a quick nod. "Absolutely. I can arrange a meeting at my home."
"Of course, they will want total privacy."
"As will I."
"Good luck," the old man said. "If tonight goes well, it could be your last meeting. These men alone can provide what is needed to push the Sexton campaign over the top."
Sexton liked the sound of that. He gave the old man a confident smile. "With luck, my friend, come election time, we will all claim victory."
"Victory?" The old man scowled, leaning toward Sexton with ominous eyes. "Putting you in the White House is only the first step toward victory, senator. I assume you have not forgotten that."
14
The White House is one of the smallest presidential mansions in the world, measuring only 170 feet in length, 85 feet in depth, and sitting on a mere 18 acres of landscaped grounds. Architect James Hoban's plan for a box-like stone structure with a hipped roof, balustrade, and columnar entrance, though clearly unoriginal, was selected from the open design contest by judges who praised it as "attractive, dignified, and flexible."
President Zach Herney, even after three and a half years in the White House, seldom felt at home here among the maze of chandeliers, antiques, and armed Marines. At the moment, however, as he strode toward the West Wing, he felt invigorated and oddly at ease, his feet almost weightless on the plush carpeting.
Several members of the White House staff looked up as the President approached. Herney waved and greeted each by name. Their responses, though polite, were subdued and accompanied by forced smiles.
"Good morning, Mr. President."
"Nice to see you, Mr. President."
"Good day, sir."
As the President made his way toward his office, he sensed whisperings in his wake. There was an insurrection afoot inside the White House. For the past couple of weeks, the disillusionment at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue had been growing to a point where Herney was starting to feel like Captain Bligh-commanding a struggling ship whose crew was preparing for mutiny.
The President didn't blame them. His staff had worked grueling hours to support him in the upcoming election, and now, all of a sudden, it seemed the President was fumbling the ball.
Soon they will understand, Herney told himself. Soon I'll be the hero again.
He regretted having to keep his staff in the dark for so long, but secrecy was absolutely critical. And when it came to keeping secrets, the White House was known as the leakiest ship in Washington.
Herney arrived in the waiting room outside the Oval Office and gave his secretary a cheery wave. "You look nice this morning, Dolores."
"You too, sir," she said, eyeing his casual attire with unveiled disapproval.
Herney lowered his voice. "I'd like you to organize a meeting for me."
"With whom, sir?"
"The entire White House staff."
His secretary glanced up. "Your entire staff, sir? All 145 of them?"
"Exactly."
She looked uneasy. "Okay. Shall I set it up in... the Briefing Room?"
Herney shook his head. "No. Let's set it up in my office."
Now she stared. "You want to see your entire staff inside the Oval Office?"
"Exactly."
"All at once, sir?"
"Why not? Set it up for four P.M."
The secretary nodded as though humoring a mental patient. "Very well, sir. And the meeting is regarding...?"
"I have an important announcement to make to the American people tonight. I want my staff to hear it first."
A sudden dejected look swept across his secretary's face, almost as if she had secretly been dreading this moment. She lowered her voice. "Sir, are you pulling out of the race?"
Herney burst out laughing. "Hell no, Dolores! I'm gearing up to fight!"
She looked doubtful. The media reports had all been saying President Herney was throwing the election.
He gave her a reassuring wink. "Dolores, you've done a terrific job for me these past few years, and you'll do a terrific job for me for another four. We're keeping the White House. I swear it."
His secretary looked like she wanted to believe it. "Very well, sir. I'll alert the staff. Four P.M."
As Zach Herney entered the Oval Office, he couldn't help but smile at the image of his entire staff crammed into the deceptively small chamber.
Although this great office had enjoyed many nicknames over the years - the Loo, Dick's Den, the Clinton Bedroom-Herney's favorite was "the Lobster Trap." It seemed most fitting. Each time a newcomer entered the Oval Office, disorientation set in immediately. The symmetry of the room, the gently curving walls, the discreetly disguised doorways in and out, all gave visitors the dizzying sense they'd been blindfolded and spun around. Often,