Michael Palmer - Oath of Office

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Darlene replied, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

“I have my reasons for being oblique.”

“I sincerely want to help my friend Russ,” Darlene said.

“Then you’re going to have to trust me without getting all the facts. That’s the deal.”

“At least tell me what’s at stake here. Tell me why it’s so imperative that Gretchen Rose not be appointed.”

“It’s impossible to say precisely what’s at stake. But it could be a great deal.”

Darlene frowned. “Okay, we’re done. I’ve put a lot on the line to meet with you this way, and I’m very disappointed that I took the risk. I don’t appreciate circuitous conversation. You won’t get my help this way. There’s just too much at stake for me.”

Shoulders sagging, Double M turned and appeared ready to depart. After one unsteady step, he whirled back around. “Her name is Margo.”

“The girl on the recording?”

“Yes.”

“So, in order to get my husband to reinstate Russell Evans, you want me to find this girl named Margo.”

Double M reached into his jacket pocket, and Darlene had a flash of panic that he was going for a weapon. Before she could react or even process the thought, his hand came out holding a handkerchief.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket with the handkerchief to withdraw a letter-sized white envelope. “As you heard on the recording, she’s a prostitute. I’m sure of that. Besides her name, that’s all I know. Inside this envelope are several photographs of her that I took. Her face is partially obscured, and I never got a clean a shot, because I was trying to be discreet. But I’ve also included a flash drive with an MP3 voice sample that could be used for matching purposes, as well as the girl’s fingerprint, which I lifted using a piece of Scotch tape off the chair she was sitting on. Do you know people who could help?” ”

“I might.”

“I heard her mention she was living in D.C.”

“Well, that might be useful.”

Double M handed over the envelope. Darlene’s heart sank as she flipped through four grainy color photographs of a titian-haired, blindfolded girl with a willowy frame, both seated upon and standing beside a wooden chair. Not much. Not much at all.

“I’m not making any promises,” Darlene said. “I assume from the precautions not to leave your fingerprints that I can keep these.”

Double M adjusted the electrolarynx against the side of his trachea. “I was hoping you would. If I learn any more, I’ll get the information to you.”

“Come on, Alex. You can at least be honest enough to tell me you’re holding stuff back.”

“Okay, let’s just say I’ve told you everything I can.”

“May I ask why you approached me and not my husband?”

“Your husband won’t believe the tape recording is real. In addition, he has too much to lose by reneging on his stance. He respected Russell Evans when he nominated him, but he’s not nearly as intensely connected to the man and his policies as you are.”

“And how are you so sure about my feelings toward Evans?”

“Because I read your interview in Time magazine where you talked about knowing him since you were children, and you likened him to your own father. I did extensive research about you. From what I’ve learned, I know that the comparison to your father isn’t something you would have made lightly.”

Darlene was impressed. “Just so I’m clear-you want my help to find this girl, and then I’m to arrange a meeting between her and my husband. I would be doing this to convince my husband that Russ Evans was framed and must be reinstated.”

“That’s correct. I also suspect he would have to arrange some sort of a presidential pardon for Margo.”

At that moment, a small pink rubber ball arced out from the bathroom window and bounced several times across the alley before disappearing under a car.

“That’s the signal from Kim,” Darlene said. “She and Nicole are in the bathroom. I have to get back inside. She set her foot on the bottom step, then paused. “How should I contact you?”

Double M reached into his jacket again and took out a cell phone. “This is a disposable cell phone. Nobody will be able to trace your call to me, and you won’t be able to trace me from it, either. There’s one recent call on it. Ring that number only when you have something to report. Afterwards, please completely destroy the phone.”

“Whatever it is you’re going through seems agonizing,” Darlene said. “I’m truly sorry.”

“I knew you’d understand,” the man said. “I’ll take care of the ladder.”

Darlene ascended the remaining steps, gripped the window’s edge, and silently hoisted herself back into the bathroom.

Victor Ochoa approached Darlene as she and Kim were exiting the theater. “May I speak with you a moment in private?” he asked.

Kim had been talking nonstop about the movie, in effect allowing her to transmit a plot summary to Darlene, just in case.

“Of course, Victor,” Darlene said.

Ochoa escorted her to a secluded corner of the theater.

“What’s up?” Darlene asked. Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest. She knew Victor well enough to sense that something was very wrong. His expression did nothing to dispel that notion.

“Listen, I’m on your side,” the swarthy agent said evenly. “I have one job to do and that’s to keep you safe.”

“And you do it well,” Darlene said, trying not to stammer.

“Not when you sneak through a bathroom window to rendezvous with a tall muscle man in the alley behind the theater.”

“Victor, I-”

“It’s not my business to know all the details of your life,” he said. “But it is my business to know where you are and who you’re with. Look, I’m not your husband and I’m not here to judge you. I’ve worked for three First Ladies before you. I trusted them and they all trusted me. But if I find you’re not trusting in me anymore, if I find you’re playing games that are keeping me from doing my job, then my allegiance will have to go someplace else. Is that understood, Madam First Lady?”

Darlene felt her throat tighten. “You won’t tell my husband?”

“Not if you stop trying to sneak away.”

Darlene squeezed Ochoa’s arm. “I’ll explain to you soon,” she vowed.

“Not necessary, but I’d appreciate that.”

“I’m lucky to have you.”

“No, that guy you met back there is lucky,” the graying agent replied. “If I hadn’t seen that envelope come out of his pocket, he would have developed a new orifice or two in his body.”

Just past the sign for Kings Ridge, the Caddy made a sudden left turn onto a poorly lit road-two narrow lanes, no dividing line, few cars. Cap was forced to drop back until their quarry’s taillights were red peas in the mounting darkness. They continued west into the day’s final blush of sunlight.

“Getting tougher,” Lou said to Cap.

“The only thing we have going for us is that there’s no reason for them to suspect anyone’s tailing them.”

“If this is what Virginia’s like,” Notso chimed in, “I choose our hood any day.”

“I hear there’s a collection bein’ taken to send you out here permanently,” George said.

A mile … then another. Now there were no cars coming the other way, and only darkness between them and the glowing red peas. They bounced across a railroad track and rolled past several white-painted corrugated hangars with NO TRESPASSING signs mounted to the outside walls.

Cap cut the Chevy’s headlights, plunging the car into darkness. The blackening sky made it difficult to follow the winding stretch of road that snaked around low hills and paralleled a small rill on the left. Soon, though, the curves straightened out and the landscape turned flat again. On both sides now, there was nothing but corn.