Shakeup (Stone Barrington #55) - Stuart Woods Page 0,7

I do, I’ll come give you a good scratch.”

“At last, something to live for!”

She laughed heartily. “Same here.”

“Tell me,” he said. “What do you think of Deborah Myers?”

“Little Debby? That’s what they call her at her department.”

“One and the same.”

“I found her efficient, businesslike. She didn’t waste my time, and I like that quality in people.”

“Well, I have further to report on Little Debby.”

“Oh, good! Tell me!”

Stone told her everything Jacoby had said.

“Wow, that’s quite a story,” she said, when he was through. “So, you’re saying that my nominee for secretary of commerce may have hired somebody to do in his wife?”

“In light of what I just told you, it seems a possibility.”

“Now I have to wonder if I should continue his confirmation process in the Senate.”

“Seems logical to wonder that.”

“It’s more than that. Given what you’ve told me, it’s mandatory, even if I think he’s not guilty.”

“Ah, politics,” Stone said.

“I’ve always thought it easy to make decisions, but it gets harder when you’re dealing with contradictory information.”

“If what Jacoby is suggesting is true, Clark being cleared in the investigation isn’t really so important, is it? Especially, when his girlfriend is conducting the investigation.”

“You’re quite right. Mr. Clark will remove himself from consideration and be back at his home in New York in time for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll get him a lift in a helicopter; he’ll like that.”

“So what brings you to New York next week?” he asked, since the subject of Clark was now closed.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll think of something.”

“What sort of telephone are you talking on?”

“A burner. I had some at home. Nobody is listening in.”

“I certainly hope not; especially when we’re talking about scratching itches.”

“Certainly not.”

“Have you given any thought to how we’re going to manage this assignation?”

“Well, I don’t think it can happen at the Carlyle. Too many people involved.”

“Perhaps you should be driven here in a plain-looking vehicle, and just drive into my garage.”

“That sounds doable, if I can get into the vehicle without being noticed.”

“Wear a disguise.”

“What do you recommend?”

“How about a burka?”

She roared. “Wonderful. It will cover every inch of me, won’t it?”

“I think that’s the intention. Don’t worry, I’ll remove it for you.”

“Now, that I will look forward to,” she said. “It just occurred to me that I don’t need to wear anything under a burka, do I?” She hung up, leaving Stone to imagine that.

7

Holly Barker was working in her private study, off the Oval Office, when her secretary buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Donald Clark is here to see you.”

“Send him into the Oval in half a minute. And get word to the helicopter that they’re cleared to land and to keep her engines running.” She tidied her desk, then went into the Oval Office to be sure everything was tidy there. There was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in!”

The door opened, and Donald Clark stood there, looking gray. “Come in, Don, and close the door behind you.” She showed him to a sofa and took the one opposite. “First of all, Don, I want to tell you again how sorry we all were to hear of Pat’s untimely death.”

“Thank you, Madam President,” Clark said, lowering his eyes.

“And I want to thank you again for continuing with your inaugural party after getting the news about Pat. It was a brave thing to do.”

“I felt the flow of events shouldn’t be disturbed because of a personal tragedy.”

“How are you, Don? It’s understandable that you don’t feel entirely yourself these days.”

“I’m muddling through, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t think you should do that anymore. I think you need some time off and a real rest, and outside of Washington. The press here has been just awful.”

“Yes, it has, but I don’t think I can take time off at this juncture.”

“It’s the perfect time, Don, and I don’t have to tell you that our prospects for an early confirmation have been dimmed by the press reports. It’s all trash, of course, but it has an effect on the Senate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid we can’t go forward with your confirmation, given the circumstances. We can’t afford to lose a vote so early in the administration.”

“You mean . . .”

“Yes, Don, you’re going to have to leave, I’m afraid. Now, you go back to New York or to your home in . . . Westport, is it?”

“Greenwich.”

“Ah, yes, Greenwich.” She stood, forcing him to stand with her. The distant beat of a helicopter’s rotors could be heard, growing louder. She took his arm and propelled