Page 38 of The First Gentleman

The White House

President Madeline Wright and Burton Pearce are on the third floor of the White House in the family quarters.

Early in her administration, the president learned that due to renovations of the gym in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, Burton had been exercising at a public facility five blocks away.

“Waste of time,” Maddy had told him. “Come to the residence. We’ll exercise together in the workout room, just the two of us. Cole never uses it.” And they’ve done this almost every morning since; it’s become their little ritual.

Still wearing their workout gear, they breakfast on coffee, juice, oatmeal, and cinnamon rolls. Pearce peels off a chunk of pastry and pops it into his mouth. “Damn it. I just burned off five hundred calories, and now I’m putting three hundred right back.”

“So you’re still ahead,” says Maddy. She takes a sip of her coffee. “What’s up with our little pot-stirrers?”

“Who?”

“The journalists. The ones writing the book.”

“Still poking around, but under control.” Pearce pushes the pastry plate away and brushes a few crumbs off his T-shirt. “How’s the vice president?”

“Rough,” says Maddy. “Still fighting an infection along with the chemo. He’s lucid, though he’s struggling with pain and fatigue. But something he said concerns me.”

“What’s that?” asks Pearce.

“He told me to be careful, Burton. That I was in danger of being betrayed by somebody I trusted.Sabotage. That’s the word he used.”

Pearce leans back in his seat. “Disloyalty in the ranks. That’s been the worry of every president since Washington. But there’s no reason to believe that now. Maybe somebody’s planting thoughts in Faulkner’s head while he’s loopy on pain meds.”

Maddy looks up. Something clicks.

Rachel Bernstein.

CHAPTER

31

National Mall

Let Maddy and Burton have their stuffy little White House gym,Cole thinks. He much prefers being out in the open air.

Beside him this morning on the National Mall is Secret Service agent Doug Lambert. Slim, dark-haired, and nondescript, an agent right out of central casting, Lambert’s wearing sweats and running shoes, a Yankees baseball cap, and a loose black jacket that conceals a small arsenal and a compact communications system. “Detail is ready, sir.”

“Hang on a minute,” says Cole. “How’s your daughter settling in at Dartmouth?”

Lambert smiles. “Doing great, sir. I want to thank you again for—”

Cole holds up a hand. “I was happy to make the call. Carrie had the grades and everything else. Besides, I figure the trustees at Dartmouth still owe me something for my eleven-and-one season back in the day, don’t you think?”

Lambert smiles. “Yes, sir. Thanks again, sir.”

“No problem, Doug.” Cole bends down to tighten his laces. “But now I need a little favor from you.”

“I’ll do whatever I can, sir.”

“That evening run on the Mall the other night? Leanne was with me.”

“Right. I stayed in the vehicle.”

“We ran into some folks near the Tidal Basin.”

“Football fans. You signed some autographs.”

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