The First Counsel

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Early Monday morning, on Labor Day, I'm sitting in the back row of a passenger van, still trying to convince myself that an FBI agent would communicate by sliding a note under my door. P. Vaughn. Peter Vaughn? Phillip Vaughn? Who the hell is this guy?

Driven by a sergeant in a gray sportcoat and a thin black tie, the van thunders down the highway, following the two identical vans in front of it. Sitting next to me is Pam, who hasn't said a word since our six A.M. pickup in West Exec parking. The remaining eleven passengers are following her lead. It's a minor miracle, really: thirteen White House lawyers packed in a van and no one's bragging, much less talking. But it's not just the early hour that's keeping everyone quiet. It's our destination. Today we bury one of our own.

Twenty minutes later, at Andrews Air Force Base, we check in with a uniformed guard at the gatehouse. At barely half past six, the sky's still dark, but everyone's wide awake. We're almost there. It's my first time on a military base, so I expect to see platoons of young men marching and jogging in step. Instead, as we weave across the winding paved road, all I can make out are a few low-lying buildings that I assume are barracks and a wide-open parking lot with tons of cars and a few scattered military jeeps. At the far end of the road, the van finally stops at the Distinguished Visitors Lounge, a mundane one-story brick building that evokes all the creativity of a 1950s sneeze.

Once inside, just about everyone strolls up to the wide glass window that overlooks the runway. They're trying to look nonchalant, but they're too anxious to pull it off. You can see it in the way they move. Like a kid sneaking an early peek at his birthday presents. What's the big deal? I ask myself. For the answer, I head straight for the window, prepared to be unimpressed. Then I see it. The words "United States of America" are printed in enormous black letters across its blue and white body, and a huge American flag is painted on its tail. It's the biggest plane I've ever seen. And we're riding it to Minnesota for Caroline's funeral: Air Force One.