Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

Holly looked at the woman occupying one corner of the screen before her.

“Good morning, Ms. Barker,” the woman said. “I think Americans would like to know why you have been in hiding for the past week or so.”

Holly smiled. “Not in hiding, but in the company of old friends in a quiet place. It gave me a little time to collect my thoughts and rest my body, after a hectic campaign schedule. I’ll have more to say about that at the end of the program.”

The next questions were asked, and Holly gave them thoughtful, sometimes witty, replies, exhibiting her knowledge of policy and her vivid intelligence. An hour later, they were at the end.

The director spoke up. “The president-elect has asked for a moment to say a few words on another subject,” he said.

“Thank you,” Holly replied. “During my time off, with friends in a secluded place that will remain unnamed, an attempt was made on my life. I was away from the house at the time, and as you can see, the attempt was not successful. However, in my absence, a tragedy occurred: six members of my Secret Service detail were attacked and killed by automatic weapons fire in a building near my quarters. The weapons were apparently silenced, because my friends and I heard nothing. I and my companions were removed to a safe location very quickly, and the Secret Service felt strongly that this announcement should be postponed until the situation was stable and pursuit of the perpetrators had begun. I could not disagree. Those violent people have not yet been brought to justice, but every available resource of law enforcement has been deployed, and I hope they will be arrested soon.

“These fallen agents gave their all to protect me, and I shall always be grateful to them. I mourn with their families, whose losses are incalculable and unbearable.

“Thank you for listening so that I could share this news with the nation. Goodbye for now.”

“And out,” the director said. His crew removed her earpieces and began restoring the living room to its previous order.

“Good job,” Stone said, kissing her on the forehead.

That evening they arrived at Teterboro. The Bacchettis’ car awaited them, as did Stone’s. He explained the armor contained in his car.

“Who did the work?” Bill Wright asked.

“Strategic Services. They have a branch that does special vehicles.”

“Have you ever put its defenses to use?”

“I had a window fired on once,” Stone replied. “It stopped the bullet and starred, but it didn’t shatter.”

“Those people do good work,” Bill said, taking the shotgun seat.

A half hour later, they were driving into Stone’s garage. “There’s room for some of your vehicles,” Stone said. “I own the house next door, too.”

“That’s convenient for us,” Bill said. “Nothing says ‘the Secret Service is here’ like a few black SUVs parked outside.”

Stone and Holly went straight up to the master suite and unpacked in their separate dressing rooms.

“It’s like coming home all over again,” Holly said, snuggling up close to Stone.

The following morning, Stone’s cell phone rang as they were finishing breakfast.

“Good morning, Lance,” he said. “I’m scrambled.” Lance Cabot was the director of central intelligence, for whom Stone was an advisor.

“Good morning, Stone. How was your vacation with Holly?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the details,” Stone said.

“What I haven’t heard or understood is why there was no attack at your backup location?”

“We believe that they had been told to go to Broad Cove Cottage but were not told the house was not on Broad Cove Road, an understandable mistake. So they didn’t get closer than about half a mile.”

“Ah, fortune smiled.”

“Just when we needed a smile most.”

“So now Holly faces assassination attempts right up to her inauguration?”

“Possibly not. The Secret Service is operating now at post-inaugural staffing levels, and the assailants may be put off by the headlines.”

“Have you seen this morning’s papers?”

“Not yet. They’re at the foot of the bed.” Stone picked up the Times and shook it from its blue plastic bag. The banner headline read:

A still photograph of Holly during her television appearance decorated the front page.

“Got it.”

“They had to tear up the front page to get that in this morning’s paper,” Lance said. “Usually they can’t manage more than the college football scores the next day.”

“It’s a more important story than the football scores,” Stone replied.

“Quite right. All of my people based domestically have an ear to the ground,” Lance said. “I hope that will turn up something useful.”

“I hope so, too,” Stone said.

“Give my best to Holly,” Lance said, then hung up.

“That was Lance,” Stone said. “He sends his best.”

“How sweet. Is he doing anything about this?” She was reading the front page.

“He says all of his people in the country have an ear to the ground.”

“That must be uncomfortable for them.”

“I expect so, because they will know that he means it.”

“Oh?”

“Lance would like nothing better than to one-up the Secret Service and the FBI.”

“He would probably expect the Medal of Freedom for it.”

“Lance always has high expectations. You should know that better than anybody.” Holly had once worked for Lance and had been promoted to Kate Lee’s deputy, when she had been director at the CIA, crowding Lance, who would have liked the job himself.

“I’m sure he will give me plenty of opportunities to make it up to him.”

“You shouldn’t be too hard on Lance, Holly. He’s inordinately proud of you.”

“Taught me everything I know, huh?”

“Well, probably not everything.”

“You go right on thinking that,” Holly said.

“I’ll think it. What does your day hold?”

“I have a lot of pent-up shopping urges I have to satisfy. Claire is working up a schedule and making appointments for me, so her people can stay one step ahead. We’re going to use both an SUV and your car, if that’s all right, just to keep photographers off my tail. One of Bill’s people will drive, so we won’t need Fred.”

“That’s fine. I have some work and correspondence to catch up on.”

She kicked off the covers. “Oh, and I’m getting my hair done, too.”

“Don’t you have something called a transition to deal with?”

“That starts tomorrow. Sam Meriwether is assembling lists of names for court appointments and cabinet posts, as well as for the Supreme Court. I know everybody in Kate’s administration pretty well, and it will help if we can persuade some of them to stay on, instead of writing their books or getting lobbying jobs.”

“Good luck with that,” Stone said. “The ones who were making money before serving will need to make money again.”

“You could be right, but don’t worry, we’re covering all the bases. What job would you like?”

Stone laughed. “The one I’ve got now,” he replied.

“You mean satisfying the chief executive’s cravings on a regular basis?”

“As regularly as you can get to New York.”

“They’ve taken a permanent suite for me at the Carlyle, and I get to decorate it, so we can alternate trysting places.”

“Where’s the transition team working?”

“In an empty storefront on Madison Avenue down from the Carlyle.”

“All very convenient,” he said.

“Especially you,” she replied, kissing him. “Now I’ve got to get into the shower.” She ran for it.