Chapter 2-1
1577 Words
Chapter 2
The phone hammered him awake. Daniel came to in his office chair with the phone already to his ear.
Someone was speaking rapidly. He caught perhaps one word in three. “CIA. Immediate briefing. North Korea.”
He must have made some intelligible reply as moments later he was listening to a dial tone.
Daniel rubbed at his eyes, but the vista didn’t change. Large cherry wood desk. Mounds of work in neatly stacked folders that he’d sat down to tackle after the long flight. His briefcase still unopened on the floor beside him. Definitely the Chief of Staff’s office. His office. Nightmare or reality? Both. Definitely.
Phone. He’d been on the phone.
The words came back and, now fully awake, Daniel started swearing even as he grabbed the handset and began dialing.
Maybe he could blame all this on Emily Beale. In the three short weeks she’d been at the White House, Daniel had risen from being the First Lady’s secretary to the White House Chief of Staff and it was partly Emily’s fault. As if his life had been battered by a tornado. Still felt that way a year later.
Okay, call it mostly her fault.
As he listened to the phone ringing in his ear, it felt better to have someone to blame. He rubbed at his eyes. A year later and he still didn’t know whether to curse Major Beale or thank her.
Maybe he could make it all her fault.
“Yagumph.”
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Is it morning?” The deep voice would have been incomprehensibly groggy without the familiarity of long practice.
Daniel checked his watch, barely morning. “Yes, sir!” he offered his most chipper voice.
“Crap! What? All of 12:03?”
“12:10, sir.” They’d been on the ground just over an hour.
“Double crap!” The President was slowly gaining in clarity, maybe one in ten linguists would be able to understand him now.
“Seven more minutes of sleep than you guessed, sir.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Next time Major Beale comes to town, I’m sending you up on one of her training rides.”
“Sounds like fun, sir.” If he had a death wish. “Crashing in the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool is definitely an experience I can’t wait to relive.” The Major was also the childhood friend of the President, so he had to walk with a little care, but not much. The two of them were that close.
“Time to get up, sir, the CIA is coming calling. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be there in ten.” A low groan sounded over the phone. “Make that fifteen.” The handset rattled loudly as he missed the cradle. Daniel got the phone clear of his ear before the President’s handset dropped on the floor.
Daniel hung up and considered sleeping for the another fifteen minutes. There was a nice sofa along the far wall sitting in a close group with a couple of armchairs, but he’d have to stand up to reach it. All in strong, dusky red leather, his secretary’s doing after discovering Daniel had no taste. Janet had also ordered in a beautiful oriental rug and several large framed photographs. Even on the first day she’d known him well enough to chose images of wide-open spaces. He missed his family farm, but the photos helped him when D.C. was squeezing in too hard.
If he didn’t stand and resisted the urge to seek more sleep, all that remained was to consider his desk. Its elegant cherry wood surface lost beneath a sea of reports and files.
Fifteen minutes. He could read the briefing paper on Chinese coal, review tomorrow’s agenda which, if he were lucky, might stay on schedule for at least the first quarter hour of a planned fourteen-hour day. Or he could just order up a giant burn bag and be done with the whole mess.
He picked up whatever was on top of the nearest stack.
An Advent calendar.
Janet, had to be.
Well, the woman had taste. It was beautiful; encased in a soft, tooled-leather portfolio and tied closed with a narrow red ribbon done up in a neat bow. He pulled a loose end and opened the calendar. Inside were three spreads of stunning hand-painted pictures on deep-set pages. He took a moment to admire the first one.
It was a depiction of Santa and his reindeer. Except Santa might have been a particularly pudgy hamster and the reindeer might have been mice with improbable antlers. One might have had a red nose, or he might have had his eggnog spiked; the artist had left that open to interpretation. A couple of rabbits were helping to load the sleigh. Little numbered doors were set in the side of the sleigh, as well as in a nearby tree, and in the snow at the micedeer’s paws. The page was thick enough that a small treat could be hidden behind each little door.
He shook the calendar lightly and heard things rattling. Probably little sweets and tidbits to hit his notorious sweet tooth.
