Part 13 (1/2)

”No, but I'm trying to find her. Any idea where she might be?”

”Haven't seen her for some time now,” Beth answered. ”She and Charlie fell out about somethin, and it must'a been a beaut, cause those two thick as thieves.”

Most of the papers on the floor looked useless and unimportant. Old magazines, newspaper articles, junk mail, coupons, and incoherent scribbling on several legal pads.

But to Robert's surprise, included in the pile of junk, were more than a dozen cemetery brochures, all featuring mausoleums and crypts.

”I need to take these brochures.”

”Take'em. Don't know why Charlie kept'em anyway. He always lookin at em, like he was gonna die any day. I told'em carryin those things around was bad luck.”

Robert examined the brochures closely, but didn't see markings or notes on any of them, not an indication one stood more important than the other. ”Did he have a favorite?”

”Never talked about 'em,” said Beth. ”Least not to me. I asked him once. He almost bit my head off. I said to h.e.l.l with it, and never asked again.”

Robert helped Beth up. He thanked her and asked if she needed any help.

”No, but thank you anyway,” she said, friendly and relieved.

Robert stuck the brochures in the inside pocket of his coat, placed a gentle hand on Beth's shoulder, said goodbye, and left. If the evidence is in one of these twelve, we have a chance. He jumped in his car and threw on Earth Wind and Fire, dialed Thorne, and headed straight for the office.

14.

Old and cliche, visiting the White House no longer held a commanding presence for Edward. Until recently.

Over the years, he held at least one face-to-face with every President since Lyndon Johnson, initially joining his father and grandfather. He marveled at the command and authority the senior Rothschilds exerted over the Commander in Chief. He learned even Presidents took orders, answering to more than Congress or the American people.

His limo reached Pennsylvania Avenue and the White House came into view. President William Claymore twice shunned his request for this meeting, until Edward finally sent an ”urgent” message through back channels. He often found himself at odds with President Claymore, who proved a most irreverent and difficult President to control.

However, today Edward wanted to secure President Claymore's endors.e.m.e.nt and support for Charleston's Presidential bid, a move certain to spark controversy, especially since the Vice President, Lucas Springfield, confirmed his candidacy the day before. A risky move, getting Claymore's support would be difficult but not impossible.

Edward held a few chips he intended to call in. Favors he planned to cash out. Not to mention several Presidential indiscretions recently brought to his attention. I'll turn the screws if necessary.

A procession of sedans, limousines and government vehicles, lined-up in the White House driveway waiting for the impeccably uniformed Secret Service guard to wave them through. The parade included presidential aides, cabinet members and staff on their way to give the early round of briefings, on everything from foreign affairs to the world economy. Edward smiled. Many of these individuals worked on his payroll, and provided him with the same information as the President, sometimes more.

They reached the guard, who checked his clipboard, peeked inside the car, and asked for their identification. Once identified, they pulled through the gate to another barrier, where a series of lasers and cameras scanned the car for explosives or weapons. They pa.s.sed muster and continued to the side entrance, where Sarah Ellison, White House aide, waited at the curb.

”Good morning Mr. Rothschild,” said Sarah, bright and cheery. ”The President is looking forward to your meeting this morning.”

”Wonderful,” Edward answered, amused. ”Will anyone be joining us?”

”Not this morning sir. The President wants to give you his undivided attention.”

Odd, Edward thought. They pa.s.sed through another checkpoint inside and continued on to the Oval Office. President Claymore never meets with me without a witness. Why the sudden change?

He and Sarah marched in unison along the rich, deeply cus.h.i.+oned, blue carpet, pa.s.sing portraits of former Presidents; Was.h.i.+ngton, Lincoln, Jefferson. Sarah headed for the Oval Office on automatic pilot.

Edward's sense of unease increased. The President never met with him alone, and never in the Oval Office, a level of respect Claymore denied him. They always met in one of the small conference rooms, an eight-year routine that never once changed.

