead.”

“Diana?” The president looks at me, then at his CIA deputy director, his old, faithful friend. “Diana is…alive?”

“This is ridiculous, Mr. President,” says Carney.

“I’ll bet Carney was the one who told you she was dead,” I say to the president. “I’ll bet he was the one who asked you to mention her at the press conference. He wanted the Russians to think they had succeeded in killing her.”

The president’s eyes glaze over. He’s thinking back to that day. And he’s remembering it exactly as I’m saying. I can feel it.

“Mr. President, I can prove this. I have date-stamped photos of Diana from last night, handcuffed inside a government car. Even better, you can order a DNA test on the body in the morgue. That woman isn’t Diana Hotchkiss. It’s Nina Jacobs, of Downers Grove, Illinois. A DNA test will prove it. And I have e-mails that show that Diana set up this poor woman to be at her house at the time she was pushed off the balcony.”

“This man is a killer and a traitor, sir,” Carney says. “There’s no reason for you to listen to any of this. This man was trying to blackmail us. Now he’s trying to turn it around-”

“Is it true, Craig?” asks the president. “Is Diana still alive?”

“Mr. President-”

“Is. She. Alive?” The president’s face is changing colors.

Carney struggles to find words. But has no answer. He silently bows his head.

“It’s a…complicated situation,” he finally says.

“Christ almighty,” the president whispers. He runs a hand over his face. “Christ almighty. What have you done, Craig?”

“And I’ll bet it’s Craig Carney who’s been pushing you to lay low on the Russia-Georgia dispute,” I say quickly, not wanting to lose my momentum. “He’s cut a deal with the Russians behind your back, Mr. President. They think they’re blackmailing you, Mr. President, and you don’t even know it.”

“Mr. President,” Carney pleads.

“Mr. Carney,” says the president, his jaw clenched. “I want you to walk out of this room right now, stand out in the hallway, and talk to no one until I come out. Is that clear?”

For such a bright guy, the deputy director seems to have trouble following what I thought was a very clear command.

“Leave us,” says the president. “I want to hear what Ben has to say.”