The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [145]
“Wes, everything okay up there?” President Lee Manning shouts from the base of the stairs. “We’re still waiting for that sport coat!”
I turn to the First Lady. The President’s footsteps hammer up the stairway.
85
The First Lady starts to say something, but it’s like she’s talking underwater. Teetering backward, I crash into the desk with all the Manning photos, which wobble and shake. Like me. To do that to me— The room whirls, and my life swirls into the kaleidoscope. All these years . . . to lie to my— God, how could he—? There’s no time for an answer. From the footsteps outside the bedroom, it’s clear the President is almost at the top of the stairs. If he sees me with her—
“Wes?” he calls out.
“Coming, sir!” I yell as I rush to his closet, tug a navy sport coat off its hanger, and shoot one last look at the First Lady, who’s still frozen on the hand-painted trunk. Her eyebrows lift, her cheeks seem almost hollow. She doesn’t say a word, but the cry for help is deafening.
“He’d never—he wouldn’t do that—not on purpose,” she whispers as I drop Boyle’s note back in her lap. Nodding repeatedly, she’s already convincing herself. “In fact, maybe . . . maybe he was tricked. Maybe he got approached by The Roman and he didn’t realize who he was talking to. He would look like a real agent, right? So—so—so maybe they got worried that Ron was taking so long, and they tried a more manipulative route that went straight to the top branch of the tree. And then . . . he could’ve thought he was actually helping the Service. Maybe—maybe he didn’t even realize what he’d done.”
I nod. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it wasn’t intentional. Maybe it was Manning’s greatest, most horrible mistake that he prayed would somehow go away. The problem is, I can still picture the President on his last walk across the South Lawn, clutching the First Lady’s hand and refusing to look back as they headed for Marine One. Back then, the leaks from our own staff said she was more devastated than he was. But I was there. I saw how tightly he was squeezing her fingers.
The President’s footsteps are nearly at the top of the stairs.
I wobble toward the door, burst into the hallway, and make a sharp right, almost ramming into the President’s chest.
“H-Here you go, sir,” I say as I skid to a halt, my arm outstretched with his navy blazer.
He takes another step toward me. I stand my ground, making sure he doesn’t go any farther.
For a moment, Manning’s eyes narrow, his famous grays flattening into matching icy slivers. But just as quickly, a broad, warm smile lifts his cheeks and reveals a hint of yellow on his teeth. “By the way, have you seen the wigs yet?” he asks, referring to the Madame Tussauds folks downstairs. “They brought the one from when we left office. I’m telling you, Wes, it’s grayer than I am now. I think I’m getting younger.”
I force a laugh and head for the stairs before he gets a good look at me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, barely a step behind.
“No . . . nothing,” I say, motioning with the navy sport coat and feeling a flush of hot blood rushing through my neck. “I just wanted to be sure I didn’t give away one of your good jackets.”
“I appreciate your looking out for the wax me,” he teases, putting a hand on my shoulder. That’s the move. Hand on shoulder for instant intimacy and guaranteed trust. I’ve seen him use it on prime ministers, senators, congressmen, even on his own son. Now he’s using it on me.
Halfway down the stairs, I pick up my pace. He stays right with me. Even if working with The Roman was his mistake, to lie to my face every single— Is that why he kept me here? Penance for his own guilt?
In my pocket, my phone starts vibrating. I pull it out and check the phone’s tiny screen. Text message:
wes, it’s lisbeth. pick up.
i solved puzzle.
A second later, the phone vibrates in my hand. “Excuse me one second, sir,” I say to the President. “It’s Claudia, who— Hello?” I say, answering the phone.
“You need to get out of there,” Lisbeth says.
“Hey, Claudia. I did? Okay, hold on one sec.” Nearing the bottom step,