Shakeup Page 3

  “Well,” Jacoby said, “I’m out of it. I’ve said my piece and filed a report to that effect, which has probably already been shredded.”

  “Did you keep a copy?”

  “I did.”

  “Hang on to it,” Stone said. “We’ve had word of a suspect. Is there some reason his description matches yours?”

  “Sure. Isn’t everybody six-three and skinny?”

  “Hardly anybody,” Stone said.

  They hashed this over until their steaks arrived.

  “Art,” Dino said, “have you got an alibi?”

  “Yeah, I was home, watching the inauguration. I wasn’t on until six.”

  “Swell alibi,” Dino said. “Were you in bed with anybody at the time?”

  “Fortunately, I was,” Jacoby said.

  “Anybody the world knows?”

  “A girl who has been rumored to spend time in bed with Clark and Little Debby.”

  “Perfect,” Stone said.

  “She’s not anxious to be questioned, especially by Little Debby.”

  “Does the chief have a reputation as an interrogator?”

  “She was an assistant DA for fifteen years and, as such, she terrified everybody.”

  “I think your girl should retain an attorney,” Stone said.

  “Stone’s a lawyer. He always says things like that,” Dino interjected.

  “I can’t afford to start hiring lawyers,” Jacoby said.

  “You might give some thought to that for yourself,” Stone said, “but not the same one that the girl hires.”

  “See what I mean?” Dino asked.

  “Look at it this way,” Stone said. “A good lawyer might get the case tossed in a hurry, especially if your mutual alibis hold up. If he can do that, he’s a bargain.”

  “I don’t think she wants to talk to a lawyer any more than she wants to talk to Little Debby,” Jacoby said.

  “You’re forgetting that you are her alibi,” Stone said, “just as she is yours. It’s in your mutual interests to eliminate you both as suspects as soon as possible.”

  “He’s not thinking like a lawyer,” Dino said to Stone. “He’s thinking like a cop.”

  “And he can go right on thinking that way, until other cops lock him up. Then he’s going to start looking for a lawyer, and the media will have already had their field day with you.”

  “All right, will you represent me?”

  “I’m not licensed to practice in D.C.,” Stone said, “except at the Supreme Court. But I’ll find you somebody good.”

  “How soon?”

  “First thing in the morning. All the lawyers I know are dining on steaks and fine wines right now. Where are you staying?”

  Jacoby scribbled something on a notepad, ripped out the page, and handed it to Stone.

  Stone gave him his own card. “I’ll call you,” he said. “Try to resist calling me.”

  6

  Dino gave Stone a ride home. “What do you think of this guy Jacoby?” Dino asked.

  “I’m not sure what to think of him or his story,” Stone replied.

  “I’ll check him out from our end,” Dino said.

  “I also don’t know what to think of a grown man who’s never been to New York City before.”

  “Weird,” Dino said.

  They pulled to a stop in front of Stone’s house. As he got out of the car, he saw his front door open an inch or so, then close.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Yes,” Stone replied. “The Secret Service is camping out here.”

  “They suspect you of something?”

  “No, they have instructions to maintain watches at the Carlyle and here, on the grounds that the president will be visiting often.”

  “And the bad news is that you can’t get laid in your own house with them hanging around.”

  “That’s it,” Stone said. “G’night.” He closed the car door, walked up the front steps and unlocked the door.

  “Evening, Mr. Barrington,” a man said.

  “You’re not Jeff.”

  “You’re very observant. I’m Carmichael, night shift.”

  “Welcome aboard, Carmichael,” Stone said. “Now listen up, because I’m going to give you some new marching orders.”

  “Sir?”

  “You see that door over there?” he asked, pointing to his left.

  “Yes, sir. It leads to the house next door.”

  “That is correct. If you open it, the first door on the right is to a small apartment, which is unoccupied. During the hours of five PM to nine AM, you and your fellow agents are confined to that apartment—that is to say, when I’m in the house. I sometimes entertain, and I don’t want to have to explain who you are. Clear?”

  “It is to me, sir. I’m not sure how clear my boss will think it is.”

  “If he finds it the slightest bit foggy, tell him to call me, but not during those hours, and I’ll explain it to him in terms he will understand. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stone pointed at the door. “Good night. Sleep well. There are books there, and a TV, to keep you entertained. If anything goes wrong, I’ll hit the panic button on my alarm system.” He watched Carmichael leave, then went upstairs in the elevator. He had just gotten into bed when his cell phone rang. The calling number was blocked. “Hello?”

  “Hello yourself,” the president of the United States said.

  “It’s nice to hear your voice. I’ve just banished your Secret Service agents to an apartment next door, during the hours of five PM to nine AM,” Stone said.

  “Those are the hours when you might be, ah, entertaining,” she said.

  “You never know.”

  “I understand completely, and I will convey your instructions to the head of my detail, Claire Dunne.”

  “Not Bill Wright?”

  “Bill got kicked upstairs to assistant director of the Secret Service. After a decent interval, he might become director.”

  “Congratulate him for me, after a decent interval.”

  “I’ll do that. Are you feeling a little . . . shall we say, itchy?”

  “Most of the time, with you way down there and me way up here.”

