The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [2]
But why should he care, he shrugged, as long as that fat envelope came every month like clockwork? And it wasn’t as if he were doing anything illegal or immoral. Hell, he wasn’t hardly doing anything at all.
“Call me if there’s a change.” The figure paused in the open doorway.
“Of course.”
“Any change.” The emphasis was unnecessary. The orderly understood perfectly.
“Take it easy out there in the parking lot!” the orderly called through the double doors. “It’s still a little icy there. . . .”
“Thanks.” Hands tucked into pockets, the visitor headed out into the cold of the winter evening. Large, soft flakes were just beginning to fall, and they covered the brick walk and the parked cars like lacy leaves.
Humming, the figure walked through the pale shadows cast by the overhead lights to the car that waited at the back of the far lot, between a rusty Dumpster and a new red pickup truck.
The money had bought peace of mind. At least for tonight.
The old man’s memories were buried and locked away in a place where, hopefully, they would remain for the rest of his natural life.
Which was a very good thing. As long as they remained so, the secret was safe.
And Miles Kendall—who once long ago had moved among the powerful, among Kings and Princes and senators, who had kept the confidence, and the secrets, of a President—would live to see another day.
CHAPTER TWO
Simon Keller handed over the keys to his vintage Ford Mustang to the valet, then climbed the steps to the trendy restaurant that overlooked Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. His curiosity piqued by an invitation to lunch with his favorite former college professor, Simon had been more than happy to make the drive across the Chesapeake to meet with Dr. Philip Norton. Onetime head of the journalism department at Georgetown University. Onetime White House press secretary.
It had been an unexpected pleasure, Simon reflected, running into his old journalism professor three weeks ago at the wedding of a classmate, after having lost touch for the last year or so. Time in which Simon’s life had changed as surely as had Philip Norton’s.
The maître d’ led Simon to the table where Norton sat admiring the sweeping view of the harbor where water the color of dull pewter crested in whitecapped waves and a few hearty souls braved the winter winds for an afternoon sail.
“Philip.” Simon smiled at the aging but still handsome slightly balding man who turned and leaned his tall frame half out of his seat to extend a hand in greeting. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not at all, Simon. I was just admiring the courage of the skipper of that small sailboat.” Norton gestured toward the water. “Those little yellow and red and white flags seem to lend it a bit of bravado, don’t you think, considering the forecast?”
“I missed the forecast, but judging from the look of those clouds and given the fact that the temperature has been dropping all morning, I’d say we were in for a storm.” Simon accepted the menu that was handed to him by a young waiter.
“While driving up from D.C., I heard that we could expect another half foot of snow, to begin sometime this afternoon.” Norton sipped at his water, then set the glass down carefully and smiled. “I’m hoping to get back to the city before it starts.”
“In that case, maybe we should order now,” Simon suggested.
“I heartily recommend the crab cakes,” Norton noted. “They’re a specialty here.”
“Crab cakes have become a staple of my diet, since I live so close to the bay. I think I’ll have a salad and the steak sandwich this time around.” Simon smiled and folded his menu, handing it to the waiter who had appeared to take their orders and to bring Norton a previously requested cup of tea.
Simon watched his old mentor’s eyes as they followed the efforts of the small boat to fight back against the wind, and wondered for perhaps the tenth time what had prompted