The First Lady - James Patterson Page 0,32
it all away for a bit of tail?”
“Miriam … it wasn’t … isn’t like that.”
“Then there’s Grace,” Miriam says, pursing her lips in displeasure. “She may be an ice queen, a stubborn bitch, and come from a family that thinks they crap pearls, here and back home, but by God, she has her heart in the right place. She’s helped thousands of poor kids as this country’s First Lady, and what’s her reward? Being nationally humiliated. What the hell did you see in that chubby lobbyist?”
Desperate to get her out of the Oval Office, Harrison says, “Miriam, please … I’m in love with her.”
His old political ally shakes her head. “Harry, you should know this by now. Presidents can’t be human. They can’t get drunk, or cry, and they certainly can’t fall in love.”
With one more disgusted shake of her head, she’s gone.
The on-duty Secret Service agent tugs the door shut, and the President of the United States walks back into the empty Oval Office, having succeeded in at least gaining a few minutes to himself. That is a treasure, to have those precious seconds, for his day is always planned down to the exact minute.
But … still no news from Parker.
He goes to his desk phone, picks it up to connect with the lead operator at the White House switchboard, and simply says, “Please get me Tammy Doyle.”
“Yes, sir.”
After he hangs up, Harrison impatiently paces the office— careful never to step on the Presidential Seal in the center of the rug, which is considered bad luck, and he doesn’t want any more bad luck today—and the dark part of him wonders, who does he want to hear from first? Parker Hoyt, telling him where Grace has been found? Or the anonymous telephone operator somewhere on the grounds, telling him she’s located the woman he really loves?
What kind of man is he, he thinks, what kind of husband is he, that he would worry about both his wife and his mistress at the same time?
Good question, he thinks.
And no answer.
He reaches into his left pants pocket, takes out a thick challenge coin, stamped with an outline of Air Force One over the White House, and on the reverse, the logo of the 89th Airlift Wing and its Latin motto, Experto Crede. If he were to push the center of the coin and hold it down for three seconds, this room would be flooded with Secret Service agents.
His wife wears a similar object around her neck.
It hasn’t been activated. He puts his challenge coin back in his pocket, seeing that as a good sign. If she were in trouble—
The phone rings. He goes to his ornately carved desk, picks up the phone. “Mr. President,” says the clear voice of the switchboard operator, who again sounds neutral and professional on this “Ambush in Atlanta” day of days, “I have your party on the line.”
“Thank you, thank you very much,” and there’s a click as the line is secured, belonging to him and his caller, and he says, “Tammy? Are you there?”
“Oh, Harry,” comes her sweet and tired voice, and he sits down with relief in his leather office chair. At least one wait is over.
But there’s something off in the tone of her voice. “Tammy, are you all right?”
And then the love of his life starts sobbing.
CHAPTER 26
THE PRESIDENT OF the United States says, “Tammy … please … what happened?”
The sobbing goes on for long seconds, and that sound stabs at him, for it’s the first time in their relationship that he’s ever heard her cry. He may be the most powerful man in the world at this very second, but he feels so damn helpless.
Over the phone he hears her take a deep breath. “Oh, Harry … I’m sorry. The flight home was all right but then I got in a car accident and—”
“A car accident? What happened? Are you all right?”
Her voice sounds stronger. “Yes, I’m fine … a bit achy, but the cab I took from the airport was hit. We were on the highway just east of Dulles when a pickup truck crossed the median and hit the trunk of the cab. Spun us around and thank God the cabbie was a sharp guy, otherwise … oh, Harry. What a rotten day. And the media were camped out at my condo when I got here.”
He swivels the tiniest bit in his chair in front of his ornate wooden desk. “What did you say to them?”
“Harry? What?”
He instantly realizes