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Spencer Webster says, “You in a good place to talk?”
Liam says, “Fair enough, Doc, although I might get rear-ended any second. I’ve pulled off on the George Washington. What’s going on?”
He says, “You got time for a chat?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “Name the time and place.”
“How about that place we were the other night? In an hour? I’ve got to stop at CVS and pick up a prescription first.”
“Fair enough,” Liam says. “Spencer … have you changed your mind?”
“Yeah.”
Nothing else is said and Liam wonders if they’ve been disconnected. He says, “Spencer?”
Another slight pause, and the doctor says, “Miriam and I were putting Liz and Linc to bed last night. After we switched off the light and left the bedroom, I was wondering what their lives were going to be like … and that got me to wondering about our conversation.”
Liam keeps his mouth shut, thinking Spencer is going to go on.
Which he does.
“What I got to thinking was what kind of world I was going to leave the twins, if … nothing changes in the next three and a half years, or longer, God forbid.”
“I see.”
“Gotta go, see you in an hour.”
Liam disconnects the call, puts his Jeep into Drive, and eases his way out back onto the crowded George Washington Memorial Highway.
He whispers, “Maybe your ghost, George, does protect the republic.”
Ninety minutes later he checks his watch again.
No Spencer Webster.
He’s gone in and out of the Sine Irish Pub and Restaurant at least a half dozen times, including checking the men’s room, and has walked around the block three times, looking for the familiar tall shape.
Nothing. And damn it, he was planning to convince Spencer to talk to his ex-wife, theWashington Postreporter, about what he knows about the president’s mental state.
He’s outside again, gets his cell phone, dials Spencer’s number.
Like the five times before, it goes straight to voicemail, and he leaves another brief message. He disconnects the call and thinks,One more time. One more time.
He dials Spencer’s home number and there’s the briefest of pauses, and then it rings.
It rings!
“Come on, come on, pick up, pick up, pick up,” he whispers.
It rings six times and goes to voicemail, with Spencer’s calm voice saying, “You know the drill, after the beep, please.”
He leaves another message and starts running to his Jeep.
Spencer Webster lives with his family in a fairly nice part of DC, the neighborhood of Cleveland Park. It takes about forty minutes with Liam racing through two yellow lights and one red light to get there.
Upon turning down Woodland Drive Northwest, he speeds up, and then instantly slows down when he sees what’s parked in front of Spencer’s house.
A white District of Columbia police cruiser, with its POLICE in blue against red stripes. Parked in front of it, a black Chevrolet Impala with a whip antenna on the trunk.
