shame of how he abandoned Tammy back in Atlanta, with that baying pack of reporters chasing after her. The woman he loved, tossed away, left to face those media wolves by herself. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so ashamed.
“Where do you think Grace is?” he asks.
“Not far,” Parker says. “My guess is that she dumped her Secret Service detail at that horse farm, borrowed a pickup truck, and maybe scooted out to a motel somewhere for a good cry, or maybe a few drinks.”
“How long before we find her?”
“No worries, Mr. President,” Parker says. “She’s one of the most recognizable women on the planet. How far do you think she can go? I wouldn’t doubt it if we get this thing wrapped up by the end of the day. This Agent Grissom … I’ve read her background. She’ll get the job done.”
“Tell me about her,” he says.
“She’s been in the White House as long as you, was named head of the Presidential Protective Division last year,” Parker says. “She started out with the DC Metro Police, went to the Virginia State Police, and then joined the Secret Service. And that Iranian deal … she managed to save a man who hates her because she’s a woman working for the Great Satan. Plus, she’s kept it a secret all these years.”
Harrison says, “I don’t like what you did, threatening her … with her divorce proceedings. And her daughter. That’s not right.”
Parker says, “It got the job done.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Then forget it, and don’t ask about it again.”
Parker Hoyt is trying to gauge what’s going on behind the steel-gray eyes of his President, and decides this is as good as any time to press him.
“Mr. President, I think Agent Grissom will do her best to locate the First Lady … but she might come up against roadblocks that will … be against her nature to try to get through. I think we need another resource, a backup, if you will.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Best you don’t know.”
The President hesitates for a moment. “Just as long as you find her.”
“And protect your presidency?” Parker asks.
He nods. “Yes. Find her and protect the presidency.”
“I’ve got it covered,” Parker says, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ve got to get to my office.”
“And … the news media. We need to get something out to them.”
“I’ve got that covered, sir. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Parker gets up and walks out of the Oval Office, through the door leading to Mrs. Young’s office, past a Hispanic Secret Service agent, and then makes a sharp right into his own office. Money, prestige, power … all coins of the realm here in DC, but what really counts is access to the President. Parker is one of the very few people in this house who can see the President at any time, without an appointment, and he’s the only one in this building who has what he has, on the corner of his desk: a private phone that doesn’t go through the White House switchboard and that took a lot of arm-twisting and name-calling to get installed over a weekend almost four years back.
He closes the door, looks to the phone. There are two numbers he could call to help him in this matter, but which one? How to choose? Both are equally dangerous.
What to do.
It reminds him of that classic short story, “The Lady, or the Tiger?”
Which door to open?
What number to call?
His office phone rings and rings, and he ignores it.
No time for regular business.
He makes a decision, opts to leave the other number for later.
Hoyt quickly dials a series of digits and it rings once and is picked up by an associate of his, from when he was working for Global Strategic Solutions.
“Yes?” a man’s voice answers.
“I need to see … Gray. Straightaway.”
“Where?”
Parker tells him.
“Hold on …”
Parker waits.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Good.”
He hangs up the private phone, thinks about what the President told him.
Find the First Lady.
Not save her, rescue her, or help her.
He just said, “Find her.”
And that’s just what he intends to do.
CHAPTER 14
HIS EYES WIDEN as she steps back, the tiny one-shot hypodermic still concealed in Marsha Gray’s right hand, her fingernail polish quite red and stark. He trembles, tries to breathe, and she wonders if she could say one last word to him before his spirit travels to whatever afterlife he believes in just as Carl collapses to the floor.
Marsha maneuvers around so she can zip the dress