Page 85 of The First Gentleman
CHAPTER 81
The White House
C ole 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.”
“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. Anything any of 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 get ten 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.