The Devil's bed

“Most recently, NOMan was responsible for the murder of Robert Lee, for the murder of a Secret Service agent named Diana Ishimaru, and for a plot to assassinate the First Lady and her father. I’ve asked for further investigation into the death of Alan Carpathian, whom, I’m now convinced, you had killed in the hope of opening the door of the White House to NOMan.

“These actions, and others that are coming to light, go far beyond murder. They’re clearly treasonous in their effect of subverting the authority of the federal government. They strike at the heart of the legal and constitutional processes that underlie this nation.”

The senator clapped his hands. “That’s quite a speech. Where are the cameras?” He shook his head. “You know, Clayboy, to the average American voter you’ll sound like a lunatic. If I were you, I wouldn’t rely too heavily on the things Tom Jorgenson has said. After what that poor man’s been through, that awful head injury and then his stroke, I’m betting it won’t be hard to convince the American people that he’s just a little confused. You go public with your accusations and you’ll throw the election away.”

“My first responsibility is to this nation, Senator, to do my best to see that it’s secure from enemies outside our borders and within.”

“Enemies?” A deep, angry flush colored the senator’s usual white pallor, and his knuckles humped tight over the head of his cane. “I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You weren’t much bigger than my hand. I promised myself that my son would never go through the kind of hell I’d gone through. I promised myself that if I had anything to do with it, no man’s son ever would.

“I’m going to speculate here for just a minute. If NOMan actually functioned in the way you seem to believe, it could be that this country never had a better friend. Do you have any idea of the number of international blunders, partisan follies, and just plain crazy decisions made by the men in this office that have resulted in tragedies of catastrophic proportions?” He pointed a finger at his son. “You presidents. You come here with a dream, at best. At worst, you’ve got a laundry list of ill-conceived notions. You’re here for a few years, and then you’re a footnote in history. In war, it would be like letting green recruits play general. You have no idea of the havoc you wreak.

“But maybe there are those who do, men and women who know firsthand the pain caused by the bunglings and betrayals of this office and others. And if they’ve committed their lives and their fortunes to doing their best to help this country avoid disaster whenever possible, then I’d certainly be tempted to applaud them.

“Enemies? Clayboy, you’re so concerned about keeping all those trophies of yours polished that you wouldn’t know a friend if he bit you on the ass.

“I’ll tell you something, Mister President. You can shut down the agency. You can draw up a mountain of indictments. But an organization like that can’t be stopped. Its people are everywhere. You go forward with all this, and I swear you’ll be nothing but history’s whipping boy.”

“Are you finished?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“I think you are.”

“We’ll see,” Dixon said. “We’ll just see.” He stood and turned toward the door, but found his way blocked by a man in a wheelchair whom Lorna Channing had quietly brought into the room.

The president said, “Senator, I’d like you to meet Bo Thorsen. In my estimation, a great patriot. This man risked everything, his reputation and his life, for his country. I wanted you to see him and him to see you. In war, you should look into the face of your enemy and understand that it’s human. Bo, I’d like you to meet Senator William Dixon. One of the fathers of NOMan, and my father as well.”

The senator fixed Bo with a stony glare. “When I look at you, it’s not a patriot I see.”

Bo replied with a pleasant smile, “You know, you’re much smaller than I imagined.”

chapter forty-nine

Kate wheeled him through the Rose Garden. She wore a yellow dress that made her look, among all those flowers, like a flower herself, the loveliest of them all, Bo thought.

It was a mild afternoon, a beautiful day, early September. In a few weeks, the green would drain from the trees and the leaves would turn to fire. A wonderful chill would slip into the morning air. Winter would follow, probably too soon, but Bo knew that for a brief while the world would seem perfect.

As if she’d read his mind, Kate said, “We’re heading into my favorite time of year.”

“Election?”

“Funny.” She laughed lightly. “I love the fall. Full of sweet nostalgia.”

Her hand, warm as the sunshine, lit on his shoulder. She wheeled him to a stone bench in the shade of a hedge, turned him toward the White House, then she sat down.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Bo said.

“Go ahead.”

“Have you really forgiven the senator?”