I Do Solemnly Swear (6 page)

Quite to her dismay, she had not been significantly involved with Cabinet members’ appointments. David Rodgers had coddled this process with uncharacteristic selfishness. He had entertained Kate’s recommendations with a ceremonial kindness, which in itself was a minor triumph, but Rodgers only selected Secretary of State Toni Mitchell directly based on Kate’s suggestion. This quiet insinuation that Kate’s selections did not warrant President Rodgers’s utmost consideration had been the beginning of an enlightening realization. It was an event that fostered
hard feelings and tense dialogue between devoted running mates and longtime friends.

Kate’s thoughts were interrupted when she could smell McDermott’s much-too-sweet cologne the moment he entered the room.

“Good morning, Madam President.” McDermott strode across the room and fell ponderously into a chair opposite her.

“Coffee or juice, Charles?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Are all Cabinet members on board for the ten o’clock meeting?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Great. Let’s go over the agenda, Charles.”

McDermott’s eyes took on a haunted look. “Madam President, I have a more pressing matter to discuss.”

“What could be more important than my first Cabinet meeting?”

“President Rodgers did not die from natural causes.”

Kate’s back straightened, and she sat forward in the leather chair, her mind racing with wild thoughts. For an insane moment, she wanted to run out of the office, terrified to hear McDermott’s announcement. She sucked in a heavy breath and looked over her reading glasses. “I’m listening.”

“Leonard LaPlant called. The lab report verified a trace amount of an unknown toxin in President Rodgers’s blood.”

She gaped in stunned silence. Perhaps Elizabeth had not been delirious? “What exactly is an ‘unknown toxin’?”

“Seems to be a mystery, Madam President. The lab has to run additional tests.”

“And they’re working on it?”

“As we speak.”

“I want answers, Charles.” She pinched her chin between index finger and thumb. “What else can you tell me?”

He pushed the hair away from his forehead. “The toxin is some type of venom produced by a living organism.”

An invisible spider crawled up her back, and she quivered. “You mean like...
snake
venom?”

“That’s unlikely. It was much more potent.”

“What in God’s creation is more poisonous than snake venom?”

“Don’t know.”

Kate was dumbstruck for a moment. “Was David on any medication?”

“He took daily medication for his blood pressure. But as far as I know, he was as healthy as an ox.”

She thought about how fastidiously the Secret Service monitored everything she consumed. “I want the names of the agents on call that night.”

“I’ll talk to Cranston.”

She folded her hands on her lap and sat back, her mind searching for rational thoughts. As the word slipped off her tongue, her arms blossomed with goose bumps. “Suicide?”

He vigorously shook his head. “Not a chance.”

She wanted to ask how he could possibly know this but instead stored his answer in her memory. “Who else knows about this?”

“No one.”

“This information is to remain classified until we meet with Cabinet members.” She twisted her pearl necklace. “Tell Bill Riley to clear his calendar. I need him at the ten o’clock meeting. And ask Ellenwood, Kramer, and Cranston to join us.”

“Anything else?” McDermott asked.

“Is Elizabeth Rodgers still in Washington?”

“I believe so.”

“Get her here ASAP.”

McDermott stood. “I’ve taken the liberty of increasing security measures. With all due respect, I ask that you limit your activities to the White House, Madam President. For the time being.”

At first, it seemed like a prudent recommendation. But McDermott was forgetting the obvious. “Remaining in the White House proved to be quite unhealthy for President Rodgers.”

“A valid point. But I don’t want you to take unnecessary risks. I promise you’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it, Charles.”

***

When Kate walked out of her private office, Emily Hutchins, her personal aide, reminded her that she had a nine o’clock appointment. Kate told Emily to cancel it. On her way to her private quarters, no fewer than twenty people respectfully smiled and waved at the president as she trudged down the main corridor, but she was dimly aware of their greetings. Her legs felt like Jell-O, and a strong, primitive impulse urged Kate to run away. But where? The Secret Service agent posted beside her front door snapped to attention as she approached the entrance.

“Can I be of service to you, Madam President?”

