The First Councel

Three minutes later, I’m climbing the stairs of the OEOB. I’ve got four hours before Adenauer sends me public, and I’m going to need them. Until I can think of something better, keeping the story quiet is all I’ve got. And when it comes to keeping stories quiet, Trey’s the master. My eyes scan the nearby bushes and scrutinize the surrounding columns. Whoever killed Vaughn, if they’re going to blame it on me, they might’ve already notified the Service. From the outside, however, everything looks okay. As I pull open the heavy glass door, I see a small line waiting to get through security-the after-lunch crowd getting back to work. Last in line, I count and study the four uniformed officers on duty. Do they know? Did word get out? Standing there, it’s hard to tell. There’re two behind the desk who’re caught up in small talk and two more by the X-ray machine.

Slowly, I inch closer to the front of the line. Hoping to avoid their gaze, I bury my head in the remaining sections of the newspaper. Almost there-just keep it quiet.

“Always working, aren’t you?” a man’s voice asks as I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“What the-” I spin around and grab his wrist.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Looking up, I see the blond hair and warm smile of a young lawyer, Howie Robinson. Sweetheart of a guy; works in the VP’s office.

“N-No, it’s okay.” I peek over my shoulder and check out the guards. All of them are watching us. Too much movement.

“You at the party yesterday?” Howie asks.

“Yeah,” I say, taking another glance at the guards. The two at the desk are starting to whisper.

“You shoulda seen it, Garrick,” Howie says. “I snuck my sister and nephew in. This kid-let me tell you, he went nuts-I think he’s in love with Nora.”

“Yeah… great,” I mutter. The guard at the desk gets up and walks over to the two at the metal detector. Something’s wrong.

“You okay?” Howie asks as we inch forward. I’m next in line.

“Sure,” I nod. I should get out of here right now. Go home and-

“Next!” the uniformed officer says. All eyes are on me.

Refusing to look up, I pull out my ID, punch in my code, and step through the turnstile. Bolting as fast as I can through the metal detector, I don’t even hear the sound of the alarm going off. The uniformed officer grabs me tightly by the arm. “Where you going, hotshot?”

I don’t believe it. “You don’t understand… ”

“Empty your pockets. Now.”

I catch myself before I say another word. It’s not a security alarm; it’s just the metal detector. “Sorry,” I say, snapped back to reality. “Belt. It’s my belt.”

A wave of his handheld detector verifies the rest.

“Take it easy, man,” Howie says as he pats me on the back. “You gotta get out of here once in a while-join us for basketball or something. It’s good for the soul.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I say, forcing a grin.

He heads to the right, while I make my way to the left. Although I’m surrounded by fellow employees, the hallway’s never felt more empty. As I’m about to turn the corner, I take one last look at the uniformed officers. The two behind the desk are focused on the line. The one by the X-ray is still watching me. Pretending I don’t notice, I hold my breath and make a quick right. The moment I’m out of sight, I take off. Straight for Trey’s.

***

I throw open the door to Trey’s office and check his desk. He’s nowhere in sight.

“Can I help you?” his officemate Steve asks.

“Have you seen Trey?” I shoot back, struggling to look like I’m not out of breath.

“No, I-”

“I saw him,” a third officemate interrupts. “I think… uh… I think he had his head stuck up the First Lady’s rear end.”

“That’s right,” Steve says, laughing. “Hell of a photo-op. We brought in some kids. Put her in a living room setting. Fluffy throw pillows. Soft focus on the camera. Real deliverable.”

Press secretaries. Always comedians.

I grab a Post-it, jot a quick note, and slap it against Trey’s computer screen. “Find me. 911!”

“Great code,” Steve says. “Way better than Morse.” Storming back to the hallway, I slam the door as I leave. Once again, I’m drowning in silence. I have to talk to someone-even if it’s just to figure out the next step. As I nervously check the marble hallway, the first person who comes to mind is Pam. I can go to her and… What am I thinking? I can’t. Not after what happened. Not yet. Besides, with Vaughn dead, this whole thing’s about to jackknife. Which means the last place I want to be is behind the wheel of the truck. I don’t care if it’s an election year-I’ve been avoiding it since I left the hotel-I need to go upstairs.

***

Racing across the soft red carpet of the Ground Floor Corridor, I see a phalanx of sightseers in the middle of a VIP White House tour led by one of the Secret Service tour guides. As I blow past them, two people take my picture. They think I’m famous. If things keep going in this direction, they’re going to be right.

I don’t stop until I reach the uniformed guard who sits outside the movie theater. “Can I ask you a favor?” I beg, my voice racing.