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The camera turned to Conrad Beckers, who seemed transfixed by his guest’s eyes. It took him some time to refocus awkwardly on his notes and come up with another question.

‘When you say you will be ‘coming after those people’, Mr. President, exactly what should we understand you to mean?’

‘Just what I said, Conrad,’ Wade replied with the faintest of smiles. ‘It’s not prudent warfare to give away one’s plans in advance, so I’m not going to say any more on that subject. But I sincerely hope they take me seriously.’

‘OK, Irene,’ Mary Sullivan said. ‘Hold it there. What was it he said later about Marfrela? Did you get a note of that?’

‘Yes, Miss Sullivan, I sure did,’ Irene replied. She consulted her yellow pad. ‘Never met him, never heard of him, don’t have any idea who that is, anyone who says otherwise is the Antichrist. Do you want me to run it?’

Mary shook her head, turning to look at Harold Philby.

‘How in the hell can Martha Graylor let him do this?’ she asked quietly.

Philby shook his head in reply.

‘She wouldn’t. No way. It’s out of her hands. I’d put money on it. Wade’s calling the shots himself. This has all the indications of an administration about to careen out of control.’

‘What does that do to our story?’ Mary asked.

‘I would say it’s taken us one step closer to publication. Let’s gear up. I’ll talk to the owners and our attorneys tomorrow. Start polishing your draft.’

P
OLLY
C
HAIKEN
FLASHED
the Secret Service Agent outside the door of her apartment her most insincere smile, and virtually slammed the door in the man’s face. Turning round to face her guest, she raised her eyes and hands to the ceiling in a gesture of frustration.

‘What is with these people?’ she asked. ‘It’s not enough they trample all over my apartment and then follow me around town all day? They have to lie in wait for me outside my own front door?’

Julia Wade smiled sympathetically.

‘I’m sorry, Polly. It comes with the territory. At least you only get it for a day. I have to live with it.’

‘I hear that,’ Polly said. ‘Well, it could have been worse. He could have insisted on following us inside again to make sure I don’t slit your throat with my letter opener.’

She exhaled heavily and made an effort to relax her body.

‘Oh, what the hell? Forget about him. We’ve had a hard day pounding the streets of Manhattan. You did good, kid. You haven’t lost your touch as a shopper. I think we’re entitled to a drink. What will it be? You still a gin and tonic girl?’

‘Thanks, that would be great.’

The First Lady also began to relax in the privacy of her old friend’s apartment. The out-of-town shopping and lunch expedition she had arranged at short notice had irritated her Detail, which had been forced to produce a security plan to protect her in a crowd without much time to reflect on it. The expedition had also left her breathless. She was no longer used to the pace of New York City, or to being almost alone and fighting her way through large crowds of people. But the day had also exhilarated her. It had reminded her that there was life outside the White House, and that she had once reveled in that life.

‘Do you mind if I take my shoes off?’

‘Take off whatever you want,’ Polly replied. ‘I’m going to do the same. I can barely feel my toes any more.’

Leaving her shoes by the drinks cabinet, Polly brought their cocktails over to the sofa, and joined Julia. They toasted silently and sat back on the sofa, savoring the refreshing first swallow. Polly suddenly giggled.

‘Can you believe that saleswoman who wanted your autograph? What was it she kept shouting? ‘Look, everyone, it’s her, it’s the First Lady, it’s the First Lady!’.’

Julia joined in the giggle.

‘I know. It was like she wanted everyone in New York to know I was in Bloomingdales. I kept trying, but I couldn’t shut her up. I autographed everything I could lay my hands on, but it didn’t seem to calm her down one little bit.’

‘I thought your agent was going to have a heart attack. You could see him thinking, “Oh, my God, there are too many people, how do I protect her? Maybe we should go to Defcon 4”, or whatever.’

They both laughed uproariously, then allowed the laughter to die away. Polly turned to face Julia.

‘This was like old times. It’s been so long, Julia. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘Other than the autograph thing, how do you really like being the First Lady? From what I’m reading in the papers, it doesn’t sound all that great at the moment.’

