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WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC
K ennedy clutched her purse in one hand and the President’s Daily Brief in the other. She’d lost count how many times she’d delivered the PDB to President Hayes, but it probably averaged out to four days a week for the past two years. The PDB was essentially a highly classified newspaper that was prepared by the CIA’s Office of Current Production and Analytical Support. President Hayes read the document every morning, as well as several newspapers.
Kennedy stopped outside the president’s private dining room and smiled at the Secret Service agent standing post. The director of the CIA had not slept well, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Rapp. By the time she went to bed, he was at the airport preparing to take off. Green’s penthouse had been scrubbed clean and the bodies disposed of. She had other things on her mind. Everything had to work perfectly or she could make an already pathetic situation worse. The hardest part had been placing her trust in several individuals. Individuals who carried badges and had sworn an oath to uphold the law and protect and defend the constitution. What she had to offer them was justice. There was no doubt about it. The alternative was to go public and watch America descend into suspicion and chaos.
Kennedy knocked on the door once and entered. President Hayes was sitting at his private dining table. He was in a white dress shirt and tie, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. As always he had his four newspapers: The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Washington Times, and USA Today. Each paper was folded in quarters, two on the left and two on the right. Carl, the president’s Navy steward, arranged them just so, every morning.
“Irene,” the president said, rising slowly, “I think this is going to be one of the things I’ll miss most about this job.”
Irene could hear someone working in the pantry right around the corner. “You mean Carl’s cooking?”
The president laughed. “What’s so hard about a bowl of blueberries and half a grapefruit?”
Carl came around the corner with a plate in hand and said, “It is not my fault you have turned into a health nut.” He set the plate down in-between the president’s perfectly folded newspapers. Then, ignoring the commander in chief, he turned to Kennedy and in a much nicer tone asked, “How are you doing this morning, Director Kennedy?”
“Fine, Carl, and you?”
“Counting the minutes until he is gone.” The Filipino steward jerked his head toward Hayes.
“It won’t be the same, will it?”
“Yes, very sad. I remember once I had an abscessed tooth pulled. I was equally upset to see it go.”
The president laughed. He loved ribbing and being ribbed by Carl.
“What would you like to eat this morning?” Carl asked Kennedy. “And please don’t order the other half of his grapefruit.”
That was exactly what Kennedy had been about to do, but she didn’t want to disappoint Carl. “How about an omelet?”
“The best you have ever had.”
Carl disappeared down the hall and into the pantry. Kennedy turned to face the president. She handed him the PDB.
Hayes took it, and held it for a second. Then looking at Kennedy he said, “I’ve never been one to live life with regrets. Even more so since the Parkinson’s.”
“It is one of your most admirable qualities, sir.”
“Well, as Carl said, the minutes are ticking away, and they’ve got me running crazy today so I don’t want to forget to tell you how much you’ve meant to me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I mean it, Irene. You have given me nothing but wise and measured council during some very difficult times. I’m going to miss having breakfast with you every morning.” Hayes opened his arms and gave Kennedy a big hug.
When they parted she said, “I’ll have to visit you in Ohio. Maybe I can bring Carl.”
They both laughed while they took their seats at the table. Carl brought Kennedy some tea and refilled the president’s coffee. The president skimmed the PDB, but his heart wasn’t in it. With a little more than a day left in office there wasn’t much he could do. Besides, there was something else on his mind.
“So, you’re sure it was Ross and Garret who planted that smear piece with the Times?”
“Yes,” Kennedy said with absolute confidence.
“He called late yesterday.”
“Who?” Kennedy asked even though she knew.
“Ross. He said he’d like to bury the hatchet with me.”
“That’s good?”
