Was that not what she wanted for him? Of course it was. When Joshua was ready, she would let him go with open arms, and yet she knew how difficult it was going to be.
Joshua was looking at her, waiting for an answer. “Can I, Mom?” he asked. “Maybe Oxford?”
Jennifer held him close. “Of course. They’ll be lucky to get you.”
On a Sunday morning when Mrs. Mackey was off, Jennifer had to go into Manhattan to pick up a transcript of a deposition. Joshua was visiting some friends. When Jennifer returned home, she started to prepare dinner for the two of them. She opened the refrigerator—and stopped dead in her tracks. There was a note inside, propped up between two bottles of milk. Adam had left her notes like that. Jennifer stared at it, mesmerized, afraid to touch it. Slowly, she reached for the note and unfolded it. It said, Surprise! Is it okay if Alan has dinner with us?
It took half an hour for Jennifer’s pulse to return to normal.
From time to time, Joshua asked Jennifer about his father.
“He was killed in Viet Nam, Joshua. He was a very brave man.”
“Don’t we have a picture of him anywhere?”
“No, I’m sorry, darling. We—we weren’t married very long before he died.”
She hated the lie, but she had no choice.
Michael Moretti had only asked once about Joshua’s father.
“I don’t care what happened before you belonged to me—I’m just curious.”
Jennifer thought about the power that Michael would have over Senator Adam Warner if Michael ever learned the truth.
“He was killed in Viet Nam. His name’s not important.”
40
In Washington, D.C., a Senate investigating committee headed by Adam Warner was in its final day of an intensive inquiry into the new XK-1 bomber that the Air Force was trying to get the Senate to approve. For weeks, expert witnesses had paraded up to Capitol Hill, half of them testifying that the new bomber would be an expensive albatross that would destroy the defense budget and ruin the country, and the other half testifying that unless the Air Force could get the bomber approved, America’s defenses would be so weakened that the Russians would invade the United States the following Sunday.
Adam had volunteered to test-fly a prototype of the new bomber, and his colleagues had eagerly seized on his offer. Adam was one of them, a member of the club, and he would give them the truth.
Adam had taken the bomber up early on a Sunday morning with a skeleton crew and had put the plane through a series of rigorous tests. The flight had been an unqualified success, and he had reported back to the Senate committee that the new XK-1 bomber was an important advance in aviation. He recommended that the airplane go into production immediately. The Senate approved the funds.
The press enthusiastically played up the story. They described Adam as one of the new breed of investigative senators, a lawmaker who went out into the field to study the facts for himself instead of taking the word of lobbyists and others who were concerned with protecting their own interests.
Newsweek and Time both did cover stories on Adam, and the Newsweek story ended with:
The Senate has found an honest and capable new guardian to investigate some of the vital problems that plague this country, and to bring to them light instead of heat. There is a growing feeling among the kingmakers that Adam Warner has the qualities that would grace the presidency.
Jennifer devoured the stories about Adam and she was filled with pride. And pain. She still loved Adam and she loved Michael Moretti, and she did not understand how it was possible, or what kind of woman she had become. Adam had created the loneliness in her life. Michael had erased it.
The smuggling of drugs from Mexico had increased enormously, and it was obvious that organized crime was behind it. Adam was asked to head an investigating committee. He coordinated the efforts of half a dozen United States law enforcement agencies, and flew to Mexico and obtained the cooperation of the Mexican government. Within three months, the drug traffic had slowed to a trickle.
In the farmhouse in New Jersey, Michael Moretti was saying, “We’ve got a problem.”
They were seated in the large, comfortable study. In the room were Jennifer, Antonio Granelli and Thomas Colfax. Antonio Granelli had suffered a stroke and it had aged him twenty years overnight. He looked like a shrunken caricature of a man. The paralysis had affected the right