She forced a smile. “No, thank you, James.”

She stepped into the apartment and made a beeline for her bedroom. Kate closed the door and sat on the bed. She’d only been president for thirty-six hours and already felt like she was riding on a runaway train. What she needed was a warm bath, something to soothe her body and mind, something to ease the tension in her shoulders before a day of marathon meetings. She removed her clothes, walked into the bathroom, and turned on
the water to fill the soaking tub. She wanted to light a candle and pour herself a crisp glass of Chardonnay, even at this early hour. But if someone got a whiff of alcohol on her breath, the next thing you know, some Photoshop whiz would do his magic, and she’d see her photo on the front page of the
National Enquirer
chugging wine from a paper bag. No, drinking alcohol just before a Cabinet meeting would be unwise.

About to step in the tub, Kate glimpsed at her reflection in the full-length mirror. As always, her eyes were drawn to her breasts. She remembered her sixteenth birthday, one of the few birthdays she actually spent with her father. It was a day she’d never forget.

***

Kate was sitting in front of the vanity mirror with her white terry cloth robe hanging off her shoulders. Over the last year, she had tortured herself with alarming frequency. But it was not something she consciously chose to do. Her uncontrollable curiosity was an addiction. Most teenage girls were infatuated with their flowering bodies, enthralled with an era of discovery. For Kate, however, it was an exploration of disappointment and utter terror. Today, as she studied her breasts with withering optimism, she painfully realized that her left breast would never fill a C-cup like her right one, that she’d spend the rest of her life stuffing tissue in her bra, fearful that someone would notice. She had believed, in some romantic way, that nature might have been merciful, that one morning she’d wake up and all would be well. But now it appeared that her fantasy was a hopeless wish. One breast would always be noticeably smaller than the other. When and if she ever fell in love, how could she know with certainty that her lover wouldn’t think of her as damaged goods?

There was a soft knock at her bedroom door.

“Honey, can I come in?”

She wrapped the robe around her shoulders, tied it in front, and swiveled around in the vanity chair. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“Come in, Daddy.” She knew he’d take one look at her and recognize she’d been crying. Fathers always knew. She smiled her most convincing smile.

“What’s the matter, honey?”

She wanted to tell him. Perhaps in his vast wisdom he’d find a way to comfort her. But how could a teenage girl talk to her father about her
breasts
?

He sat on her bed and patted the mattress. “Come sit beside me.” He was wearing the blue flannel shirt Kate’s mother had given him years ago. The collar and cuffs were severely frayed. The left pocket displayed an ink stain the size of a quarter. In spite of its raggedy appearance, Kate was certain he’d never throw it away.

She ambled over and sat next to him.

He slid his arm around her shoulders and fiddled with her hair. “There’s a story I’ve never told you about your mother. I wanted you to remember her as a perfect woman, but it’s time you hear the truth.”

Kate was three when her mother had died. Her only remembrances of Victoria Williams were through the colorful stories her father had painted throughout her childhood. She could see the urgency in his eyes, so she quietly listened.

“Your mom, lovely as she was, had her share of misfortune. Her left leg was almost two inches shorter than her right. She’d hobble around with the strangest limp. I told her it was quite sexy. Your mom said I was nuts.” He pulled her closer. “You’d think that her bad leg would be enough for any one person to deal with, but no...God had not been kind. Your mom was stone deaf in her left
ear.” He grasped Kate’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “Nobody’s perfect, sweetheart.”

A gust of anxiety gripped her. Was he referring to her breasts?

“Kate, you’re a remarkable young woman. God has blessed you with a lovely face, a keen intellect, and the figure a fashion model would die for. But Mother Nature doesn’t always play fair.”

He paused for a moment, and she watched his eyes well with tears.

“A piece of your mother lives in you, Kate. When you’re feeling insecure about your body, think about your mother and her physical problems. Through her, you can find comfort and strength.”