”Good morning Mr. Rothschild,” said Alice Thurman, the President's secretary.

”Good morning Alice. It's so nice to see your lovely face,” he responded, kissing her extended hand. ”I trust the President is in a good mood today.”

”It always starts out that way,” she said, with a playful smirk.

President Claymore's staff, one of the most impressive in several administrations, touted Alice as its crowning glory. Not one to trust important positions to black people, a habit he'd picked up from his grandfather, Edward agreed. Smart, loyal, with the bite of a junkyard dog, Alice's exploits stamped Was.h.i.+ngton folklore. She fiercely guarded his privacy, and turned down a million dollars from a tabloid to dish the dirt.

”Mr. President, Mr. Rothschild is here for your nine o'clock,” Alice said into the phone. ”Yes sir, I'll send him in right away.” She nodded at two burly, stoic Secret Service agents who stepped aside as she pushed past.

Sarah said something about escorting him back when he finished, but his mind s.h.i.+fted away from small talk to the President and the task at hand.

Inside the Oval Office, President Claymore sat conferring with several men whom Edward recognized as Secret Service bra.s.s, and didn't immediately acknowledge his presence. Alice motioned for Edward to remain quiet. Seconds later, the President wrapped up and sent the agents on their way.

”Good morning Edward,” said President Claymore, stepping around his desk. The six-foot-two Commander in Chief extended his hand as though he and Edward were old friends, then nodded to Alice and Sarah, who left the room.

Edward searched Claymore's face for clues, smiled, and told him how well he looked. The President gripped his hand with an unusual forcefulness. Edward mustered his strength to match it.

”I'm feeling great these days,” said the President. ”I apologize for not rising when you entered. There's a reception tonight for Judge Fiona Patrick, my Supreme Court nominee. I was finis.h.i.+ng a security update on her when you entered.”

”No apologies necessary, Mr. President. I'll be attending the reception myself. Judge Patrick is an extraordinary jurist. I'm sure she'll sail right through.”

”From your mouth to G.o.d's ears,” the President said, laughing. ”It's the last major appointment before I leave office. My job's almost done and I'm looking forward to fly fis.h.i.+ng and time with my grandchildren.” He motioned for Edward to take a seat on one of the small couches in the middle of the office and sat across from him. ”My wife's had enough of politics,” he continued. ”Now it's her time.” They continued their customary small talk for two or three minutes, feigning concern for the minutia of each other's lives.

”So tell me Edward. What can I do for you this morning?” The President rested back in the couch, a smile barely discernable on his face.

”Well, as you know, Mr. President, my son is making a bid for the White House.”

”Ah yes, young Charleston. Sure, I'm fully aware. I understand he's doing quite well in preliminary polls. Congratulations. Seems like you might finally get control of this office after all.” So, he does have something on his mind. ”Whatever do you mean, Mr. President? I've never had anything but respect for this office, and admiration for those who've held it.”

President Claymore sat up and stared him in the eye. ”Let's not kid each other Edward. You only admire the things you can own or control.

That's certainly not a state secret.”

Edward leisurely crossed his legs. Others might treat you like royalty, but you're more like trailer trash to me. ”We're both cut from the same cloth, Mr. President. You didn't come to this office thinking otherwise. Or have you forgotten your roots?” The President's eyes danced. ”I haven't forgotten, but that was a long time ago, a different place and time. You come to see things differently from this office, a lot differently.”

”I understand, Mr. President. It's just funny how men never come to that realization until they're sitting in this office. Before getting here, they only want to know how to win.”

”Even so, I've always put the country first,” said the President, leaning back. ”Way ahead of any personal gain.” True, you boy scout. You've been more trouble than you're worth.

”You've accomplished many n.o.ble things Mr. President. However, none of us can forget our place in the order of things. That mistake has been tragic for many a man in your seat.” President Claymore looked visibly dismayed. ”And exactly where do you fall in the order of things Edward?”

”At the top of the food chain, Mr. President. The very top.”

”Some say this office is the top.”