Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [98]
“What’s it about?” Millius asked.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Lounsbury replied, sounding annoyed.
• • •
The relationship between Millius and Lousbury was tenuous at best. It wasn’t lost on Lounsbury that despite being chief of staff to the president of the United States, his counterpart in the first lady’s office maintained a closer, strangely special relationship with the president. It went back to Jamison’s tenure as governor of Georgia, when Millius was his right-hand man in more ways than one. Rumors abounded about the role the young man played in the governor’s inner sanctum. Some said that Millius was the cleanup man for Jamison’s indiscretions. There were even those who claimed that there were dead bodies in Jamison’s past and that Millius had had a hand in arranging for certain individuals to be “neutralized.” It was all juicy political gossip-mongering, of course, and no one had ever developed evidence to support the rumors.
When Millius was named the first lady’s chief of staff, it had set off another round of rumors and speculation. Some considered it a demotion for Millius, and he was asked that question a few times by reporters. His boilerplate response served to cut off further inquiries, although skepticism remained: “The president feels that the first lady will play a vitally important role in his administration and wants me to help her achieve her goals. I consider working directly with her to be a welcome challenge as well as an opportunity to help shape the president’s ambitious agenda for the American people.”
Millius’s boilerplate statement was dutifully reported, while the reporters covering him laughed among themselves. No one pressed Lance Millius for a more cogent comment. From the day Fletcher Jamison took office it was understood by the press corps that Lance Millius had the president’s ear. Offend him and you offended the president of the United States. Goodbye press pass. Goodbye access. Goodbye career.
• • •
“Where?” Millius asked Lounsbury.
“The Treaty Room, nine thirty sharp.”
The line went dead.
Millius looked down at the silent receiver in his hand and smiled. He had little use for Lounsbury and enjoyed those moments when his West Wing counterpart was unhappy.
After showering and dressing, he retrieved his new silver Lexus from his apartment building’s garage and drove to the White House, where he parked in his reserved spot. He passed through security and chose a route to the second floor of the West Wing that circumvented the first lady’s suite of offices in the East Wing.
One of Jamison’s personal aides who’d been awaiting Millius’s arrival went to summon the president. While waiting, Millius went to a large overmantel mirror on the west wall and checked his appearance in it. Satisfied, he sat in a chair on the visitor’s side of the Treaty Table on which President McKinley had signed the peace treaty with Spain in 1898, which ended the Spanish-American War. The room had been the private office of a succession of first ladies until Rosalynn Carter moved in and preferred that her office be on the first floor in the East Wing, closer to the center of government and political activity, closer to her husband.
He was studying the ornate Victorian chandelier above him when Jamison entered, closing the door behind him. Millius stood but Jamison waved him back down and took his chair on the opposite side of the table.
“There’s a messy situation looming that I want cleaned up before it happens,” Jamison said.
Millius nodded.
“It involves the first lady, but I don’t want your participation in it known to her.”
“All right, Mr. President.”
“It’s a long, convoluted story, Lance. I’ll try to be as brief as possible. You don’t need to know all the details. It involves a man named Robert Brixton. He’s a—”
“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s something you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m aware of this man, Brixton. The first lady asked me to run a background check on him.”
Jamison’s expression mirrored his surprise. “When did she do that?”
“A number