Page 90 of The First Gentleman

As Cole heads toward the car, he sees two people approaching to intercept him. A tall man and a woman with dark hair parted in the center. The same pair he saw standing near the press.

The next few seconds are a blur. Cole sees Agent Lambert step in front of him. He feels another agent’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him to the ground. A third agent sprints toward the pair from the greeting area as he pulls an automatic machine pistol from his jacket.

“Friendly!” the man shouts, holding his badge high. The woman at his side holds up her badge too, and they both extend their other hands, palms open.

Lambert yells, “Stay back!” He has his Glock out now.

“Official government business,” the guy calls. “Stand down!”

Cole grabs Lambert’s arm. “Doug! Stay cool! Let’s not get anybody shot out here.”

The woman steps up and looks directly at Cole.

“What’s this about?” Cole asks.

“Mr. Wright, I’m Detective Sergeant Gagnon, New Hampshire State Police. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Suzanne Bonanno. This man is Deputy Attorney General Bastinelli, and he will read you your rights.”

“Like hell,” says Lambert.

The agent behind Cole pulls him toward the cars. The reporters are straining at the rope barrier. Cole plants his feet and twists free of the agent. “Stop!” He turns to face Gagnon. “Detective, I don’t know what this is about, but let’s not have a battle out here on the runway.”

“I agree, sir,” says Gagnon. “Bad look for everybody. We don’t need to cuff you, and you can bring your detail. But as of this moment, you’re in our custody.”

“We can delay the reading of the rights until we’re in the vehicle,” says Bastinelli.

Cole cannot believe this is happening. He turns to Lambert. “Call the president, then call Burton Pearce—in that order.”

Lambert nods. He holsters his gun and pulls out his phone.

Cole keeps his face composed for the cameras, but his fists are clenched tight at his sides. He’d thought this nightmare was far behind him.

But now, after seventeen years, it’s back.

PART

THREE

SEPTEMBER

CHAPTER

85

Rockingham County Courthouse, New Hampshire

The rain is falling harder as I reach the courthouse entrance and present my admission pass—one of only sixty available and more precious than a Super Bowl ticket. I have Dr. Graham to thank for that. The pass was delivered to my condo by certified mail, with a note enclosed.

My student should see this trial live and in person.

A Brother

The line moves slowly up to the main entrance of the courthouse. From every direction, I hear whispered conversations:

“He’s totally guilty!”

“He’s an American hero!”

“He’s a government puppet!”

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