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Presidents -- United States -- Fiction
could handle it.”
He smiled at the compliment, then looked squarely at her.
“Okay, Ms. Russell. Whatever you say.”
As Collin finished packing up, Russell looked at the bloody seven-inch piece of metal that had come so close to ending her political aspirations. If the President had been killed, there could have been no cover-up. An ugly word—cover-up—but often necessary in the world of high politics. She shivered slightly at the thought of the headlines. “PRESIDENT FOUND DEAD IN BEDROOM OF CLOSE FRIEND’S HOME. WIFE ARRESTED IN SLAYING. CHIEF OF STAFF GLORIA RUSSELL HELD RESPONSIBLE BY PARTY LEADERS.” But that had not happened. Would not happen.
This thing she held in her hand was worth more than a mountain of weapons-grade plutonium, more than the total oil production of Saudi Arabia.
With this in her possession, who knew? Perhaps even a Russell- Richmond ticket? The possibilities were absolutely infinite.
She smiled and put the plastic bag inside her purse.
* * *
T HE SCREAM MADE L UTHER WHIP HIS HEAD AROUND . T HE PAIN shot through his neck and he almost cried out.
The President ran into the bedroom. He was wide-eyed, but still half-drunk. The memory of the last few hours had come back like a Boeing 747 landing on his head.
Burton ran up behind him. The President started toward the body; Russell dropped her purse on the nightstand, and she and Collin met him halfway.
“Goddammit! She’s dead. I killed her. Oh sweet Jesus help me. I killed her!” He screamed and then cried and then screamed again. He tried to push through the wall in front of him but was still too weak. Burton pulled at the President from behind.
Then with convulsive strength, Richmond tore loose and launched himself across the room and slammed into the wall, rolling into the nightstand. And finally the President of the United States crumpled to the floor and curled up like a fetus, whimpering, next to the woman he had intended to have sex with that night.
Luther watched in disgust. He rubbed at his neck and slowly shook his head. The incredibility of the entire night’s events was becoming too much to endure.
The President slowly sat up. Burton looked like Luther felt, but said nothing. Collin eyed Russell for instructions. Russell caught the look and smugly accepted this subtle changing of the guard.
“Gloria?”
“Yes, Alan?”
Luther had seen the way Russell had looked at the letter opener. He also knew something now that no one else in the room knew.
“Will it be okay? Make it okay, Gloria. Please. Oh God, Gloria!”
She rested her hand on his shoulder in her most reassuring manner, as she had done across hundreds of thousands of miles of campaign dust. “Everything’s under control, Alan. I’ve got everything under control.”
The President was far too intoxicated to catch the meaning, but she didn’t really care.
Burton touched his radio earpiece, listening intently for a moment. He turned to Russell.
“We better get the hell out of here. Varney just scoped a patrol car coming down the road.”
“The alarm . . . ?” Russell looked puzzled.
Burton shook his head. “It’s probably just a rent-a-cop on routine, but if he sees something . . .” He didn’t need to say anything else.
Leaving in a limo in this land of wealth was the best cover they could have. Russell thanked God for the routine she had developed for using rented limos without the regular drivers for these little adventures. The names on all the forms were dummies, the rental fee and deposit paid in cash, the car picked up and dropped off after hours. There were no faces associated with the transaction. The car would be sterilized. That would be a dead end for the police if they ever snagged that line, which was highly doubtful.
“Let’s go!” Russell was now slightly panicked.
The President was helped up. Russell went out with him. Collin grabbed the bags. Then stopped cold.
Luther swallowed hard.
Collin turned back,
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