Page 85 of The First Gentleman

“Cole, you’ve always needed me, even at Dartmouth. Do I have to remind you how I helped when those rumors started about you?”

“That was then. This is now.”

“And now is an even more delicate time. Anythinganyof us does can affect the president’s agenda! How do you think it would look to the inquiring public? First Gentleman meets with reporter; reporter ends up dead. So yes! You should have asked my permission. And you’d better damn well hope nobody on the outside finds out about your little excursion. This is bigger than you, Cole!”

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Maddy.”

“Not on purpose, no. But think about the risk you took!” Pearce inhales deeply and settles down. He eases back in his chair and says in a lower voice, “In four days, the president will address the nation and announce the Grand Bargain. The challenge is to keep a lid on this while we prepare her remarks and work with the majority and minority leaders in both houses so that they will all appear with her when the announcement is made. No matter what we might have promised along the way, we’re not leaking anything. We’re not tipping off anybody. Not the press. Not the Supreme Court. Not Wall Street. The networks will getten minutes’ notice. In the meantime, I can’t have the president’s husband taking random undisclosed trips.”

“Okay, Burton, I promise I’ll put myself on a leash until the announcement is made. Now tell me what you know about Garrett Wilson’s murder.”

Pearce shrugs. “From what I hear from Brattleboro, Wilson was holed up in a cabin with a kilo of high-grade coke. Way too much for personal use. Looks like he was getting ready to cut it and distribute it.”

“So why would his killer leave the kilo of coke behind?”

“Who knows? Maybe he was in a rush. Maybe he didn’t want to double his felonies. Look, I don’t want to talk about Garrett Wilson. I need you to make a trip for me. Official. On the record.”

“Where to?”

“Back to New Hampshire. Manchester.”

“For what?”

“You know Bracken, the mayor up there?”

“Dale Bracken? I’ve heard of him. Didn’t he play for Yale?”

“He did. All-America linebacker. He wants to run for Congress next year, and Maddy wants you there for a fundraiser.”

Cole gets it. “Jock to jock, right?” His typical campaign shtick.

“It sends an early message to the party that the president’s made her choice. Helps eliminate infighting and wasted funds come primary time. You can plug your fitness program in the remarks.”

Cole sighs. “Fine. No problem. I’ll do it.”

“Good. The travel office will set it up.” Pearce grins. “My people. Not your band of sky pirates.”

Cole feels Pearce’s hand on his knee. A brotherly gesture, meant to welcome him back into the fold. Also his traditional signal that a meeting is over. They both stand. Cole is ushered toward the door. Pearce pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

“Cole, my old friend.” His voice is low. “We’ve been through a lot together. And now we’re on the cusp of doing something really great. We’ve got more important things to worry about than some second-rate reporter with a side hustle in drugs. The silver lining for you is that his book is now as dead as he is.”

Cole winces at Pearce’s last remark, delivered with casual coldness.

Like only the Gray Ghost can.

CHAPTER

82

Concord, New Hampshire

Gagnon huddles over the flat-screen monitor at police headquarters as data analyst Beth Condon works on the screenshot from the seventeen-year-old Walmart video.

“You’re lucky,” says Condon. “No lossy compression.”

“Explain, please,” says Gagnon.

“Usually, stored files are compressed to save space on a hard drive or server. When you do that, you lose data. Looks like this file is intact. You said this was some kind of experimental program?”

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