The day Janet retired he’d be in so much trouble. Not only did she manage to keep his life organized, she also managed to make him smile, even when things were coming apart at the seams. Midnight calls from the CIA for immediate meetings didn’t bode well, yet here he was dangerously close to enjoying the moment.
He started to open the little door with a tiny golden number “1” on the green ribbon pull tab. The door depicted a candy-cane colored present perched high on the sleigh.
“Don’t do that.”
He looked up.
A woman stood in the doorway, closely escorted by one of the service Marines. A short wave of russet hair curled partly over her face and trickled down just far enough to emphasize the line of her neck. Her bangs ruffled in a gentle wave covering one eye. The eye in the clear shone a striking hazel against pale skin. She wore a thick, woolen cardigan, a bit darker than her hair, open at the front over an electric blue turtleneck that appeared to say, “Joy to the World.” At least based on the letters he could see.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t open it early,” she nodded toward the calendar in his hands. “That’s cheating.”
He double-checked his watch. “It’s twelve-eighteen on December first. That’s not cheating.”
“Not until nighttime, after sunset. That’s what Mama always said.”
“And your Mama is always right?”
“Damn straight.” Though her expression momentarily belied her cheerful insistence.
He glanced at the Marine. “Kenneth. Does she have a purpose here?”
She sauntered into his office as if it were her own living room and an armed Marine was not following two paces behind her. More guts than most, or a complete unawareness of how close she was to being wrestled to the ground by a member of the U.S. Military.
“Remember what they say about the book and the cover?”
“Sure, don’t judge.” He inspected her wrinkled black corduroys and did his best not to appreciate the nice line they made of her legs.
She dropped into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk and propped a pair of alarmingly green sneakers with red laces on the cherry wood. At least they were clean. All she’d need to complete the image would be to pop a bright pink gum bubble at him. And maybe some of those foam slip-on reindeer antlers. He offered her a smile as she slouched lower in the chair. In turn, she offered him a clear view most of the way to her tonsils with a massive yawn.
She managed to cover it before it was completely done.
“Sorry, I’ve been up for three days researching this. Director Smith said I should bring it right over.” She waved a slim portfolio at him that he hadn’t previously noticed.
CIA Director Smith. Well, that explained who she was. Whatever lay in that portfolio was the reason he’d only had forty-five minutes of sleep so far tonight. And he’d spent that slumped in his chair. He did his best to surreptitiously straighten his jacket and tie.
“You’ve been researching.” Maybe a prompt would get her to the point more quickly.
“Yes, Mr. Darlington. I’m Dr. Alice Thompson, with dual masters in Afghani and Mathematics at Columbia. Which makes me a dueling master. PhD in digital imaging at NYU and an analyst for the CIA. Which means something, but I have no idea what. The reason you’re awake right now is to meet with me.”
“No, the reason I’m awake right now is to meet with both you and the President.”
“The President?” She jerked upright in her chair, her feet dropping to the floor. “No one said anything about that to me.” She twisted right and left as if seeking a place to hide.
“And it’s Dr. Darlington of Tennessee. Degrees in agriculture at University of Kentucky—”
“Go Wildcats,” she mumbled automatically without losing her somewhat frantic expression.
Daniel wondered how a New York girl living in D.C. would know that, but didn’t sidetrack to ask.
“Poli Sci at Yale, and socio-economics at Princeton where I had the great opportunity to study cooperative economic game theory with Dr. Nash.” And why he felt the need to brag to this lady once again settling in his office chair like she was hanging out in a college dorm room remained a bit of a mystery. He didn’t feel sleepy anymore watching her across the mess that he called a desk. Instead he found himself truly smiling.
“You didn’t really wake the President for this meeting, did you?” Her voice was little more than a whisper as she struggled to fight her body upright in the chair. She leaned forward far enough for the cardigan to fall open and reveal that the front of her turtleneck actually read “Oy to the World.”
Daniel offered her his blandest smile and would have admired how snugly the material clung to her frame, but he couldn’t look away from those hazel-green eyes.
“You did wake him?” her whisper more than a little panicked.
“I wish he hadn’t.” The President entered as she spoke. “Does this mean I can I go back to bed?”
- Writer