Julia looked away, then turned back towards Polly with tears forming in her eyes.

‘This is the most I’ve laughed in a long time,’ she said quietly.

‘You’re kidding. That’s not like you. You used to be the life and soul of the party. I never saw you without a smile on your face.’

‘Not any more, Polly. Oh, I smile for the camera, of course, for strangers, for the American public. That gets to be automatic. You learn to do it without even noticing. But as far as real smiles go, smiles for people close to me? No, I don’t have those any more. You know what they call me at the White House?’

Polly shook her head.

‘The Ice Queen. Maybe that’s who I am now. I don’t know any more.’

Polly drained her glass and, without asking, held out her hand to take Julia’s. She stood and walked back to the drinks cabinet to pour refills.

‘That doesn’t sound like such a good deal to me,’ she said, with concern.

Julia pushed herself to her feet, took her refilled glass, and walked a little way around the spacious living room, as if admiring the several original paintings her friend had hanging on the walls. Polly sat back down and did not intrude.

‘The whole world knows he’s fucking around on me,’ Julia said eventually. ‘And the funny thing is, Polly, I’d almost got used to it, you know, finding out about the latest woman, listening to his stupid lies, having to keep up appearances in front of everybody, Mrs. Unflappable First Lady, doing the stand-by-your-man routine. And now this latest thing. He’s getting himself in so deep, I’m not even sure there’s a way out.’

‘Why would you even care after all that’s happened?’

Julia took a long drink, and sat back down on the sofa.

‘That’s the strange thing. I really thought I was past it. I was thinking, ‘who cares? I can last till the end of his term, then I’m out of here’. And then this Benoni thing came up, and I came unglued again. Polly, the other morning, I got into such a fight with Steve that an agent came into our private living quarters to break it up, thinking I might kill him.’

‘Damn,’ Polly whispered.

‘I threw a vase at Steve and cut his head open. I was actually wrestling with the agent on the floor when his back-up arrived. At one point, I was actually standing there in front of half of the Secret Service in my nightgown and bare feet, with my hands in the air and guns being pointed at me. Pretty First Lady-like, huh?’

Julia broke down, and Polly put her arms around her, holding her until her tears had subsided a little.

‘You want some advice from an old friend?’

Julia wiped away the tears on the sleeve of her sweater. ‘Yes.’

‘I think you need to resume your life.’

‘My life?’

‘Yes, Julia, your life. Here in New York. And don’t tell me you don’t miss it. I could see it in your eyes today. You wanted it back so much you almost couldn’t stand it.’

Julia leaned back against the sofa clutching her drink.

‘What would I do in New York now, Polly? It’s been so long.’

Polly Chaiken snorted. ‘What would you do in New York? Excuse me? Earth to Julia, hello.’

Julia’s eyes opened wide. ‘You mean… are you talking about the firm? You think they might…?’

‘Might? Are you serious?’

Polly put down her drink and took her friend by both arms.

‘Julia, they would kill to have you back. You were there at the beginning. You’re one of the best, and you’re one of us, always were, always will be. Plus, now, you’re the First Lady. Julia, we do advertising, remember? It would be a dream come true.’

Julia sighed. ‘Just because I’m the First Lady?’

Polly reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from Julia’s forehead.

‘No. Not just because you’re the First Lady. Mostly because we love you. You must know that, Julia. Nothing’s changed. Hell, we were together when Steve fucking Wade wasn’t even a blip on the national radar screen. No one dreamed you would be First anything back then, except maybe First Advertiser, which you could have been, and still could. You were just Julia. You still are.’

There was a long silence.

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about leaving,’ Polly added eventually.

‘I think about it every day.’

‘So?’

‘Polly, I’m the First Lady. I’m married to the President. I live in the White House.’

‘So that entitles him to cheat on you, and you have to just lie back and take it?’

‘Not for ever. But I couldn’t leave before the end of his term.’

‘Why in the hell not?’

‘Polly…’

‘Hillary Clinton did. And she came to New York.’

‘The Clintons bought a house in New York together.’

‘Oh, yeah, right. Look, you can always invite Steve to join you if you want. Cross that bridge when you come to it.’

