The Devil's bed

William Dixon took his time rising from his chair. He drew his rigid frame to its full, impressive height. “You may be willing to stand there and let fate smack you between the eyes, Clayboy, but I’m not going to let that happen, by God. I didn’t get you here just to have you turn the Dixon name into a national joke.” With a show of great dignity, he walked to the door and left the office.

After the Senator had gone, Dixon turned angrily to Llewellyn. “How does he know about me and Kate? Where does he get his information?”

“I don’t know. He just gets it. Mr. President, do you want my resignation?”

“Your resignation? What are you talking about?”

“It’s obvious I don’t have your confidence. Without that, I can’t do my job. Do you want my resignation?”

“John, if I wanted someone else in your office, I’d let you know. I probably should have told you about Kate, but there are some things I want handled by Bob Lee, and that will never change. If you can’t live with it, then do what you need to do.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Right now, I don’t know who in the hell to trust.”

Llewellyn shook his head. “Then God help you, Mr. President, because you can’t run this country alone.”

As soon as his chief of staff was gone, Dixon went to the door of the Oval Office and spoke to his secretary. “Maryelizabeth, get Bobby in here now.”

“He’s waiting for you with the others in the Roosevelt Room,” Maryelizabeth Hart said. “The meeting to discuss the summit.”

“I didn’t ask you where he is. I said get him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell the others the meeting will be delayed awhile.”

A long minute passed before Robert Lee stepped into the Oval Office.

“Close the door, Bobby.”

Lee did as he’d been asked.

“Sit down.”

Lee took a chair.

“Who did you talk to about Kate, Bobby?”

“No one other than those you asked me to speak with.”

“One of them talked.”

“What makes you think so?”

“My father was just in here, and he knows, Bobby. He knows.”

“No one I spoke with would breach your confidence, Clay. They’re our people, not the senator’s.”

“Well somebody sure as hell said something. My father’s surprising in a lot of ways, but I assure you he isn’t psychic.”

“Clay, if you start distrusting those closest to you, you’ll end up trusting no one. Is it possible Kate is the source?”

“She hasn’t even told her father.”

“You’re positive?”

“She was definite.”

Lee put an index finger to his lips and thought a moment. “You talked with Kate on the phone from the Residence.”

“Yes.”

“And we talked here.”

“That’s right.”

“And I met with the others in my office. I know it sounds crazy, Clay, but maybe we’ve been bugged.”

“The Secret Service is supposed to make sure all my communications are secure.”

“Maybe we should have them do a full security sweep,” Lee suggested.

“I agree,” Dixon said.

He buzzed Maryelizabeth Hart. “Get Rich Thielman here and get him here now.” He was speaking of the head of the Secret Service Presidential Protective Detail. He turned to the window behind him. The day was still weighted with the gloom that had settled after the morning storm. “Bobby, I have something I want you to take care of. My father made a comment that concerns me. It sounded like a threat, as if he intends to intervene somehow to save my presidential ass and the family name. I’d like to know exactly what he’s up to.”

“What do you want?”

“He’s a man of amazing resources and little reserve when it comes to getting what he wants. And he doesn’t want me to lose this election.”

“More dirty tricks?”

“I don’t know, but it would be good to keep tabs on him. I’ve had enough surprises already. Can you handle this?”

“I’ll get someone on it.”

“No, I want you on it personally. I know you’re busy, but until we clear up the question of security around here I don’t want this moving beyond you and me.”

“All right,” Lee said. “I’m on it.”

“Be discreet when you’re poking around, Bobby. The last thing I want is for the senator to know we’re digging.”

“When was I not the soul of discretion?” He smiled that charming smile the press loved.

chapter twenty-seven

Ronnie Salone stepped into Bo’s hospital room. He was a new agent, on temporary assignment from the Chicago office. In the wake of the incident at Wildwood, security measures had proliferated, requiring additional agents. Secret Service had assigned a detail to cover Tom Jorgenson and Bo while they were in the hospital, although officially neither man was eligible for such attention. Salone escorted a visitor.

“This him?” Salone asked.

“Yeah, Ronnie. Thanks,” Bo said.

The agent left.

Otter shook his head. “Seeing you is like trying to get into Fort Knox. How’re you doing, Spider-Man?”

“I’ve been better, Otter. Good to see you, man. Pull up a chair.”

Otter sat down at Bo’s bedside. He wore a green Hawaiian shirt, faded jeans, and old sneakers. He was clean-shaven, and he’d swept his long, graying hair back in a neat ponytail. There was nothing to be done about the beating his face had taken from alcohol and a tough life, but for Otter, he looked pretty good.