“But you disapprove,” Sherry observed from the edge of the balcony. “Because you really are a Puritan.”
David smiled. “I prefer to think of myself as a Boy Scout.”
Sherry laughed, walked back to her husband. “You’re tense,” she said, reaching up to massage his broad shoulders. “Are you still fretting about your performance downstairs? Well, don’t. You were wonderful, David! Your words, your answers… they set just the right tone.”
Senator Palmer shook his head.
“You didn’t let Larry Bell get under your skin?” Sherry pressed. “I know he’s a conniving dog, but you should be used to that—”
“It’s nothing, Sherry, really,” David replied, wrapping her in his arms.
“I know you too well,” Sherry said, returning his embrace. “You’re holding something back.”
But Palmer refused to respond to her question. Instead, he changed the subject. “This is nice,” he whispered, nuzzling his wife’s hair. Sherry closed her eyes and leaned closer.
A gentle knock interrupted them.
“Ignore it,” Sherry whispered, pulling him closer. But David Palmer frowned and stepped back.
“I… can’t,” he told her. His tone and his expression were brimming with regret.
Sherry nodded. “Now I know what’s been bothering you. You’re not only here for the drug conference… You’ve got some kind of committee business going on.” Her expression shifted suddenly, from suspicion to alarm. “You’re not doing something that would jeopardize your bid for the White House?”
“I can’t discuss this right now,” he replied.
“You don’t have to. I know I’m right.”
The knock came again. They stared at one another for a moment.
“You know that you can’t shut me out… not even from policy decisions. When everything’s said and done, I’m your only ally, David,” Sherry said, then turned to call loudly towards the door. “Let yourself in, Lev! You have a keycard!”
The door opened. “Hey.” Lev’s gaze nervously darted between Sherry and David.
“Sherry was just leaving,” the senator said.
“That’s right, I’m leaving,” Sherry repeated coolly. She snatched her bag from the glass and steel table. “I have a full schedule, too.”
As she passed Lev Cohen, their eyes met. “I’ll see you later,” Sherry promised softly before closing the door behind her.
“Come in, sit down, Lev.” Palmer sank into the leather couch and stretched his long legs. Cohen sat in the steel framed chair across from him.
“Before we begin, Senator, I want to apologize for what happened in the lobby. I… I should have been on top of that.”
David raised his hand. “No apologies, Lev, or I’ll have to apologize, too, for my initial reaction. My impatience was out of line, so let’s just drop the subject.”
Lev Cohen nodded, visibly relieved.
“Now, about this other matter,” Palmer prodded.
“All the arrangements have been made, Senator. A representative from the Air Force Systems Command will arrive in—” Cohen checked his watch. “—a little less than two hours.”
Palmer nodded, his expression a thousand miles away.
“Senator?”
He blinked. “Sorry, Lev. I guess I zoned out for a minute there.”
“Yes, well, as I was saying… Your escort will be a Colonel Vincent DeBlasio, accompanied by a security staff. He’s bringing a car that will take you to the airport.”
Palmer sighed. “Thank you, Lev.”
“Since I won’t be going with you, I thought I’d assist Sherry with her afternoon schedule. She’s meeting the Mayor’s wife at four, then there’s…”
Lev’s voice petered out when he realized David Palmer was, once again, distracted by something. He cleared his throat and the Senator looked up.
“You’re a wise man, Lev,” Palmer said. “I trust your counsel as much as I trust anyone’s.”
“Thank you sir…”
“You know I’d take you with me today… if I could.”
This time it was Lev who raised his hand. “What you’re doing today is classified, sir. Part of your duty as the chairman of the Senate Special Defense Appropriations Committee. It’s obviously beyond my security clearance level, and I completely understand.”
Palmer offered his chief of staff a half smile. “Nicely put. Still, I could use some of your sage advice. I’m forced to make a very difficult decision today. It’s a decision I’ll make alone, and it’s weighing heavily.”
Lev nodded sympathetically. “The burden of command, David. It will only get heavier after you get to the White House.”
Palmer’s grin was genuine. “If I get there, you mean.”
Lev shook his head. “Oh, you’ll get there, Senator. You have what it takes and this country needs you.”
“I appreciate your endorsement, but I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it up to the voters.”
Both men chuckled. Then the chief of staff rose. “You’d better get some rest, Senator. It’s going to be a long day.”
A billowing cloud of powdery dust followed the lumbering semi as it crawled up the slight incline. With each pit and bump of the rough, unpaved road, the trailer the truck hauled shuddered and boomed hollowly, rocking back and forth so violently it seemed poised to tip over at any moment. At the top of the hillock, the narrow path ended at a pair of eight-foot wooden doors adorned with curls of rusty barbed wire. Above the weathered gate the faded BIG DEAN’S sign was topped by a crudely rendered image of smiling cowboy tipping his broad brimmed hat.
The driver hardly slackened his pace as he approached the barrier. Instead, the truck’s roar shook a pair of sun-browned workers in greasy overalls out of a dilapidated, sun-bleached shed. They loped to the gates, one lifting the latch, the other swinging the rickety doors open. Within a moment, the truck roared through the opening, followed by its cloud of grit and grime.
With a high-pitched squeal the semi braked, sand and gravel crunching under sixteen wheels. The vehicle ground to a halt in the middle of a dusty expanse occupied by the shack, and a battered mobile home with cracked windows resting on gray concrete bricks. The mobile home’s dented sides were flecked with peeling yellow paint.
The driver popped his door just as the persistent plume of dust finally overtook his vehicle. Coughing once, the coyote hopped to the ground and disdainfully kicked the Nevada sand with a booted foot. Tall and rail thin, wearing faded jeans and a red bandana around his throat, the young man had dark hair that stuck out from under the brim of a sweat-stained cowboy hat. Brown face impassive, the human smuggler sauntered to the rear of the vehicle.
As he began to unlock the trailer’s door, three Hispanic men emerged from the dilapidated mobile home on the opposite end of the enclosed lot. The trio were clad in dusty denim and heavy work boots. The two men on either end were well over six feet tall, muscular, with thick necks and shaven heads, dotted with stubble. The man in the middle was shorter than the others, and had a full head of brown, curly hair. Mirrored sunglasses covered his eyes. Each man cradled an AK–47 in the crook of his arm.
If the presence of automatic weapons troubled the coyote, he didn’t show it. With an air of tedious routine, the man unlatched the steel door on the back of the trailer and swung it open. Eyes to the ground, he stepped back to allow the newcomers unobstructed access to the cargo inside.
Five men emerged from inside the cavernous trailer, blinking against the harsh desert sun. They wore worn work clothes and were armed like the others, their assault rifles slung over their shoulders, next to heavy backpacks. Joints stuff, muscles sore, the men slowly and silently climbed down from the trailer. Only one man out of the group approached the armed trio. Without preamble he hugged the man in the middle, muttering quietly in Spanish. The two stood in the sun, arms looped around each other’s necks, heads bowed, foreheads together like boxers who’d just finished a grueling match.