“This from a man who hasn’t even named his horses,” she said snidely.
“Look, I did you a favor by hauling you away from there.”
“But why hauling? Why didn’t you just escort me from the site?”
“Because you were in no condition to listen to reason. I had to get you away from there, and that was the fastest way. I thought they’d be after you, and I was right. But if you want to split up now, that’s fine with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she exclaimed, but in a low voice that wouldn’t attract attention.
“Then why don’t you shut up and let me tell you.”
She sat back against the vinyl booth and folded her arms.
He took a few sips of coffee. “First, I want to know exactly what happened. It’s fair to assume that Brinkley—”
“Cronkite.”
“Cronkite went into the house ahead of you.”
“There is—was—a doggie door in the back door.”
“Is that how you usually go in, through the back?”
“Usually.”
“Then they probably tripped that door.”
She leaned across the table. “Who? And what are you doing here? Why’d you follow me back to Washington? You did follow me back, didn’t you?”
“I came to warn you that you’ve been asking the wrong questions of the wrong people. You’re on the scent of a story that the President can’t allow to be told.”
She turned a lighter shade of pale. Nervously, she pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “How do you know?”
“Less than twenty-four hours after you left my place I had a visit from Spencer Martin.”
“Isn’t he connected to the White House in some capacity?”
“You could say so. Second only to David Merritt, he’s the most powerful man in the country.”
“Then why don’t we hear and see more of him?”
“Because he doesn’t want you to. He moves through the halls of the White House like a ghost, and that’s the way he wants it because his anonymity makes him even more powerful. He keeps a low profile, but he’s Merritt’s chief adviser.”
“You’ve been out of touch, Mr. Bondurant. The President’s chief counsel is—”
“Forget Frank Montgomery. He’s a figurehead, a lackey. Merritt throws him a bone, he fetches it. He’s got a title, a nice office, and privileges, but Spence is David’s alter ego. David doesn’t take a leak without consulting Spence first. He’s in on every decision, no matter how major or how minor. He’s what you might call a facilitator.”
“What does he facilitate?”
“Chores.”
Barrie raised an eyebrow.
“Chores that would compromise the President if he were to take care of them himself.”
He didn’t have to spell it out for her. “In other words, there are some gray areas to the duties Spencer Martin performs for the President. And you know this because you were…”
“Also a facilitator.”