Shadows and Lies (2 page)

The President threw his arms up in exasperation. "Then I don't know what to do. Maybe I should just have a talk with..."

"Goddamn it, no!!" The First Lady was on her feet again, the cords in her throat standing out like a pair of I-beams. "
You
are not ever talking to that blackmailing whore again, do you understand me? Never! Never! Never!!"

"Calm down, Becky."

The First Lady’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "What if she tapes you negotiating with her? You can't talk to her on the telephone. That means you have to
see
her. And of course you'll try and fuck her again. Won't that be dandy?!"

Tufts abruptly blushed, the glow spreading from his collar up his face like a bright shadow. "Then I don't see..."

Becky removed another cigarette from her pack then flicked the lighter as if she had snipped off the end of the cigarette with it. "This is pointless," she said with disgust, dropping onto the couch. "Don't worry your little pea head, I know how to handle this."

The President wasn't listening. "I don't see what we can do. Ah, hell. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What's gonna happen to me?" He dropped his face into his hands.

"I said, 'I know how to handle this,'" Becky repeated patiently as if lecturing a child.

Tufts looked up. "You do?"

"Of course," she snapped dismissively. "You don't really think I'd depend on
you
to take care of something like this, do you? We need an outsider. Someone no one here knows. We need someone who can contact this... person... and work out a deal. Most of all we need someone who won't turn on us. I've got just the man."

"You're certain about this guy? You can't make a mistake here.”

“Of course I'm sure!" she answered as if he were an idiot. "He doesn't have any Washington experience, so we don't have to be concerned with divided loyalties or a hidden agenda. But he's a trained investigator and I can trust him, believe me."

"Who?"

"You've heard me talk about him before. One of the locals from back home. Danny Powers."

Tufts scrunched his face in momentary reflection. "I don't remember any..."

"There's never been a word in the press tying him to me. Not one. He's here. I'll set it up."

"You already sent for him?"

"What the hell did you think I was going to do? The convention starts tomorrow, then the campaign begins for real. We have to close this deal now, no later than tomorrow, tonight if possible. I didn't have time to fuck around with you. Of course I sent for him. He's waiting in my office."

"It might not be a bad idea to have Marty check him out in detail first. He’s got the contacts to do it unofficially. A lot can have happened since you last knew this guy well."

"Don’t tell me how to handle this. I’m certain or I wouldn’t be doing it." Then, as if it were an accusation. "Don't I always clean up after you?" She stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray as she rose, running her hands along her thighs, straightening her skirt. "You go save the world, or whatever it is you're supposed to be doing tonight. I'll get the ball rolling. With luck Danny will cut the deal with your bitch and have the tapes back later tonight."

For the first time the President appeared hopeful. "All right. All right. That's it then." He stood and adjusted his tie before passing a light hand over his hair. Since the start of the Gulf Crisis he’d given it a grey tint to emphasize maturity.

"Go look Presidential and put it to the Thais." The First Lady paused at the door then turned towards her husband. She spoke with malevolence, her eyes the color of a cold Missouri winter sky. "Just keep you zipper zipped if you know what's good for you. I'm not telling you again." She eased the door shut once she was out of the room.

              Tufts stood perfectly still for a long moment then slowly released a lung full of air as if he had just dodged a bullet. He caught his image reflected in a gilded mirror, turned to face it head on, then a slow grin spread across his lips before ending as a smirk.

TWO

The West Wing, 6:44 p.m.

It had been a hectic day for Daniel Powers. First the call from Becky Gordon – that was how he still thought of her – then frantic efforts to make the flight connections. Now waiting for her here and in the White House of all places.

The office was fiercely feminine in decor as he'd expected, dressed in pale shades of green and yellow giving it the slight feel of a hot house. There were four drawings on the wall, two by Daumier, two by artists he didn't recognize, since they weren’t French. The desk was dark wood, caressed by wax for at least two hundred years. It was an office he expected the First Lady to have, certainly if that First Lady was Becky Gordon.

The summons had come at an odd time. The Middle East crisis was rushing for a showdown with Saddam Hussein threatening to attack Israel and the Democratic National Convention began this week. Over the last three and a half years President Tufts had downsized the military to controversial levels, closing bases, especially overseas since they weren't located in Congressional districts. The Republicans had accused him of risking an international crisis for which the Americans would not be equipped to respond.

Then the fragile Arab coalition put together by George Bush had collapsed. Saddam Hussein had quietly rebuilt his army after his first Gulf War debacle. Saudi Arabia, concerned about Muslim extremists backed by Iran, insisted the American military presence they had tolerated be withdrawn. Then in April, Saddam had sent his troops back into Kuwait, only this time they continued another 200 miles into Saudi Arabia and seized much of that country's northeastern oil fields, the bulk of its oil producing capability.

In response Tufts had launched more than 800 cruise missiles as well as a massive B-52 attack while he frantically worked to recreate the coalition. Two of the bombers were shot down with surface-to-air missiles and Iraqi television displayed the wreckage with Republican Guardsmen astride the twisted metal, emptying their AK47's into the air.

Four members of one crew were being held in Baghdad. Their beaten faces had appeared on international television as did their statements condemning the unjustified aggression of the American imperialists. Family members and anti-war groups demanded that President Tufts do something, anything, to bring them home.

An American buildup was underway in southern Saudi Arabia with the eager support of a newly compliant Saudi king supported by the British and with reluctance by the French. No military action was anticipated before fall, when the desert heat abated. Or so the newspapers had been saying these last months.

