Free I Do Solemnly Swear by D.M. Annechino Page B

Washington, isn’t it, Charles? Cover your ass. It’s as much a part of politics as corruption.”
    McDermott looked like a whipped puppy. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Madam—”
    “Write a memo and I’ll sign it, Charles.”
    She walked back to her desk and opened her daily planner. “I need to speak with Carl Kramer ASAP.” She thought for a moment. “And set up a meeting with Albert Cranston. If I’m going to be out in the world rubbing elbows with assassins, I’d like to know how the Secret Service plans to protect me.”
    ***
    Peter Miles waited patiently at Ben’s Café. He thought he’d left DC to get away from politics for a while, but he’d quickly learned that Washington was like dog shit. Once you stepped in it, the smell stuck to your heels. Late last night, he had received the call from Charles McDermott. He had told Peter that a man namedJack Miller, CIA Special Agent, needed to meet him. And it was urgent. He sipped a brandy and looked at his Movado watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Why had they contacted him? Peter Miles was a litigator, not a politician. He knew that it had something to do with Kate. What else could it be? Maybe she’d ruffled some feathers? Could it be that Kate wanted him back in DC and had sent one of her minions to twist his arm? It didn’t seem like Kate’s MO. Then again, she’d never been president of the United States.
    Easing his way toward Peter, a short, stocky man in a darkbrown suit approached Peter’s table. The man stopped several feet in front of Peter. He discretely looked to his left, then to his right.
    “Mr. Miles?” he whispered.
    Peter stood. The man’s cheeks were pink and slick, like the butt end of a cured ham. He had spooky eyes. Peter reluctantly extended his hand. The man shook it loosely, and Peter felt like he was grasping a dead fish.
    The man flashed his identification. “Jack Miller. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” The man sat across from Peter. “I’m with the CIA, and we have a situation in Washington that requires your assistance.”
    Barely able to hear his whisper, Peter leaned toward him. “What kind of situation?”
    “As you and the rest of the world now know, President Rodgers was assassinated. We’re deeply concerned that your wife may also be a target.”
    Peter Miles lifted the snifter and gulped the rest of his brandy. He studied the man’s cratered face. Peter didn’t like his squinty eyes.
    “She’s in serious jeopardy, Mr. Miles.”
    “If the CIA and Secret Service can’t control the situation, what the fuck do you expect a midwestern attorney to do? Stand in front of her wearing a bulletproof vest?”
    “The president of the United States was assassinated, Mr. Miles. We have reliable information suggesting that your wife is in grave danger. Are you prepared to take responsibility?”
    Almost yelling, Peter’s voice raised an octave. “What the
hell
do you expect
me
to do?”
    “Talk to her. You’re a persuasive man.”
    “And what should I persuade her to do?”
    “She’s not safe in Washington.”
    Peter clasped his hands together and turned them inside out. His knuckles cracked. “Are you suggesting that I ask her to
resign
?”
    “It’s in her best interests.”
    Peter laughed. “You apparently don’t know Kate very well, do you? You talk to her. Or better yet, tell McDermott to have a chat with her. I’d pay to see that performance.”
    “This is not a game, Mr. Miles. If you don’t help us...Your wife’s demise will rest on your conscience.”
    “Why hasn’t someone in Washington approached Kate directly?”
    “We feel that you will have greater influence.”
    “You guys really didn’t do your homework, did you? What makes you think she will listen to me?”
    “All I can say is that we have our reasons.”
    “I’ll bet you do.” Peter gulped the rest of his brandy. “OK, let me get this straight. I fly to DC, convince my wife to resign, and then what?