Michael Palmer - Oath of Office

“How are you holding up?” Kim whispered without turning.

“I don’t have butterflies flying around in my stomach,” Darlene said, “if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I have buzzards.”

“Oh.”

“What if this is a bad idea? A trap of some sort. Terrorists.”

“Double M is incredibly resourceful and inventive. I think if he wanted to get to you, he could have done it already. No, he wants your help, and if you want to help Russ, you’re going to have to trust him-at least this once.”

The on-screen ads had given way to the previews. Subtly, Darlene glanced down at her wristwatch. “One hour to go,” she whispered.

“Keep your eyes on the screen,” Kim said, giving Darlene’s hand a squeeze.

The sixty minutes seemed interminable. Finally, Darlene tapped a fist on Kim’s knee, rose from her seat, and headed to the back of the theater.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she whispered to Bonnie.

“Stay here for half a minute.”

“You can check out the room, but please be sort of quick about it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be once I get in there.”

By agreement, she stood resting her elbows on the back wall and waited.

Darlene knew Bonnie was startled by her uncharacteristic abruptness, but it served its purpose. The woman checked the bathroom in thirty seconds or so and pronounced it empty. Moments later, Darlene was inside.

Grateful for the many hours she had spent with her yoga instructor, personal trainer, and in the White House gym, she crossed over to the pair of sinks and nimbly pushed herself up onto the one farthest from the door. It was no problem to slide the curtain aside on a small transom window that was now level with her waist, and to undo the latch.

As soon as she pushed open the window, a well-manicured hand featuring a shade of nail polish identical to her own gripped the sill from the other side. Then a woman’s head popped into view. Wearing the same wig, glasses, and satin scarf as Darlene, she climbed through the window, then stepped on the edge of the sink and dropped to the floor with a cat’s grace. The jeans and Hard Rock jacket completed a striking match.

“Madam First Lady,” the woman said as Darlene helped her down, “I’m Nicole Keane, Kim’s friend. It’s a pleasure to meet you. The stepladder is right outside. You won’t have any trouble.”

It was difficult for Darlene to keep from staring at the lawyer, whom Kim had described as the perfect body double.

“A ten-finger boost and you’re out of here,” Nicole said.

“Kim’s by herself ten rows down the second aisle. Just keep your head down and avoid any eye contact with the two agents in the last row. They think I’m in a hurry to get back to the movie, and won’t expect any chitchat. In fifteen minutes, Kim is going to tell them I have an upset stomach, and ask them to check the bathroom again. Then she’s going to come get you at your seat, and we’ll switch back.”

“I’ve got the plan memorized like it was one of my court briefs.”

“Perfect.”

“Ten-finger boost,” Nicole said, interlocking her fingers. “The ladder’s right under the window.”

“Is he there?” Darlene asked.

“I didn’t see him. Just the ladder.”

Darlene set her foot onto Nicole’s makeshift hoist, slipped easily through the window, located the ladder with her foot, and climbed down into the dimly lit alley behind the theater.

The alley appeared deserted. There was a Dumpster nearby that reeked of popcorn oil, and several cars parked against old brick buildings beneath a latticework of fire escapes. Darlene stepped out into the glow of a single hooded bulb at the end of a metal pole protruding from the theater. There were several similar lights spaced along the alley.

“Hello?” she called out in a strained whisper. “Are you here?”

Silence, and then, “I’m here.”

It took several unsettling seconds to locate the source of the voice. A tall man, six-foot-one or so, with broad, powerful shoulders, approached her from behind a parked car. He wore a baseball cap and glasses with a thick black frame, and had a neatly trimmed full beard. He was probably good-looking, but in the gloom, with the glasses and the beard, it was hard to tell. Darlene guessed him to be about forty. He was wearing a patterned blazer, blue oxford shirt, and crisply pressed pants.

A man of the outdoors, she decided.

He remained a couple of yards away, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Kim and I call you Double M for ‘Mystery Man,’” she said.

He held an electrolarynx against his throat, making his speech eerily robotic-and not identifiable. “Good nickname,” he said.

“You can come closer. I’m not afraid of you.”

Double M closed the gap between them by half, but declined taking Darlene’s extended hand.

“My name is Alex,” he said.

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Darlene said.

“No, but that doesn’t matter.”

His electronic voice was creepy, especially given the setting, but Darlene was determined not to react. “Okay, then, Double M Alex,” she said, “you want this to be our level of trust, that’s up to you.”

“I would be in great danger if my identity became known.”

“Well, we don’t have much time. What are we doing here?”

“Trying to save lives.” He studied Darlene as though she were an equation to be solved.

A professor or a scientist, she guessed. “Go on,” she said.

“First of all, you need to know that the recording you heard was real.”

“I believed it was. Otherwise I would not have risked so much for this meeting.”

“You may have to risk even more.”

“Who was on that recording?” asked Darlene. “Who was the girl? The other man speaking? What happened to her?”

Behind his lenses, Double M’s eyes narrowed. “At this point, I can’t reveal who is involved in that tape.”

Darlene was beginning to feel exasperated with the man’s paranoia. “What is it you want from me … Alex?”

Double M sucked in a nervous breath. “You must use your influence to get your husband to reinstate Secretary Evans.”

Darlene tensed. “Is Evans behind this?” she asked.

“I don’t even know the man.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but that can’t be done,” Darlene said. “Politics simply doesn’t work that way. Russ Evans has resigned, and he’s embarrassed the president.”

“There’s nothing in the Constitution to prevent reinstating him,” Double M countered.

Darlene stifled a laugh. “One thing I’ve learned from my years as a politician’s wife is that the Constitution may be a marvelous framework, but it isn’t politics.”

Double M appeared agitated. “We can’t let the president’s nominee get appointed. Russell Evans must be returned as Secretary of Agriculture, and soon.”

“And lives depend on it.”

“They might.”

“ Might? Well, from what I can tell, Gretchen Rose has impeccable credentials and widespread support. Her approval by Congress is all but assured. Are you suggesting that she is somehow involved with what I heard on that recording?”

“Indirectly,” he said.

Darlene felt herself emotionally pulling away from the man. Assuming Russ had been framed, she wanted to do anything she could to help him, but it didn’t feel as if this skittish man was the answer.

“By indirectly, you mean-?”

“It’s about her policies,” Double M said.

“So did Secretary Evans’s policies get him framed?”

“Yes.”

“You need to tell me more. Our time together is running out. You need to come clean with me, and you need to do it right now.”