The First Councel

“Oh, so now I haven’t passed that test yet? What do I have to do? Act interested? Show a steady follow-up? Go to some group dinner and get checked out by your girlfriends?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t act all coy-I know how it is with women-everything’s a group decision these days.”

“Not with me.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” I ask with a laugh. “C’mon, Nora, you have friends, don’t you?”

For the first time, she doesn’t answer. There’s nothing but dead air. My smile sags to a flat line. “I… I didn’t mean… ”

“Of course I have friends,” she finally stammers. “Meanwhile, have you seen Simon yet?”

I’m tempted to go back, but this is more important. “At the meeting this morning. He walked in and the whole world hit slow motion. The thing is, watching his reaction, I don’t think he saw us. I would’ve seen it in his eyes.”

“Suddenly you’re the arbiter of truth?”

“Mark my words, he didn’t know we were there.”

“So have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“What’s to decide? I have to report him.”

She thinks about this for a second. “Just be careful abou-”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone you were there.”

“That’s not what I was worried about,” she shoots back, annoyed. “I was going to say, be careful who you go to with this. Considering the time period, and the person involved, this thing’s going to Hindenburg.”

“You think I should wait until after the election?”

There’s a long pause on the other line. It’s still her father. Finally, she says, “I can’t answer that. I’m too close.” I can hear it in her voice. It’s only a twelve-point lead. She knows what could happen. “Is there a way to keep it out of the press?” she asks.

“Believe me, there’s no way I’m throwing this to the press. They’d eat us alive by lunch.”

“Then who do you go to?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it should be someone in here.”

“If you want, you can tell my dad.”

There it is again. Her dad. Every time she says it, it seems that much more ridiculous. “Too big,” I say. “Before it goes to him, I want someone to do a little bit more research.”

“Just to make sure we’re right?”

“That’s what I’m worried about. The moment this gets out, we’re going to wreck Simon’s career. And that’s not something I take lightly. In here, once the finger’s pointed at you, you’re gone.”

Nora’s been on the receiving end for too long. She knows I’m right. “Is there someone you have in mind?”

“Caroline Penzler. She’s in charge of ethics for the White House.”

“Can you trust her?”

I pick up a nearby pencil and tap the eraser against my desk. “I’m not sure-but I know exactly who to ask.”

CHAPTER 5

Leaving my office, I cross through the anteroom and head straight for Pam’s. The door is always open, but I still give her a courtesy knock. “Anyone home?”

By the time she says “Come in,” I’m already standing across from her desk. The setup of her office is a mirror image of mine, right down to the nonworking fireplace. As always, the differences are on the walls, where Pam has replaced my ego items with two personal effects: over her couch, a blown-up photograph of the President when he spoke at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, her hometown; and over her desk, an enormous American flag, which was a gift from her mother when Pam first got the job. Typical Pam, I think to myself. Apple pie at heart.

Facing the computer table that runs perpendicular to her desk, Pam is typing furiously with her back to me. As is her usual work mode, her thin blond hair is pulled back in a tight twist held by a red clip. “What’s up?” she asks without turning around.

“I’ve got a question for you.”

She flips through a pile of papers, looking for something in particular. When she finds it, she says, “I’m listening.”

“Do you trust Caroline?”

Pam immediately stops typing and turns my way. Raising an eyebrow, she asks, “What’s wrong? Is it Nora?”

“No, it’s not Nora. It has nothing to do with Nora. I just have a question about this issue I’m working on.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

I’m too smart to argue with her. “Just tell me about Caroline.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she studies me carefully.

“Please,” I add. “It’s important.”

She shakes her head and I know I’m in. “What do you want to know?”

“Is she loyal?”

“The First Lady thinks so.”

I nod at the reference. A longtime friend of the First Lady, Caroline met Mrs. Hartson at the National Parkinson’s Foundation in Miami, where Mrs. Hartson mentored and encouraged her to take night classes at the University of Miami Law School. From there, the First Lady brought her to the Children’s Legal Defense Fund, then to the campaign, and finally, to the White House. Long battles forge the strongest bonds. I just want to know, how strong? “So if I tell her something vitally important, can I trust her to keep a secret?”

“Help me out with what you mean by vitally.”

I sit in the chair in front of her desk. “It’s big.”

“Front-page big or cover-of-Newsweek big?”

“Newsweek.”