asked.
“Of course.” May I call you Zach?
“My office,” the President said, ushering her through a carved maple door.
The office aboard Air Force One certainly was cozier than its White House counterpart, but its furnishings still carried an air of austerity. The desk was mounded with papers, and behind it hung an imposing oil painting of a classic, threemasted schooner under full sail trying to outrun a raging storm. It seemed a perfect metaphor for Zach Herney’s presidency at the moment.
The President offered Rachel one of the three executive chairs facing his desk. She sat. Rachel expected him to sit behind his desk, but instead he pulled one of the chairs up and sat next to her.
Equal footing, she realized. The master of rapport.
“Well, Rachel,” Herney said, sighing tiredly as he settled into his chair. “I imagine you’ve got to be pretty damned confused to be sitting here right now, am I right?”
Whatever was left of Rachel’s guard crumbled away with the candor in the man’s voice. “Actually, sir, I’m baffled.”
Herney laughed out loud. “Terrific. It’s not every day I can baffle someone from the NRO.”
“It’s not every day someone from the NRO is invited aboard Air Force One by a President in hiking boots.”
The President laughed again.
A quiet rap on the office door announced the arrival of coffee. One of the flight crew entered with a steaming pewter pot and two pewter mugs on a tray. At the President’s bidding, she laid the tray on the desk and disappeared.
“Cream and sugar?” the President asked, standing up to pour.
“Cream, please.” Rachel savored the rich aroma. The President of the United States is personally serving me coffee?
Zach Herney handed her a heavy pewter mug. “Authentic Paul Revere,” he said. “One of the little luxuries.”
Rachel sipped the coffee. It was the best she had ever tasted.
“Anyhow,” the President said, pouring himself a cup and sitting back down, “I’ve got limited time here, so let’s get to business.” The President plopped a sugar cube in his coffee and gazed up at her. “I imagine Bill Pickering warned you that the only reason I would want to see you would be to use you to my political advantage?”
“Actually, sir, that’s exactly what he said.”
The President chuckled. “Always the cynic.”
“So he’s wrong?”
“Are you kidding?” The President laughed. “Bill Pickering is never wrong. He’s dead-on as usual.”
9
G abrielle Ashe gazed absently out the window of Senator Sexton’s limousine as it moved through the morning traffic toward Sexton’s office building. She wondered how the hell she had arrived at this point in her life. Personal assistant to Senator Sedgewick Sexton. This was exactly what she had wanted, wasn’t it?
I’m sitting in a limousine with the next President of the United States.
Gabrielle stared across the car’s plush interior at the senator, who seemed to be far away in his own thoughts. She admired his handsome features and perfect attire. He looked presidential.
Gabrielle had first seen Sexton speak when she was a polisci major at Cornell University three years ago. She would never forget how his eyes probed the audience, as if sending a message directly to her— trust me. After Sexton’s speech, Gabrielle waited in line to meet him.
“Gabrielle Ashe,” the senator said, reading her name tag. “A lovely name for a lovely young woman.” His eyes were reassuring.
“Thank you, sir,” Gabrielle replied, feeling the man’s strength as she shook his hand. “I was really impressed by your message.”
“Glad to hear it!” Sexton thrust a business card into her hand. “I’m always looking for bright young minds who sharemy vision. When you get out of school, track me down. My people may have a job for you.”
Gabrielle opened her mouth to thank him, but the senator was already on to the next person in line. Nonetheless, in the months that followed,