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This man definitely wanted to make a name for himself.
And what did Kenneth want?
Power and credibility. And her?
She wanted wealth.
She’d lived off a public salary nearly her entire adult life. First from what Alex made in the Tennessee state government, then as a U.S. senator. Luckily, he’d inherited assets that had kept them debt-free. But they’d never lived a life of leisure or privilege. Alex was always careful with donor contributions and gifts, never breaching any ethical lines. Not once during his tenure had he ever accepted a paid trip anywhere. He barely allowed anyone to buy him a meal. Don’t take it and you don’t owe it. She’d heard that a million times. Her philosophy was vastly different. What she sought could be worth in the hundreds of billions of dollars. More than enough wealth to provide her with a comfortable life. Only on his deathbed had her father told her about the possibility of locating the gold.
“You’re a million miles away,” Vance said to her.
That she was.
An odd play of emotions swirled inside her. Pride, greed, ambition, guilt. A strange combination she’d only recently learned to master.
“You and I won’t be sleeping together again,” she told him.
He didn’t seem bothered. “As I recall, you were the one who started that in the first place.”
“I did. So I’ll be the one to end it.”
“Somebody else?”
“You could say that.”
“I hope he appreciates what he has.”
That remained to be seen.
“Go home to your family. Be a good boy, Lucius. Don’t screw this up.”
“I have no intention of failing. You gave me a gift, which I plan to use wisely.”
“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”
“Your words?”
She shook her head. His lack of knowledge of history was embarrassing. “Lincoln’s. And he was right. You’re about to be put to that test. Don’t fail.”
“I have no intention of that happening.”
She knew Vance had wanted to be president. Before last fall’s election he’d thrown out feelers and tested the water. But no one had jumped to his call. Not the press, the public, or the party. His ignorance of history again worked to his disadvantage. Only one person had ever moved from Speaker of the House to president. James Polk in 1845. A long, long time ago. In modern times the post represented the end of a legislator’s career. Vance had held that seat of power for nine years, a lifetime in Speaker’s terms. He’d used the post wisely, making far more friends than enemies. But she knew how he’d resented being shunned, especially when the party had turned to a political lightweight like Warner Fox for president. So he’d jumped when she’d offered him a way to move from number two in the line of succession to, in essence, being president, and all without facing a national election.
“I’m going to change this country, forever,” he said. “But I could not have done it without you.”
She appreciated the graciousness, but knew that, soon, she would be the last thought on his mind. Which was okay. She had other interests, too.
“One last kiss?” he asked. “For the warrior about to do battle?’
She smiled. He was impossible.
But what was the harm?
* * *
Danny watched with rapt fascination as the Speaker of the House of Representatives kissed the widow of one of his closest friends. Not a peck on the cheek, either. An embrace, their lips crushed against each other, with no resistance from either side. He could hardly believe his eyes or his ears, as he’d been close enough to hear their entire conversation.
Something big was definitely in the works.
“You’re about to become the most powerful man in this country.”
Diane’s words to Vance.
The two lovers parted, then walked together from the deck back into the house. A few minutes later a car left the driveway. He assumed Vance was gone, along with his two minders.
So he fled the woods.
* * *
He drove back to his house, his thoughts swirling. Being president of the United States had been a continuous mental task, there’d never been a moment when a thousand different things weren’t raging through his brain. That might be a problem for most people. Not him. He’d loved every second of it and missed it more than he’d ever thought possible. What had another Tennessean, Andrew Jackson, said?
I was born for the storm, and a calm does not suit me.
Damn straight.
And he seemed to have stumbled right into the middle of a hurricane. Silently, he weighed the pluses and minuses, seeking a loophole, some straw to grasp, a reasonable explanation.
But found nothing.
The wipers continued to squeak against the rain. Droplets, like silver bullets, revealed themselves in the headlights, the damp road glistening like black ice.
Unfortunately, no nagging toothache of doubt existed here.
Only bad thoughts crawled around in his mind.
He’d watched the gathering inside the Sherwood home, noting a jollity among the three participants that suggested familiarity. Then the encounter on the deck. That was almost too much to believe. Nobody would believe him. He barely believed it himself.
But what to do now?
He had an idea, crazy in its scope, unique in its approach.
So he rattled off its pros and cons.
His divorce from Pauline was scheduled to be filed in July and, after the mandatory sixty-day waiting period, finalized in September. That would be eight months after leaving office. They’d agreed to issue a joint statement expressing regret, then not to speak publicly on the matter ever again. To friends the explanation would be that things happen, but those closest would not be surprised. The pain from Mary’s tragic death had hung between them for a long time. His daughter would have been a grown woman now, probably married with children of her own. Music had been her love, and he could still hear her, as a child, playing the flute. Visiting her grave had been a start at his personal reconciliation with that past.
But more work remained to be done.
Ego, of course, would be raised by his enemies, along with enough is enough. But before leaving the White House he’d been privy to polling numbers that indicated he was popular in Tennessee. The data had been gathered as part of the research concerning the location of his presidential library. Private donors would be needed to make it a reality, and having the building located in friendly territory always helped with contributions.
Beyond that, he could think of no other deal-breaker con to his plan.
Sure, objections would come, but the naysayers could go to hell. His dearest friend was dead, and he’d been unwittingly drawn into finding out how and why. He owed that to Alex Sherwood, so he’d take whatever heat might come his way. Never once had he ever been afraid of a fight. And it was unfettered courage that had made him a decisive president. The military had respected him, Congress feared him, and the people, by and large, liked him. That same poll taken late last year had also revealed that he left office with a 65% approval rating, which no other modern president could claim. So was he letting all that go to his head? Was he overplaying his hand? Maybe.
But he had to do it.
For Alex.
He kept driving through the rain. No sleep had settled in his eyes. Instead his mind worked at an Olympic pace.
“No, Danny,” he whispered, “you’re doing this for you, too.”
Being honest with himself had always served him well. He knew his strengths and weaknesses, conscious of both, oblivious to neither.
He wanted this. No. He needed this.
He turned off the highway and cruised down the drive, parking in front of his house. The security team was still ensconced on the front porch.
“Anything we can get you, Mr. President?” one of the men asked as he climbed the steps.
>
“A third term would have been good.”
And he tossed the man a smile as he headed inside, shedding his wet coat. Pauline would have made him take it off outside. Now he could do as he pleased. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen. He’d brought the notebook inside with him. Upstairs, he bypassed the closed door to his room and opened the one where his friend lay sleeping. He sat on the edge of the bed, switched on the tasseled lamp, and roused him.
“You do realize that I am the governor of this state,” his pal said, sleep still in his voice.
“But I outrank you.”
The governor sat up in the bed. “How do you figure? You’re a private citizen.”
“We’ve got trouble.”
And he told his friend everything, including the details concerning Taisley, Lucius Vance, and Diane. “I’m tellin’ you, that gathering I just witnessed was like something from Seven Days in May.”
He’d always loved both the book and the original black-and-white movie, which dealt with a military-political cabal’s attempt to take over the government.
“They were plotting,” he said. “No question.”
“Is that the notebook?”
He nodded and handed it over. “Diane lied straight to my face. She had someone go into Alex’s apartment and get this.”
“She is his wife and, I assume, sole heir?”
“Then why lie?”
“Because she doesn’t like you? And considers it none of your business?”
“I wish it were that simple. No. They’re about to do something big. So big that she was warning Vance about the effects of power.”
“What can you or I do about it?”
