The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [3]
Following behind him, I crouched toward one of the three fold-down seats that face the rear of the car. Mine was back-to-back with the driver and across from Boyle. For security reasons, the President always sat in the back right seat, with the First Lady sitting between him and Boyle.
The jump seat directly across from the President—the hot seat—was already taken by Mike Calinoff, retired professional race car driver, four-time Winston Cup winner, and special guest for today’s event. No surprise. With only four months until the election, we were barely three points ahead in the polls. When the crowd was that fickle, only a fool entered the gladiator’s ring without a hidden weapon.
“So she’s fast, even with the bulletproofing?” the racing champ asked, admiring the midnight-blue interior of Cadillac One.
“Greased lightning,” Manning answered as the First Lady rolled her eyes.
Finally joining in, Boyle scootched forward in his seat and flipped open a manila folder. “Mr. President, if we could—?”
“Sorry—that’s all I can do, sir,” Chief of Staff Warren Albright interrupted as he hopped inside. Handing a folded-up newspaper to the President, he took the middle seat directly across from the First Lady, and more important, diagonally across from Manning. Even in a six-person backseat, proximity mattered. Especially to Boyle, who was still turned toward the President, refusing to give up his opening.
The President seized the newspaper and scrutinized the crossword puzzle he and Albright shared every day. It had been their tradition since the first days of the campaign—and the reason why Albright was always in that coveted seat diagonally across from the President. Albright started each puzzle, got as far as he could, then passed it to the President to cross the finish line.
“Fifteen down’s wrong,” the President pointed out as I rested my bag on my lap. “Stifle.”
Albright usually hated when Manning found a mistake. Today, as he noticed Boyle in the corner seat, he had something brand-new to be annoyed by.
Everything okay? I asked with a glance.
Before Albright could answer, the driver rammed the gas, and my body jerked forward.
Three and a half minutes from now, the first gunshot would be fired. Two of us would crumble to the floor, convulsing. One wouldn’t get up.
“Sir, if I could bend your ear for a second?” Boyle interrupted, more insistently than before.
“Ron, can’t you just enjoy the ride?” the First Lady teased, her short brown hair bobbing as we hit a divot in the road. Despite the sweet tone, I saw the glare in her leaf-green eyes. It was the same glare she used to give her students at Princeton. A former professor with a PhD in chemistry, Dr. First Lady was trained to be tough. And what Dr. First Lady wanted, Dr. First Lady fought for. And got.
“But, ma’am, it’ll just take—”
Her brow furrowed so hard, her eyebrows kissed. “Ron. Enjoy the ride.”
That’s where most people would’ve stopped. Boyle pushed even harder, trying to hand the file directly to Manning. He’d known the President since they were in their twenties, studying at Oxford. A professional banker, as well as a collector of antique magic tricks, he later managed all of the Mannings’ money, a magic trick in itself. To this day, he was the only person on staff who was there when Manning married the First Lady. That alone gave him a free pass when the press discovered that Boyle’s father was a petty con man who’d been convicted (twice) for insurance fraud. It was the same free pass he was using in the limo to test the First Lady’s authority. But even the best free passes eventually expire.
Manning shook his head so subtly, only a trained eye could see it. First Lady, one; Boyle, nothing.
Closing the file folder, Boyle sank back and shot me the kind of look that would leave a bruise.