Michael Palmer - Oath of Office

When Kim arrived, Bar None was enjoying another packed night of deep-pocketed patrons. Spotting an opening at the bar near where Doug was serving at Mach 2 speed, she wormed her way onto the stool and waved for the bartender’s attention. When he finally came over, he seemed unaware that he had just minutes ago called her cell phone. He just stood there, waiting impatiently to take her order. The jukebox was blasting a song from the country trio Lady Antebellum, and a dozen young and beautifuls were vying for his attention.

“What can I get you?” he called out.

“I’m the woman you just phoned.”

Recognition dawned. “Oh yeah,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Here you go.” He handed Kim an open Amstel Light, along with a cardboard coaster.

She left the beer on the bar and flipped over the coaster. To her surprise, there was no writing on the bottom. Her heartbeat began to accelerate.

“Edwin told me you’d do that,” said a gravelly voice at her elbow.

Kim snapped her head right and saw a cadaverous-looking man in a nicely tailored suit and striped bow tie. Tall and stoop shouldered, the man, well into his seventies, she guessed, extended a bony hand. He had a road map of narrow veins covering his sunken cheeks, and bushy white eyebrows hovering above a set of intelligent chestnut eyes.

“Who are you?” Kim asked.

“My name is Shank, Norman Shank,” he said. “I am a friend of Mr. Edwin Chester, and also his attorney.”

No business card. Kim doubted she would find a Norman Shank in any listing of area lawyers.

“Go on,” she said.

“My instructions were to contact you precisely in the manner I am doing. Regrettably, I am afraid that something terrible has befallen Edwin.”

“Edwin?”

“Edwin Chester, the son of William Chester of Chester Enterprises.”

“The seed giant?”

“Yes,” Shank said. “He is also the man you know as Double M.”

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” Kim asked, glancing around for anyone who seemed interested in them.

“According to my understanding, everything that Edwin has to say is contained in here.” Shank handed over a large sealed manila envelope. “You see, for some time now, Edwin has instructed me to phone him every day at three o’clock in the afternoon, sharp. If he failed to answer my phone call, I was to send him a text message. Difficult thing, teaching an old man like me how to text. In any event, if Edwin failed to respond to my text within an hour, I was to assume that he was either dead or incapacitated. In that event, I was to contact you via Doug, here at Bar None, and hand-deliver this envelope.”

“Double M is dead?” Kim asked, struggling to remain composed.

The lawyer smiled sadly. “The likelihood is that the most dire misfortune has, in fact, befallen him. Once I have done as he requested here, I will set about to learn what has happened, but we must think the worst.”

Kim clutched the envelope. “Thank you.”

Her thoughts swirled through the implications of Double M’s death-either murder or suicide, it seemed.

Shank bowed his head slightly. “I must be going now. Please do not try to contact me. Those are Edwin’s wishes. If I learn anything you need to know, I will get back to you.” He turned and shambled from the restaurant.

Kim, never losing contact with the envelope, drank half her Amstel in two gulps and again scanned the patrons for anyone paying too much attention to her. The game had changed to serious hardball. Fifteen minutes later, she was considering another beer when her cell phone rang.

“I’m parked right outside,” Darlene said.

Kim paid her tab, left a twenty under the coaster, and hurried to Darlene’s limo. She was surprised when another agent, not Victor, opened the door for her. Darlene instructed the man and the agent with him to get onto the Capital Beltway and drive until she asked them to return to the White House. As they pulled away, she requested that the privacy window behind the front seat be closed. Then she settled back next to her friend.

“Where’s Victor?” Kim asked as soon as they were moving.

“I told him to take a few days off for his own good. Martin wants to fire him for taking us to Philadelphia.” Her hands were tightly clenched.

“Talk to me,” Kim said, gently loosening Darlene’s fists.

Darlene described her fight with Martin, the threats he made against Victor, and what he revealed about trading GMO corn seed and technology to the Chinese for American jobs.

Kim listened in stunned silence, the envelope from Double M resting on her lap. “Have you told Lou about all this?” she asked.

“No. I gave Martin my word that I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I’m really PO’ed at him. The choice was between sharing with you what happened and broadcasting his pigheadedness on CNN. I guess I really shouldn’t have put you in the line of Martin’s fire by telling you.”

“Nonsense. I can handle it. I’m just sorry I can’t do anything about his deplorable behavior. So, what now?”

Darlene sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I need Martin to meet with Lou. That’s the only way he can possibly be convinced the corn isn’t safe. But that just isn’t going to happen. Lou has joined the ranks of Russ Evans-people I am forbidden to mention in Martin’s presence. I swear, Kim, I have never seen such change in a man.”

“You don’t have to explain, babe. I remember how he was the night we won. Floating right up there overhead with the red, white, and blue balloons. Alas, becoming the most powerful person on earth can cause some pretty heavy changes-like the bite of that radioactive spider did to Peter Parker. Darlene, you don’t have to answer this, but is there something going on between you and Lou?”

“Why would you even wonder about such a thing?” she replied, not trying too hard to suppress the glint in her eyes.

“I knew it. I swear, Dar, you have all the guile of a newborn.”

“I don’t even know what’s happening. Lou is the only man I’ve had these sort of feelings for since I met Martin.”

Kim squeezed her hand. “Have you kissed him?”

“No. No,” Darlene replied emphatically. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it, especially after that circus today with Martin.”

“Careful about doing anything when you’re angry. It’s someone’s rule.”

“I understand.”

“Whatever you do, I’m behind you all the way.”

The women hugged.

“So, tell me,” Darlene asked, “what’s going on with Double M?”

Kim handed over the envelope, having nearly forgotten it was there. “It’s bad,” she said. “Real bad.” She recounted the upsetting exchange with the man calling himself Norman Shank. “You should open it,” Kim said softly. “Read it to yourself, or if you want, feel free to read it out loud.”

The pages, several of them, were neatly single-spaced with a double space between paragraphs. As Darlene scanned the first few words, she covered her mouth in horror, then read aloud.

Dear Madam First Lady:

If you are reading this letter, then I am dead. My name is Edwin Chester, and I am the son of William Chester, Chairman and CEO of the Chester Seed Company. This letter is a confession of sorts. It does, in my death, what I could not bring myself to do while I was alive-finally to tell the truth about my father’s lies and misdeeds.

Darlene gasped. “Lou was right,” she whispered before continuing.

I apologize for all the subterfuge. My reasons for not being more forthcoming were the direct result of my steadfast, unyielding love for William Chester. You can research his most remarkable life, but accounts will paint a very incomplete picture of the caring, loving man whom I have been blessed to call my father. I write this even though I believe he will be found at least partially responsible for my death.