Saint by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online

titles. How many presidents before him had added volumes to this collection? It contained the expected law books, history books, countless classics. But it was the eclectic mix of fiction that intrigued him most.
    Stephen King. Which president had taken the time to read Stephen King? Or had The Stand simply been placed on the book-shelf unread? Dean Koontz, John Grisham, James Patterson. A book called This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti. He had heard the name.
    Behind him, Secretary of State Calvin Bromley cleared his throat. “I think it’s a mistake to underestimate the polls, Mr. President. The country isn’t where it was ten years ago.”
    â€œRobert, Calvin. My name is Robert Stenton. If I’ve learned anything from my son, it’s that even presidents have to be real.” He faced the two men seated in the overstuffed leather chairs flanking the coffee table. “I feel more like a real person when my friends use my given name in private.”
    â€œAnd when will you feel the realness of being the leader of the free world?” David Abraham asked, stroking his white beard.
    The president frowned, then cracked a grin. “Give me time. I’ve only been at this for a year.” He walked to the couch and sighed. “I know the polls are leaning toward the Iranian defense minister’s proposal to disarm Israel, but I can’t ignore the fact that it goes against every bit of good sense I’ve ever had.”
    â€œMr. Feroz’s proposal makes some strategic sense,” Bromley said. “I’m not counseling you to throw in the towel, but more than a few nations are backing this initiative. I think the American people see what the rest of the world is seeing—a plausible scenario for real peace in the region. And you are the people’s president.”
    Robert looked at the secretary of state. Calvin Bromley, graduate of Harvard, two years his elder, but they’d known each other through the track-and-field program. The large Scandinavian man’s blond hair was now graying, and he’d put on a good fifty pounds in the last thirty years, but his clear blue eyes glinted with the same determination that had served him so well throughout his career.
    All three were Harvard men. David Abraham, retired professor of history and psychology who’d taught three of Stenton’s undergraduate classes, now served as a confidant, a kind of spiritual adviser. The professor had experienced a spiritual renaissance later in life and had reconnected with Robert when Robert was the governor of Arizona.
    The seventy-year-old mentor sat stoically, one leg crossed over the other. David had called this meeting. The weekend had originally been scheduled as a time to unwind, but when David suggested that the secretary of state come as well, Robert dismissed the hope of rest altogether.
    â€œYou’re right, Calvin, I am the people’s president. The minute I put my leg over the Harley and thundered down the highway to that infamous rally in Ohio, I became the people’s candidate. I don’t intend to ignore them. But that doesn’t mean I’m always going to agree.”
    â€œI’m only suggesting you reconsider your judgment.”
    â€œI reconsider my judgment every day of the week,” the president said. “I spend half my nights wondering if I’m making the right decisions.”
    â€œForcing Israel to disarm in exchange for the mutual disarmament of all her neighbors, assuming it all could be reasonably executed and verified, would go a long way in reducing the risk of a major conflict in the region.”
    â€œAssuming it could be executed and verified,” Robert said. “And enforced. That’s a significant assumption, isn’t it?”
    â€œBoth the French and the Germans will aid us in enforcing the Iranian initiative, should it be approved.”
    â€œThe initiative isn’t officially