Executive Privilege by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online

wouldn’t last.
    Charlotte got out and shut the back door. The driver waited until Charlotte was in her car before driving off.
    Charlotte sat in the car and tried to pull herself together. It was late and she was exhausted. She would think more clearly in the morning, but she was certain she’d come to the same conclusion. She should put this behind her and get on with her life. The sex had been okay and she’d had her fifteen minutes of fame, although no one would ever know about it. She sighed and put the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. She tried again but the engine wouldn’t start.
    Oh, great, she thought. Then she laughed. What else could go wrong?
    She was bending toward her purse to get her cell phone when the driver’s door was ripped open.

Chapter Seven
    When he arrived at the farm, Charles Hawkins was escorted to the library. Two walls were filled with books that actually appeared to have been read. A stone fireplace dominated another wall. Someone had built a fire. A picture window that looked out on a wide back lawn took up the fourth wall. An unusual aspect of the room was the bulletproof glass in the picture window.
    “What took you so long?” Farrington asked as soon as Hawkins walked into the library. He was holding a glass half filled with scotch and Hawkins suspected it wasn’t his first.
    “I don’t have wings, Chris,” Hawkins answered calmly. He was used to Farrington’s moods.
    “I’m sorry,” Farrington said. “I’m upset.”
    Hawkins dropped onto a sofa and studied his friend carefully. Farrington looked exhausted, his jacket was off, his tie was askew, and his hair was mussed, as if the president had been running his fingers through it a lot.
    “Tell me why I’m here,” Hawkins said.
    “It’s that girl, Walsh. You know we talked about the records for Maureen’s slush fund?”
    “She was going to get them for us.”
    “Yeah, well she called. She said she could get the records tonight. I told her to come here.”
    “Where did she call?”
    “The White House.”
    “How did she get through to you?”
    “I gave her my cell.”
    “Jesus, Chris. That line’s not secure.”
    “Don’t worry. She didn’t use her real name.”
    “I thought we’d agreed I was going to handle this.”
    Farrington looked down at the floor.
    “You screwed her, didn’t you?” Hawkins said.
    “I couldn’t help myself.”
    “You didn’t screw her in Chicago, too, did you?”
    Farrington didn’t answer.
    “Goddamn it, Chris, you swore to me that you didn’t touch her. You were only supposed to convince her to be our eyes and ears in Maureen’s campaign headquarters.”
    “I know, I know.”
    “You promised me you wouldn’t pull this shit anymore.”
    “I broke it off,” Farrington answered. Hawkins noticed that the president still couldn’t look him in the eye.
    “So you let her steal for you, you screwed her, then you said, ‘By the way, we’re through.’”
    “I was going to tell her that we had to stop seeing each other when she got here but she’s so beautiful.”
    Hawkins sighed. Getting mad at Farrington was useless; he’d always been ruled by his penis, and short of castration Hawkins knew that there was no way to change him.
    “Claire is pregnant, Chris,” Hawkins said patiently. “She announced this little fact at the fund-raiser, tonight. It’s going to be a major story in every newspaper and on every television news show in the country. Do you know what will happen if the voters find out that you’re cheating on your pregnant wife?”
    “I’m sorry. I know it was stupid.”
    Hawkins counted to ten. “How did Walsh take it?” he asked.
    “Not well. She threatened to go public.”
    “Fuck.”
    “I don’t know if she’ll go through with the threat.”
    “Yeah, well you’d better hope she doesn’t or you’ll be back in Portland chasing ambulances. Where is she now?”
    “I don’t know, but she left her car at the Dulles Towne Center mall. And