On the second leg of his flight to Washington D.C., Powers read that according to unnamed intelligence sources it was likely Saddam, who had been blustering about his nuclear capability, in fact possessed at least two nuclear bombs, "devices" had been the word, bought from rogue military elements in Turkmenistan, a predominantly Muslim portion of the former Soviet Union.

If attacked, Saddam vowed to "unleash the fires of Allah" on the infidel and claimed several nuclear bombs were buried in the strata that held the ocean of oil beneath the fields he occupied. He vowed to destroy those fields and so contaminate them with radioactivity. The oil of Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Iran, who all drew from the same vast reservoir, would be unusable for a 1,000 years. He would also launch his nuclear weapons against the American forces.

Oil and gasoline prices were stable since there had been an abundance of reserves when the Iraqi attack had come and the other oil producing nations were pumping at maximum capability. But gas lines were expected if there was no resolution of the crisis by year's end and there was likely to be a heating fuel shortage this winter. Now Saddam was escalating the war of wills by threatening massive SCUD missile attacks against Israel unless the United Nations recognized his legitimate rights to the land Iraq now occupied. It was, Powers thought again, a peculiar time to be summoned to the White House.

The door opened and the First Lady entered, smiling warmly as she closed the door quietly by leaning back against it. "Hello, Danny," she said almost demurely.

Powers rose. "Hello, Becky. It's been awhile."

"Too long." She crossed the room to him and took his hands. "Well, don't just stand there. Give me a kiss." They embraced briefly like fond cousins and Powers kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I remember when you used to really kiss me," she said teasingly.

"So do I, but you're a married woman now."

Becky laughed. Her eyes were slightly red as if she had been crying. And through the perfume Powers smelled cigarette smoke. That was peculiar, he thought, since Becky was
de facto
head of the national movement for a tobacco free America. The newspapers regularly reported no one was allowed to smoke in the White House.

The First Lady pulled around the matching leather chair in front of her desk so she was facing Powers then sat. "You're very handsome in your blue suit. You always were the best looking man I ever knew.”

“I blame it on my genes."

"I was sorry to hear about your wife. Gloria, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"And your son. What a tragedy. I only met them that one time but they were lovely. You made a wonderful family."

"Thank you. I miss them both."

"How are you? Mom said you'd moved back home after the fire and seemed out of sorts. You retired, didn't you?"

"Yes. I had 23 years in. After Gloria and Brian were killed I couldn't remain in St. Louis any longer and my heart wasn't in police work. So I went home. I'm living in the house my parents bought after they sold the garage. It's on Second Street."

"Mayberry."

"Excuse me?"

"That's what I call Shalom. Mayberry, R.F.D."

Powers smiled warmly. "It's not exactly Mayberry, but almost. Nothing much ever changes. Except for the mill closing, of course. I should be giving you condolences. I haven't seen you since your father passed away. I know how close you two were."

"Thanks. At least he lived long enough to see me in the White House. Imagine that. Little ol' Becky Gordon from Shalom, Missouri, First Lady." She grinned as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"According to the signs outside of town, Shalom is home to the 'World's First Lady.'”

Shalom, population 19,000, was located on the south bank of the Gasconade River between the Springfield and Salem Plateaus in rural southern Missouri. Since Richard Tufts' election to President and the elevation of the local former homecoming queen to First Lady two immense signs had been erected on the outskirts, proclaiming the community's pride in its native daughter.

Becky rose and moved behind her desk where she opened a drawer. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes then lit up. "A secret, okay?"

"Sure." Powers held a poker face.

"I know. I'm a hypocrite. I've quit a hundred times. I did real good there for a while but these last few months..."

"I can understand that. It took me three times to finally stop for good. You two have been under a lot of pressure lately."

Becky laughed sarcastically and rolled her eyes heavenward. "You don't know the half of it." She smoked for a time, not looking directly at him, one arm crossed under her breasts supporting the elbow of the other. She put the cigarette out. "This is hard," she said finally as if she had rejected a dozen approaches in the last minute. "I have to tell you things I've never told anyone. Things that won't make me seem very nice I'm afraid."

"We're both adults."

"So I keep hearing." She gave him a strange look. "When I told you this morning that you couldn't tell anyone you had talked to me or that you were coming here, I said it was important. Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes."

"You paid cash for the ticket?"

"Yes.”

“I'll get money for you later so you don't use an ATM."

"Forget the money. I'm glad to see you. And be of help if that's what this is about."

She looked tentative. "It is. And you'll need to use more money so I'm not taking no for an answer in that regard. We'll get to that later." She drew a deep breath then let it out slowly as she sat facing him, looking every day her age. "How much do you know about me, since I left Shalom, I mean?" she asked quietly. "We've seen each other since then, what? Three times?"

"Twice. Once not long after your husband was first elected governor. Your father held a party when you two came to town and I was invited. You and I shared a glass of champagne though I never did meet your husband. The last time was nearly four years ago, just after the presidential election. I was visiting my parents while you were seeing yours and you invited me to bring my family by the house to meet."

"That's right. I remember. Now tell me what you know about me since high school."

"You went to Radcliffe. I was at Webster College, then the service, then back to Webster. You attended Harvard Law School then worked for the A.C.L.U. You married Richard Tufts and we were all surprised when you moved South with him. He was the second youngest governor ever elected. And you were an important part of his success. He came out of nowhere to win the Presidency. You've been active. You lead the effort to reform campaign financing." He stopped. Her recommendation for an expanded negative income tax which would assure every American a guaranteed annual income above subsistence had been a disaster of sizeable proportions for the Administration, and since before the re-election campaigning had begun, the public had seen very little of Becky Tufts.