She paused. ‘Hillary’s not a bad precedent, Julia. Besides, if you stay, you might just bring his term to a premature end. The Secret Service Agent might not get there so fast next time.’

Julia smiled thinly.

‘And he probably deserves it,’ Polly continued, ‘but it wouldn’t be good, Julia. It might be safer for both of you if you leave now.’

‘I don’t know… I… God, Polly, it would look like I was just giving up…’

‘There’s not a man, woman or child in America who wouldn’t stand up and cheer for you.’

‘Yes, there is,’ Julia replied grimly. ‘My husband is a very popular man. Don’t ever underestimate that.’

Polly picked up her drink again, and sat back.

‘Be that as it may. He doesn’t own you, and he doesn’t have the right to treat you the way he does. Think about that, Julia. And when you finally wake up and realize I’m right, call me. We’ll all be here for you.’

T
HE
MARSHAL’S
KNOCK
on the door, announcing that the House Intelligence Committee was ready for its next witness, came as a relief to Ted Lazenby. The conference room in which he had been waiting was small and stuffy, and the coffee was terrible. Lazenby had been there for an hour-long final preparation session, trying his best to breathe and concentrate at the same time, and he was developing a significant headache. It seemed to Lazenby that he and his legal adviser, Senior FBI Counsel Jerome Wills, had been going over and over the same ground, time after time, for days on end. Kelly Smith and Jeff Morris, who had also been subpoenaed and were scheduled to testify next in order after Lazenby, were seated with him at the table, and seemed to have similar symptoms. What was worse, Lazenby had a guilty conscience. He had withheld an important part of the truth from his attorney, he had supplied him with a carefully-edited selection of documents, he was about to treat a congressional committee in the same manner, and he had instructed Kelly and Jeff to do the same. Together, they had carefully concealed, even from Wills, any mention of the Oregon connection and the Bureau’s activities there. Off the record, in a confidential meeting, Lazenby had outlined the circumstances to the Committee Chair, Congressman Vernon Moberley. He had received an assurance that the subject would not be broached in open hearings. But they both understood that the assurance was not absolute, that neither of them could control a random question from some other member of the Committee or a leak from some over-zealous staffer. In that event, the most Lazenby could count on would be a recess to consider how to respond, followed by the offer of a hearing behind closed doors. And if that happened, the justifiable anger of Jerome Wills would be the least of his problems.

Lazenby followed Wills and the marshal the short distance from the conference room to the Committee’s hearing room, gratefully breathing the cooler air in the corridor. The marshal led the way, pushing his way respectfully but firmly through the throng of reporters, as two of his colleagues held the doors open for them. The photographers’ flashlights exploded in Lazenby’s face. One or two reporters shouted questions. Lazenby ignored them.

The hearing room, though large, was hot, crowded, and claustrophobic. The Committee members sat on a raised dais in a semi-circle at the front of the room, their staffers sitting behind them as best they could. The table and chairs reserved for the witness and his counsel faced the dais. Stenographers sat nearby, poised for action. Every inch of the room not occupied by the furniture seemed to be taken up with reporters, photographers, and camera operators jostling for position. The atmosphere was frenetic. Lazenby experienced an uncomfortable flashback to his Senate confirmation hearing. Wills was motioning to him to stand at the table. A book was held up for him. He placed his hand on it and, swallowing hard, took an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Silence fell. The Committee Chair Vernon Moberley, an elderly member of the House, of the party opposed to the President, carefully arranged his papers in front of him.

‘Would you state your full name for the record, Sir?’

‘Edward James Lazenby, the Third.’

‘You are the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘For how long have you held that position?’

‘I was confirmed early in President Wade’s first term of office, and I have held the position ever since.’

‘You are a personal friend of President Wade, are you not, Sir?’

Jerome Wills leaned forward to his microphone. ‘With all due respect, Mr. Chairman…’ But Lazenby restrained him with a light touch of his hand.

‘Yes, I am. We were classmates at Princeton.’

‘Thank you, Sir. Now, I believe, Mr. Director, you are aware of the testimony which has been given to this Committee so far?’