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The White House
Cole Wright walks the halls of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. Located next to the West Wing, this part of the White House compound is an architectural marvel built in the Second Empire style. It’s also a power center, housing the offices of key administration employees.
Like the vice president’s chief of staff.
Wright has business with Rachel Bernstein. Business that must be conducted in person.
The door to Bernstein’s office is open but there’s nothing in the room other than a bare desk. He has a feeling Burton Pearce knows why.
He goes to the West Wing. Pearce’s assistant, Pam Hitchcock, is at her desk outside the chief of staff’s office. She holds a hand up like a traffic cop. “He’s on the phone, Mr. Wright.”
“Hey, Pam,” says Cole. “I was just over in the EEOB. Rachel Bernstein’s office is empty. Did they move her?”
“They did. To Berlin.”
“Berlin?”
“Yes. She’s joined Ambassador Eastland’s staff.”
“When did this happen?”
“A couple days ago.” Hitchcock glances down at her phone console. “He’s off the phone, Mr. Wright. You can go in.”
Cole realizes that he shouldn’t be surprised about Bernstein.
Cole pushes the door open and sees Pearce behind his massive desk, crossing items off a list with vigorous strokes of his pen and muttering as he goes. “Duffy! Baynes! Price! Morlock!Idiots!Every single one!” He slams down his pen. “You know, they say the Senate is the most exclusive club in the world, but sometimes I think we’d be better off picking a hundred names at random.”
Cole ignores the tirade. He’s heard it all before, every time an important piece of legislation is on the line. Like now. “Problems with the Grand Bargain?” he asks.
Pearce waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing a few dams and tax abatements can’t fix.”
Cole takes a seat in one of Pearce’s cushioned antique armchairs. “What happened with Rachel Bernstein?”
Pearce stacks some folders on his desk. “She went to Berlin.”
“I heard that. Why?”
Pearce folds his hands. “Truth? I think Faulkner was tired of her bossing the doctors around at Walter Reed. Another few days and she would’ve been wearing a white coat.”
Cole cocks his head. “Faulkner got rid of her?”
“Let’s say he offered her a chance to broaden her résumé.”
Cole knows how much Bernstein grated on Pearce. He grins. “Miss her?”
Pearce grins back. “I’m devastated.”
He gets up from his desk, walks around, and takes a seat across from Cole. He leans forward and looks him right in the eye. “What in the hell were you thinking, sneaking off to Hanover like that? You had to know I’d find out.”
Pearce has always had a way of finding things out. That’s why Cole is here. He learned a few things about Garrett Wilson’s murder last week from the news. But he has a feeling that Pearce knows more. “Of course I did. I just didn’t want you to stop me.”
“And what was so important that you had to burn two thousand gallons of government fuel and land at an unsecured airfield?”
“I wanted to talk to Garrett Wilson face to face.”
“And what did you talk about?”
Cole can feel his temper rising. “That was between him and me. I don’t need your permission to talk to a reporter, Burton. You’re not my handler.”