  “Well, I may be able to get to New York next week. If 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 q
uite 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 him toward the outside door, opened it, then into the Rose Garden. An Air Force helicopter set down gently on the White House helipad. Its door opened and an Army sergeant emerged and braced at the door.

  Holly kept Clark moving. “There’ll be a car waiting at the East Side heliport, to take you wherever you need to go. Keep in touch, and after this issue has been resolved, perhaps we can find another slot for you. In the meantime, please send along your resignation for our files.”

  He tried to respond, but the rotors drowned him out. Holly handed him off to the sergeant, who ushered him aboard, then entered and closed the door. The machine lifted off and made a climbing turn to the north.

  Holly made her way back into the Oval Office and picked up a phone. “Is Kirby Reese here, yet?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Please send him in.”

  The door opened, and a short, dapper man in his sixties came in.

  “Good morning, Kirby, I hope you’re well,” Kate said, showing him to the sofa and taking her seat.

  “Thank you, yes, Madam President.”

  “This is the perfect moment to have you here,” Holly said. “Perhaps you’ve heard, we’re short a cabinet member.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard.”

  “Don Clark is, of course, broken up about the death of his wife and feels that he can’t accept commerce at this point.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Reese said.

  “And so I want to offer you the post of secretary of commerce, and I hope you will accept.”

  “Thank you, Madam President, I’d be honored to join your cabinet.”

  “Oh, good.” She rose, bringing him to his feet. “Our first cabinet meeting is at three o’clock this afternoon. I’ll look forward to seeing you then. My secretary will give you some briefing papers as you leave.”

  They shook hands, and Reese left.

  Holly went back to her study and to work. Once again, all was right with the world. For the moment. She knew that couldn’t last. Then she had a thought and buzzed her secretary.

  “Yes, Madam President?”

  “Will you send in my briefing book for this afternoon’s cabinet meeting?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And is that young lady from Ralph Lauren’s office still in town?”

  “I believe she leaves for New York this afternoon.”

  “Could you get her on the phone for me?”

  “Of course, Madam President.”

  A moment later, her phone rang. “Ms. Roth,” her secretary said.

  Holly picked up the phone. “Shelley?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “I wonder if you could do something for me. I need a dress made for a friend of mine. Her birthday is this weekend. Could your people run something up for me?”

  “Of course. What did you have in mind?”

  “A burka.”

  “Did you say a burka?”

  “I did. She’s Muslim. Nothing too colorful, but not black, either. Something that doesn’t attract too much attention.”

  “Shall I send you some swatches?”

  “No, I’ll trust your judgment.”

  “What dress size is she?”

  “Fortunately, exactly the same as mine; you can use the dummy you made up for me.”

  “And when do you need it?”

  “If you could deliver it to the attention of Claire Dunne—she’s the head of my Secret Service detail—at the Carlyle Hotel by noon on Friday.”

  “Of course.”

  “And send the bill to my friend, Stone Barrington. You have his address. It’s a gift from both of us.”

  “Consider it done, Madam President.”

  “Goodbye, Shelley.” Holly hung up. It would amuse Stone to get the bill, she thought . . .

  8

  On Friday morning, Joan entered Stone’s office and handed him a thick, creamy envelope with the words Ralph Lauren printed on the backflap. “This came for you,” she said. “I suppose it’s a tailoring bill, but somehow, it doesn’t sound like you.”

  Stone r
emoved the contents of the envelope and scanned it, then burst out laughing. “I didn’t think she’d do it,” he said.

  “Who’d do it?”

  “Holly. We can expect her sometime this afternoon. She’ll drive straight into the garage.”

  “I’m confused,” Joan said. “In a burka?”

  “Exactly. It’s the only way she can travel around the city without being recognized.”

  Joan laughed, too. “God, I hope the tabloids don’t get wind of this.”

  “They won’t, because you and a Secret Service agent are the only people who know. If the press finds out, we’ll know who to shoot.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. A Mr. Donald Clark phoned, and he insisted on coming over here immediately. He says you know him.”

  “We’ve met,” Stone said. “I’ve met his wife, too. Send him in when he arrives. And send Ralph Lauren a check.”

  “Will do.”

  Five minutes later, Joan ushered in Donald Clark.

  Stone shook his hand. “Hello, Don. Once again, my condolences.”

  “Thank you, Stone.”

  “And thank you for your hospitality on Inauguration Day.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “What brings you to see me, Don?”

  “I have a problem, and I hope you can help me with it.”

  “That depends on the problem.”

  “You may not have heard, yet, but the president has withdrawn my name for consideration by the Senate for the cabinet office of secretary of commerce.”

  “I heard,” Stone said, not mentioning that he had heard before Clark.

  “Her reasons were, first, that I looked tired and should have a rest, far from Washington. And, second, that I was unlikely to have enough support in the Senate for confirmation to a cabinet position.”

  “Well, for the first, I can confirm that you do look tired, Don, as I would think any normal human being would after being subjected to the treatment that you have received from the media. As for the second reason, I am not a politician, but the president certainly is, and she is advised by political experts. If they see your confirmation by the Senate as a problem, then it is, ipso facto, a problem.”

  Clark’s face reddened. “That is the conventional wisdom, of course,” he said.