Page 31 of Lessons in Power
The camera panned out and the terrorist’s hand rested on her stomach—her very pregnant stomach. Her expression flickered, and for a moment, I saw a quieter, raw emotion underneath. “I wish that it could be different. I wish that my child could know her father. I wish that there was no part of me that loved him. I wish that he did not love me. I wish …” She swallowed. “I wish that I were not so good at my job. I do, Walker. But I am what I am, and you are the president’s son.”
Her hand fell away from her stomach. “My name is Daniela Nicolae. And the time for waiting is over.”
The clip ended abruptly, the screen going to black.
“She made it,” Walker said. “For me. For after.”
“Walker.” Ivy’s voice was calm but every bit as intense as the terrorist’s had been. “What did you mean when you said everyone was going to see this?”
Walker looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked like he might never sleep again. “I’m not the only one that video was sent to.”
There were some secrets that not even the great Ivy Kendrick could bury. Pandora’s box had been opened. There was no closing it now. By noon, the video had gone viral. By twelve ten, it was playing on every major news channel.
“The president’s son invited a terrorist not just into his home but into his bed! We have to ask: What exactly did Walker Nolan tell this woman? Why was he such an easy target? And how long has the president known the truth?”
The female pundit who’d flamed the Nolan administration after the bombing wasn’t debating anyone this time. She was sitting behind a desk, speaking directly into the camera.
“We know that these groups specialize in turning people. They recruit American citizens. Has the president’s son been interrogated? Are we sure they didn’t get to him, too?”
On and on it went. Walker was either an accomplice or a patsy. He’dchosento turn down Secret Service protection. He’d made himself a target. And if the president couldn’t safeguard his own family, how could we expect him to safeguard this country?
As far as blows went, this one was lethal.
Less than an hour later, the president issued a statement. He said that he was grieved that his own son had been made a victim and thankful that Walker had uncovered the duplicity in time to save hundreds of lives.
“Let me be clear,” President Nolan finished. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists. We do not fear them. We will not allow them to divide us. This country is strong. We are proud. We are united. And the war on terror is one wewillwin.”
CHAPTER 23
On Monday morning, Maya was somewhat muted as she told Emilia that her approval ratings were at an all-time high among freshman and sophomore girls. Given thatmutedwasn’t typically an adjective that described Maya Rojas, I didn’t need the pollster’s daughter to tell me that, like Ivy, her mother had worked through the weekend, or that President Nolan’s approval rating was at an all-time low.
Opposite Maya, Di flipped her white-blond hair over one shoulder. “Hands,” she said, her Icelandic accent making the word sound sharper. When none of us moved, she rolled her light blue eyes. “I do not bite,” she said. “Much. Give me your hands.”
Maya offered hers, and Di whipped out a pen and wrote something on the back of Maya’s right hand. Then she turned her light blue eyes to me.
“Hand.”
“Pass,” I said.
“You cannot pass,” the ambassador’s daughter said, waving my words away. “You are the one who started this.”
I glanced over at Maya’s hand. Di had written four letters on the back.ISWE.
As in:I STAND WITH EMILIA.
“The freshman girls are writing it on their hands.” Di gave me a steely-eyed look. “Now we write it on ours.”
Emilia remained strangely silent. A week ago, she would have ordered me to play along.
I held my hand out to Di, appraising Emilia the whole time. The wordsthank youhadn’t left Asher’s sister’s lips once since I’d gotten her back in the race. I understood that shecouldn’tthank me—not without acknowledging, even if just in her own head, that this wasn’t just about the election.
I watched as Di wrote the letters on my hand.ISWE.
“I come bearing donuts.” Asher appeared next to our table. “And the bearer of donuts,” he intoned, “was greeted with trumpets and pomp.” He waited patiently—presumably for both trumpets and pomp.
Instead, he got Emilia giving him the look of a sibling who knew her brother all too well. “What did you do?” she asked him flatly.
“Nothing,” Asher answered with a charming smile.
