The Devil's bed

Bo picked it up. It was a tabloid, theNational Enquirer. He was surprised to see on the cover a photograph of him and the First Lady standing together at his hospital window. Although sunlight reflected off the glass, Kate’s image was quite clear, and she was quite clearly laughing. Bo’s image was not so definite. It could have been almost anyone. The headline read “ROMANCE BLOOMS AT HOSPITAL BEDSIDE.” Bo glanced through the text that chronicled the First Lady’s daily visits to his room, quoted unidentified hospital staff about the intimacy of their relationship, and hinted that rumors of an as yet undisclosed indiscretion on the part of the president were sending his wife into another man’s arms.

“Rumors? What rumors?” Bo asked.

“A rag like that doesn’t need facts. It relies on innuendo and unfounded conjecture. So what about it?”

“You mean Kate and me?”

“Kate?” Ishimaru glanced at him, her eyes full of concern.

Outside Stillwater, they headed south toward Wildwood. They picked up the St. Croix Trail, which was less trafficked than it had been after Kathleen Jorgenson Dixon first arrived. Even considering the attack at Wildwood, she was already becoming yesterday’s news. Bo knew the tabloid story would probably change that.

Ishimaru said, “The rag got the facts all screwy, but I’m thinking they may not have missed the target by much. She’s beautiful, she’s bright, and if there’s any substance to those rumors about the president, she may be vulnerable right now.”

“I’m nothing to her,” Bo said. “Believe me.”

“You underestimate your charm.”

“Are you talking to me as my boss?”

“At the moment, as a friend. Think about what you’re feeling and then think about what you’re doing. And most of all, think about her.”

Bo looked out at the wooded hills. For a while he rode in silence.

“You look tired,” he said finally.

“Lots of people outside Secret Service are poking their noses into the incident at Wildwood. We’re not getting a lot of support from above.”

“You think someone’s going to get hung out to dry?”

“I can’t see it. I’ve reviewed everything, and we’re clear on protocol.”

He thought he noted some hesitation in her voice. He asked, “They want a scapegoat?”

“You just worry about getting yourself healthy,” she replied. “And keeping your face off the front page of tabloids. I can handle the rest.”

Just before they reached the turn to Wildwood, Ishimaru said, “By the way, military dental records for Moses arrived. Washington County ME says they’re a match. The body on the houseboat was definitely him.” She pulled into the drive, pausing a moment for the deputies there to ID her and Bo. At the gatehouse, an agent unfamiliar to Bo was standing post. After they’d passed through, he saw a newly dug trench running along the inside of the stone wall around the orchard.

“Underground, motion sensitive cable,” Ishimaru explained.

Bo understood. Nobody wanted a repeat of the tunneling Moses had done. It was a measure Bo himself had suggested several times, but Tom Jorgenson always vetoed the proposal. “I live behind enough of a wall already,” he’d complained. “And we both know that no matter how many security measures you put in place, someone bent badly enough on killing will find a way.” Which, as it turned out, was undeniably true.

They passed a number of agents Bo didn’t know. Ishimaru said, “The field office has been temporarily relieved of responsibility for security here. All our agents are back on normal duty.”

“Punishment?”

“Not necessarily. We’ve been under a lot of strain.”

“Diana, do you think I-”

She didn’t let him finish. “You were the only thing that stood between Moses and the First Lady. In the end, you were all that kept her alive.”

Not quite, Bo could have said. For Moses had offered the First Lady a chance at life. All she had to do was beg forgiveness for a sin he imagined she’d committed. Despite all his careful planning, Moses had hesitated. And that moment of hesitation was Bo’s opportunity and the First Lady’s salvation. Bo had written all this in his incident report, and he was sure Ishimaru knew it, so he said nothing.

She let him off at the guesthouse, where his car was parked. “Stay in touch,” she said.

A couple of agents came out to greet him-Cole Dunning, with whom he’d worked briefly while on assignment with the Dignitary Protection Division during the years of George Bush Sr., and Mack McKenzie, who’d gone through training with him. They shook his hand, and laughed, and they called him a hero. They said it lightly, but they meant it.

He found the First Lady sitting under an apple tree, the last in the row. Before her, the orchard grass ran ten yards to the edge of the bluff. Far below lay the sweep of the river. It looked peaceful and unmoving from that distance, a blue snake sleeping in the sun. Kate stared at the water.

“Hello,” Bo said.

She was startled, but she smiled when she saw him. “Bo. What are you doing here?”

“Came to get my car.”

She stood up. He saw that her feet were bare.