“It was a wonderful party, wasn’t it, Madam President? There’s nothing like Santa Claus and his helpers to make a child’s eyes go wide. I remember so well how it was when I was a little girl.”

“Hmm.” Santa Claus and his helpers. Connor let her gaze travel across the room to where Santa and his wife were getting up from their thrones. She watched as Santa threw his empty sack over his shoulder and belted out a few ho-ho-ho’s to the children’s delight. Mrs. Claus, while meaty, wasn’t exactly round where it counted. The last time she’d seen Baron Bell, he didn’t appear to be more than five-nine, maybe five-ten at the most. This Santa looked to be six foot two or so. Hmm. And those elves. Wigs, a little latex, some greasepaint, a costume, and you have…

The president’s cell vibrated in her pocket. She turned away when she clicked it on and spoke. “You cheated, Lizzie. You had me give them clearance.”

Lizzie laughed, that tinkling sound Martine loved to hear even when it meant Lizzie won the round. “They would have gotten in with or without your help, Marti. We both know that.”

“I do know that. The big question now is, do I let them know I know, or should I play stupid?”

Lizzie laughed again before the connection was broken.

The White House photographer appeared at the president’s elbow. “I’d like to take a group shot of you, Santa, and the others outside if you’re up to it, Madam President.”

Martine Connor smiled. “Absolutely, but only if the sleigh is facing out to the road and Santa and his helpers are in the sleigh, ready to drive off.” The photographer frowned but nodded as he watched the president don a scarlet cape trimmed in faux ermine. The last thing she did was plop a bright red Santa hat on her head. “I’m ready,” she trilled.

Outside, Bert Navarro was astride Delilah and had her pointing straight out. “This is not good, boys. Here comes the president and the photographer. We should have been out of here twenty minutes ago. Make damn sure those gates go down, and, Espinosa, you ready to turn the power off?”

“Yep,” said Espinosa.

The horses pawed the ground as they snorted and bellowed. The sleigh bells jangled, the sound crystal clear as Martine walked up to the sleigh, her hand extended in greeting or thanks. No one was quite sure. Behind her, the Secret Service agents were lined up, watching what was happening.

“Merry Christmas, ladies. You, too, Mr. Martin,” she said. “Shhh, no one knows but me. Now, let’s all smile pretty for the cameras. By the way, I could have taken you, just so you know.”

“Sorry, Madam President, not on your best day,” Annie said.

The president smiled. “You’re probably right. I do have my pride. Merry Christmas!”