David Baldacci - First Family

When they woke the next morning to catch their flight, Frank Maxwell was already dressed and gone. This time Michelle didn't even try to call his cell.

"He won't answer it," she said over a cup of coffee at the airport.

"What do you think he was doing at the farmhouse?"

"Maybe the same reason I was there."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning I don't know exactly," she said miserably.

"Do you want to stay here? I can pop up for the funeral."

"No, I don't think there's anything I can do down here right now. And going to another funeral won't be nearly as depressing as staying here and watching my family finish disintegrating."

The service for Pam Dutton was over now and people were filtering away, though Sean did notice that many folks did their best to finagle a handshake with the president. And to his credit he accommodated them as best he could.

"Can't chance ticking off a potential voter," Michelle said sarcastically.

Jane walked out with her brother and the kids. Several agents flanked them, but the bulk stayed with the president. As he watched this scene, Sean well knew that that one life trumped all others. The First Lady was a vitally important protectee in the world of the Service, but her ranking was so far below the president's that if a choice had to be made as to whom to save, it would not be a difficult decision.

Michelle apparently read his thoughts because she said, "Did you ever wonder what'd you do?"

He turned to her. "What'd I do about what?"

"If you had to choose between the First Couple? Which one to save?"

"Michelle, you know if there's one rule the Service bangs into your brain it's that one. The president's the one life you can not let end."

"But let's say he's committing a crime. Or what if the guy goes nuts and is attacking the First Lady. He's getting ready to kill her. What would you do? Take him out or let her die?"

"Why are we having this conversation? Isn't the fact that we're at a funeral depressing enough?"

"Just wondering."

"Good, you wonder. I'll stay out of it."

"It's just a hypothetical."

"I have enough trouble dealing with reality."

"Are we going to see the First Lady?"

"After my last phone call with her, I'm not sure. I'm not even sure if we're on the same side as her anymore."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sean let out a long sigh. "I'm just talking and not making much sense." He looked over at the man coming toward them. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

Michelle glanced over in time to see Agent Waters striding toward them.

"I thought I asked you two not to leave town," he said sharply.

"No, I think you said you wanted us to be available for further questioning," Michelle said back. "Well, here we are. All available and everything."

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Tennessee."

"What's in Tennessee?" he said angrily. "Some lead you're not sharing?"

"No. We were at another funeral."

"Whose?"

"My mother's."

Waters eyed her closely, perhaps trying to gauge if Michelle was pulling his chain or not. He apparently came away satisfied because he said, "I'm sorry. Was it unexpected?"

"Murder usually is," Michelle said before walking on toward the row of parked cars.

Waters shot a glance at Sean. "Is she on the level?"

"Afraid so."

"Damn."

"Did you need us for anything?"

"No. I mean not right now."

"Good. See you around."

He caught up to Michelle and they were about to climb in her SUV when they heard someone behind them. And the person was out of breath.

Tuck Dutton looked like he'd just run a mile. His face was flushed and his chest was heaving.

"Tuck, what the hell is it?" Sean asked, grabbing hold of his arm. "Come on, man, you just got out of the hospital. You shouldn't be running sprints."

Tuck sucked in a breath, put a steadying hand against the SUV, and nodded toward the presidential limo. Jane Cox was just climbing in it, along with her husband, while agents hovered around them.

"The guy I saw with Pam," he said breathlessly.

"What about him?" Michelle asked.

"He's here."

"What? Where?" Sean snapped, looking around.

"Right over there."

Tuck pointed toward the limo.

"Which one?"

"The big guy right at the president's elbow."

Sean looked at the man, back at Tuck, and then at Michelle.

"Aaron Betack?" said Sean right as the rain picked up.

A RECEPTION was held for the people attending the funeral. Not at the White House, but at Blair House, right across the street. It was actually four houses connected together and at about seventy thousand square feet was larger than the White House. Normally the residence was used by visiting foreign heads of state and other high-ranking VIPs. Harry Truman and his family had even stayed there in the 1950s when the White House had been stripped down to its support beams and totally rebuilt. But today it would be a place for people to gather and remember Pam Dutton, have a few drinks and nibble on some food prepared by the world-class White House kitchen chefs.

Sean and Michelle passed through the metal detector, walked under the long awning, were wanded at the front door, and then entered the house. They had both been here before on high-level dignitary protection during their years at the Service. However, this was the first time they had seen the place in a nonworking capacity. They accepted drinks from a waiter and hugged a corner, watching and waiting. The president arrived with Jane, and then Tuck and the kids followed them in.

"There he is," said Michelle.

Sean nodded as Aaron Betack entered the room and scoped it out grid by grid as every agent who had ever worked for the Service instinctively did, retired or not. It was simply a habit you never forgot. Or else couldn't break.

"How do you want to do this?" she asked.

"He can't exactly fire us for grilling him."

"But should we tip our hand that we know about his seeing Pam?"

"That's the big question. Let's circle around it with him and see if the answer falls out of his mouth."

They waited until Betack had broken away from another group and walked into an adjoining room.

"Hey, Aaron," said Sean as he and Michelle came in behind him.

Betack nodded at them but said nothing.

Sean eyed the glass in the other man's hand. "Not working today?"

"Just paying my respects."

"Sad day," said Michelle.

Betack clinked the ice cubes in his glass and nodded, biting down on a cracker. "Shitty day all around, actually."

"More than the funeral, you mean?" said Sean.

"Nothing on the girl. First Lady's not happy."

"But FBI's still working leads. We just saw Waters. He didn't strike me as a guy who gives up easily."

Betack drew closer. "Best detective in the world needs to have a lead of some kind."

"Can't argue with that."

"So no more communications from the kidnappers?" asked Michelle.

"Not since the bowl and spoon."

"Odd," commented Sean.

"Everything about this sucker is odd," Betack said strangely.

"But it was also really well planned. If Michelle and I hadn't shown up at the house unexpectedly, we'd know even less. So you think they'd be in regular communication."

Betack shrugged. "It is what it is."

"Anything on the letters on Pam's arms?"

"Not that I know of."

Sean glanced at Michelle and said, "I remember the first time I met Pam. She was really great. Terrific mom. Did you know her at all?"

Sean said this casually but he gazed intently at the other man.

"Never had the pleasure," Betack said matter-of-factly. "When I said I was coming to pay my respects, it was for the First Lady."