Choppy Water - Stuart Woods Page 0,36

said, taking her elbow. “Cling to the walker, as if it were life itself, and don’t forget to limp.”

Holly performed beautifully, gripping the walker, while Stone supported her arm. He tucked her into the car and went around to the other door and got in. “Don’t take off anything,” he said. “You’ll still need the disguise at the other end, so the White House staff won’t recognize you.”

“Harrumph!” Holly said.

“Lung cancer? That’s good!”

* * *

—

The performance was repeated at the White House until they were safely in the elevator, and Holly started to shed things. She unpinned her hair and ran her fingers through it, looking remarkably put together.

In the family quarters they were shown to a suite at the opposite end of the apartment from where the Lees slept. Holly hung up her clothes, brushed her hair, and was ready. They walked down the hall to the living room and found President Katharine Lee already seated near the fireplace. Kisses and hugs were exchanged, and they sat down with glasses of iced tea.

A moment later, the vice president–elect, Senator Sam Meriwether, joined them. “Betsy sends her regrets,” he said, referring to his wife. “She’s got a walk-through of the Naval Observatory house with a decorator, and after that she’ll have to select a couple of dozen paint colors and wallpapers and twice as many fabrics.”

“We understand, Sam,” Kate said.

Will Lee and their young son, Billy, arrived and shed their coats. “We just had a walk around the grounds,” Will said.

The little boy gravely shook everyone’s hand, then sat between his parents.

“Stone,” Kate said. “How have you been spending your time?”

“Following Holly around, mostly,” he replied.

“Get used to it,” Will Lee said. “The pain goes away after a year or two.”

“Swell,” Stone said, “but I’ll be spending most of my time in New York. I’ll only get down here once in a while.”

Holly leaned close and whispered, “Whenever I’m horny.”

“Not that often,” he whispered back.

After lunch, the Lees disappeared and Holly and Stone were left with Bill Wright and Claire Dunn.

“We’re delighted with how well it went this morning,” Bill said.

“Next time,” Holly said, “I’ll go as a mental patient, in a straitjacket.”

“Too obvious,” Stone said. “You’re doing very well as my grandmother, which is how you were listed on the manifest.”

“What do you hear from my pursuers?” Holly asked.

“We know they know you’re coming to town, but they won’t ever know you’re in the White House . . . unless you make an unauthorized public appearance.”

“I guess that rules out my favorite restaurants,” Holly said.

“We can order for you and bring it here,” Bill said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Holly said. “There are few things I enjoy as much as dinner in a restaurant with friends.”

“We can arrange for a few friends to be invited to dinners at the White House,” Bill replied.

“Nobody ever turns down that invitation,” Stone remarked.

“And then they can be surprised to find you here and be sworn to secrecy,” Bill said.

“I’ll give you a list,” Holly said, “and I’ll try to keep it short.”

Claire suddenly produced a cell phone that had not rung. “Yes?” She listened some more. “Thank you.” She hung up and turned to the others. “A maid at the Hay-Adams Hotel, across the street, found a sniper’s rifle with a silencer attached, in a supply closet in the hotel.

As she spoke, other agents entered the room and closed the blinds on the Hay-Adams side of the White House.

“Does this mean I aged twenty years for nothing?” Holly asked.

29

Stone went over to the Hay-Adams with Bill Wright. They were walked to an upper-floor guest room by a Secret Service agent and found a suitcase lying on the bed, with a broken-down rifle fitted into it. A technician was dusting the room for fingerprints.

“Any prints on the weapon?” Stone asked.

“None,” the tech replied. “Wiped clean. All we’ve found in here are the fingerprints of the maid.”

“How is the silencer made?”

“A soft-drink can filled with sawdust. It might be effective on the first round, but not after that. Too insubstantial.”

“Then the shooter is very confident of his skill,” Stone said, looking out the window toward the White House across the street. “Anybody see him at check-in?”

The agent spoke up. “Tallish man in an overcoat and hat, paid cash in advance for one night. Used a false name. We’ve got nothing.”

“I’m tired of having nothing,” Bill said.

“How was the rifle discovered?”

“A maid found it when she removed a stack of towels from the closet.”

“How did