James Grippando - Born to Run

Even on too little sleep and too many shots, Jack realized exactly what she was saying. “I guess that leaves just one question,” he said.

“What?”

“Were the drugs planted by the vice president’s wife or by his daughter?”

She flashed a semblance of a smile, but it was a serious one. “I can give you one very good reason why you’ll never know the answer to that question.”

“I’m all ears.”

She leaned closer, moving to the edge of the couch as she looked him straight in the eye. “Because this conversation never happened.”

She rose from the couch and gathered her overcoat.

“Good night, Mr. Swyteck.”

Jack watched as she turned away, crossed the lobby, and disappeared through the revolving door.

Asweet, floral aroma rose from the White House coffee mug.

“Jamaica Mountain Grown,” said President Keyes in a tortured Caribbean accent. “Cool runnin’, mon. Harry? Frank? Join me?”

The president’s relaxed demeanor belied the fact that this was no routine update from Secret Service Agent Frank Madera, former head of protection for Vice President Grayson. The meeting was called-rather, demanded -by Harry Swyteck, and the three men were in the Treaty Room, the president’s personal office adjacent to the Lincoln bedroom in the White House residence. President Keyes sat in a big leather chair with his feet up on the Treaty Table, a magnificent Victorian desk originally used as a cabinet meeting table.

“Love some,” said Agent Madera.

The president poured another cup from the French press. “Harry?”

“It’s midnight, sir. One more cup of joe and I’ll be awake till dawn.”

“Oh, come on. I can get you any bean you want.”

Coffee beans were to the Keyes administration what jelly beans had been to the Reagan White House. Harry could scarcely say no. “Sure, why not.”

The president rang the kitchen on the intercom. “James, the governor wants a cup of joe.”

“What shall it be this time, sir?”

He flashed a boyish grin, as if matching up beans with guests made his presidential day. “What’s the one from Indonesia that those little tree-climbing marsupials can’t digest and the bean pickers gather up off the ground after the critters crap them out?”

“Kopi Luwak, sir?”

“That’s it. Send up a whole pot.”

“Right away, sir.”

He switched off the intercom. “You’re going to love this, Harry. Has sort of an earthy body with a hint of chocolate. Unusual aroma, however.”

“Imagine that.”

“Some people call it crappy Luwak because-”

“Enough with the coffee,” said Harry.

The tone took the president by surprise. “Maybe you’d prefer decaf,” he said.

“Sorry, sir. But frankly I’ve been on edge ever since my son got that e-mail from someone who claims he can bring down the president.”

“And as I told you, those things happen about once a week.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Harry. “But today I heard disturbing things about a former White House intern who recently turned up dead. In my eyes, this is critical. As I told you on the phone, I need some answers about Chloe Sparks.”

“That’s why I have Frank here,” said the president. “He can tell you everything you need to know about her.”

Harry’s gaze shifted to Agent Madera.

A fifteen-year Secret Service veteran, Special Agent Frank Madera began his career in the Washington field office. People had been telling him since high school that he looked like a Secret Service agent-six feet two inches tall, athletic build, stoic but handsome facade-but he would have liked to think it was his exemplary work on complex counterfeiting investigations thatn had earned him a promotion to the presidential protection division. His first major assignment was to protect president-elect Keyes, and by inauguration day Madera found himself standing within arm’s length of the new chief executive. He became the president’s most trusted agent, which precipitated a few questions when, thirteen months into his first term, the president suddenly had him reassigned to the vice president.

“Fire away,” said Agent Madera.

“Let’s start with the reason you were reassigned to Phil’s security detail.”

“That woman-Chloe Sparks-was unstable. After she was fired for drug possession, we tagged her as a potential stalker.”

The president interrupted, as if propelled to fill in the blanks. “Frank was seen as the best man to contain the threat.”

“That sounds like a crock,” said Harry.

“What did you just say?”

“Pardon my tone,” said Harry, “but I need you to stop talking to me as if I were an idiot. I’ve heard enough to know that it had less to do with stalking and more to do with the vice president’s libido.”

The president’s expression soured, but Harry’s gaze was cutting across the room like a laser beam, breaking down the wall of misinformation.

“All right,” said the president. “Phil was being Phil. Chloe Sparks made overtures to him-we called it stalking-but Phil didn’t see her advances as, shall we say, unwelcome as we did. That’s why Frank was reassigned to the vice president’s detail. To stop Phil from meeting with her.”

“I knew Phil as well as you did,” said Harry. “Once he made up his mind, no one could stop him from doing what he wanted to do. Not even the president.”

There was silence in the room, Harry’s words wrapping around the president like the coldest of realities.

“I want the truth,” said Harry, “or I’m withdrawing my name from consideration.”

“Harry, come on now.”

“I mean it,” said Harry. “The truth about Chloe Sparks. Or I’m out.”

He didn’t appear to be bluffing. The president blinked.

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “Frank, tell him.”

“Sir?” he said, incredulous.

“You heard me. Tell the governor why you were reassigned to Vice President Grayson.”

Agent Madera seemed uncomfortable with the task, but he never refused a direct order from the president-at least not in front of a third party. “It was my job to make sure that whatever the vice president did and however he did it, national security interests would not be compromised.”

“That’s a nice spin,” said Harry. “But what does it mean?”

The president said, “You said it yourself, Harry. I couldn’t stop Phil. But if we left it up to the vice president to pursue her, he was bound to end up like every other man who cheats on his wife. He’d get caught, eventually.”

Harry said, “So Agent Madera became the Secret Service facilitator-like JFK and Marilyn Monroe?”

“When it comes to sex,” the president said dryly, “few things are without precedent in Washington.”

“Are you telling me that Chloe Sparks was with Phil Grayson on the night of his death?”

The Secret Service agent took the question, even though it was directed to the president. “The good news is that the answer to that question is no.”

“Then why was he pumped full of ED medication?”

“How did you know that?”

“Jack told me,” said Harry.

“Your son has been busy, I see.”

“He has it on good authority that the toxicology report is going to show that Vice President Grayson was full of ED medication at the time of his death. So I want the whole truth: Was she with him in Florida?”

The president looked at his Secret Service agent and said, “Frank, the whole truth, for our distinguished nominee.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “She was supposed to come, but it didn’t work out. Too much media surrounding the vice president’s visit to Florida, too many guests around who might see something they shouldn’t see.”