Kate thought there was more to the story, but he left her with a delicate kiss. She walked to the vanity and sat in front of the mirror once again, reflecting on her father’s compelling words, trying to envision the hobble she couldn’t remember. Like sitting beneath a heat lamp, a rush of warmth filled her face. Her body tingled as if a tiny charge of electricity flowed through her veins. In her mind’s eye, she could clearly see her mother’s face. That gentle smile. Those adoring eyes. She couldn’t explain it, but from this day forward, Kate felt certain her mother’s spirit would be with her whenever she needed her.

***

Although the hot bath had helped to relax Kate’s muscles, her senses were still numb from McDermott’s shocking announcement. Before entering the Cabinet Room, she paused for a moment and evoked every ounce of strength to maintain her composure. She opened the door, and a chorus filled the air: “Good morning, Madam President.”

She stood before the Cabinet members and sucked in a deep breath. Also in the room were Vice President Walter Owens, Press Secretary William Riley, Executive Assistant to the Chief of Staff Olivia Carter, Director of Central Intelligence Victor Ellen
wood, Deputy Director of Central Intelligence Carl Kramer, and Director of Secret Service Albert Cranston. Unconsciously, Kate wiped her sweaty palms on her suit jacket. She could tell by their troubled looks that the group suspected this meeting would not be business as usual. Rarely had any president assembled such a wide spectrum of staff members without significant purpose. Kate didn’t want to begin her first administrative meeting with a morbid announcement, but President Rodgers’s apparent assassination took precedence over everything.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “I’m afraid that I am the bearer of ghastly news.” She pointed to Charles McDermott. He sunk in his chair as if she were pointing a cocked pistol at him. “Mr. McDermott has just informed me that President Rodgers did not die of natural causes.”

The room was as quiet as a mortuary.

“It appears that President Rodgers was somehow poisoned,” Kate added.

Like they’d seen the head of Medusa, the esteemed group turned to stone. This momentary condition was quickly replaced with restless anxiety. It was almost a minute before Secretary of State Toni Mitchell broke the silence. “How could he have been poisoned in his private quarters?”

“Details are sketchy at this point, Toni,” Kate said.

“How are we going to handle the media?” Press Secretary Riley asked.

McDermott said, “They’re going to be like a pack of wolves. I can see the headlines now.” He gave Cranston a quick glance. “The Secret Service is going to be crucified.”

Kate pointed her pen at the press secretary. “I want an honest statement, Mr. Riley, but let’s not encourage widespread panic or unnecessary speculation.”

“I understand, Madam President.”

Albert Cranston pressed his palms on the table and stood. “There are implications here that trouble me. In fact, they challenge the credibility of my department.”

“Mr. Cranston,” the president said, “nobody is pointing fingers.”

Cranston said, “To assume that President Rodgers was poisoned in his private quarters is a direct reflection on the Secret Service.”

McDermott sat forward and leaned an elbow on the table. “Whether or not President Rodgers was poisoned in his private quarters is an arguable point. The more compelling issue is this: On the day he died, he did not leave the premises. So somewhere within the White House, deadly poison was introduced into his bloodstream. Somebody—or some
bodies
—on staff had to be involved.”

A lull fell upon the room.

Olivia Carter said, “Don’t forget, Charles, that several hundred people tour the White House every day.”

“But their access to much of the structure is restricted,” McDermott shot back.

“At this juncture,” Cranston said, “we cannot discount any theory.” There was an obvious air of relief in his voice.

“My department is ready to move immediately,” Director of Central Intelligence Victor Ellenwood said. Years ago, Ellenwood had been nicknamed the “Silver Fox.” Silver because of his full head of silver hair, and fox because few people were as cagey as he.

Kate, recalling McDermott’s warning about a power struggle between the FBI and CIA, was glad the FBI director was in Hong Kong. She knew her hands were full dealing with Ellenwood.

“I’ve considered this situation at great length,” Kate said, “and have decided to form a special commission.”

Ellenwood glared at Kate with a striking boldness. “What do you mean?”

“I want to appoint two Cabinet members, two senior senators, and members of both the CIA and FBI to investigate President Rodgers’s death. I would like each of you to carefully consider this and give me your written recommendations by noon today.”