Page 17 of The First Gentleman

13

Walter Reed National Military Medical Center

President Madeline Wright is in a private elevator at Walter Reed in Bethesda, Maryland.

She’s riding up to the highly secure seventh floor of the hospital. With her are two Secret Service agents and the ever-present military officer—today it’s a young navy lieutenant—carrying the nuclear football.

Maddy had quietly left the White House in a black Suburban, discreetly followed by another Suburban. She could feel the tension among her Secret Service detail. They much preferred the protection of the heavily armored Beast, but she wasn’t going to make a goddamn parade out of this. She was heading for a private meeting. And a personal one.

The elevator stops; the doors slide open. The staff at the nurses’ station spring to their feet when they spot the president. Maddy nods and makes her way down the hall to the presidential suite. One of the agents pushes the door open, and Maddy walks in, unescorted.

Lying in the hospital bed is Ransom Faulkner, former US senator from Pennsylvania and now Maddy’s vice president. The room is filled with flowers, balloons, and dozens of get-well cards for the colon cancer patient.

“Hey, Chief,” says Maddy. “How’s your day going?”

Faulkner served for years as Philadelphia’s police chief, a title he much prefers to his current one, though Maddy has always admired his ability to deliver the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

Faulkner struggles to sit up. He looks frail and pasty, with purplish bruises from the IVs, and there’s an oxygen cannula under his nose. When he was sworn in as VP three years ago, he’d been on the north side of two hundred and fifty pounds. Now, after a few rounds of chemo, he’s lost over sixty pounds and nearly all of his thick brown hair.

“Where’s Marianne?” Maddy asks. The veep’s loyal wife has been with him day and night since he arrived at Walter Reed.

“She’s getting a bite to eat and a treat for me,” says Faulkner. “They make a mean chocolate milkshake downstairs, Madam President.”

“Call me Maddy—it’s just us kids here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Faulkner says. Then: “How are things going at 1600?”

“About as well as you’d expect.” She pats his hand, smiling as she recalls the long, grueling primary fight she and Faulkner had had four years back, when he’d publicly stated that the California governor was too young and green for the job of president.

The battle for delegates went right up to the convention in New York City. Neither had had enough first-round votes to secure the nomination, but Faulkner yielded to party pressure at the last minute. They made peace quickly, although some of the senator’s staff and supporters harbored some lingering resentment. Despite concerns that her running mate might feel the topspot was stolen from him, Maddy has found him to be a loyal partner from day one.

“How goes the Grand Bargain?” asks Faulkner.

“It’s taking longer than we expected to gather up the votes while we keep the prep work confidential,” says Maddy. “Burton tells me we should get there in about a month.”

Faulkner smiles again. “Burton’s a son of a bitch, but I’d want him in my foxhole.”

“Foxhole?” says Maddy. “No way. He’d mess up his nice gray suit.”

This provokes a genuine guffaw from Faulkner. And then his bright expression crumples with pain.

“Sorry,” says Maddy. “I shouldn’t make you laugh.”

Faulkner takes a deep breath and settles. “I’m still the president of the goddamn Senate, right? Even if I’m horizontal.”

Maddy takes his hand and squeezes it. “Chief, you getting better is all I want. Clear?”

“So tell me about the miracle, Maddy. How have you been able to keep a lid on this program?”

“Simple,” says Maddy. “If I hear somebody’s lips are getting loose, I threaten to go all LBJ on them.”

Faulkner smiles appreciatively. He’s a seasoned pol, so he’s used the same tactics himself. When somebody gets out of line, highway funds for his district might mysteriously get held up. A promised military base might need to be relocated. A congressman with a safe seat might suddenly see a well-funded primary opponent on the horizon.

“Play hardball, Maddy. We need to get our financial house in order once and for all—before the whole thing collapses.”

“I believe it’s what we were put here to do,” says Maddy. “Me and you.”

Faulkner shifts in the bed and brings his head closer to Maddy’s. He leans forward.

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