“There’s something. There always is. We get everyone on the same page: continuity. Our few buddies in the press. Your friend Palmer in the Senate. Margaret, too. Continuity. If he keeps the same staff, the same Cabinet, the potential for damage will be less.”

“For a few months, and then after he’s elected on his own?”

“That’s in months. You think I like being the bitch-from-hell right now? But it’s really for him. If we don’t get out in front, we’ll …”

“Have you talked to anyone about this?”

O’Connor shook her head.

“Not Margaret.”

“She’s a little busy.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think too long,” she said. “You know Mumfries has a plan already. And if he doesn’t, it’s only because Kelly hasn’t laid it out for him yet.”

“Sam and Ham.”

“The Sham Twins.” It was a phrase they only used with each other. The two embraced once more.

In Addis’s office, his computer was beeping, signaling his message bank was full. He scanned the list. His parents. Assorted journalists. Addis returned one call: the one from the woman who was to start tomorrow as his assistant. Let’s wait and see, he told her message machine. And Holly Rudd had called. Six months ago, she had moved to Washington to join a labor law firm downtown. But she had not tried to contact him until today.

He checked the internal email. McGreer had sent a note requesting a report on Addis’s ride with Mumfries. There was a postscript: “You don’t have to worry any more about New Orleans.” Addis tapped out a reply: “All’s well with our friend. He says he is happy to share. No surprises.” He hit the enter button. Then he realized that he had nothing official to do.

7 - White House Office of Clarence Dunne—June 21

7

White House Office of Clarence Dunne—June 21

“I said no, Clarence.”

Jake Grayton, the deputy director of the FBI, pressed his palms together, Buddha-like, to signal the discussion was over. He stood behind the chair in front of Dunne’s desk.

“I just want to tag along and hear what the wife has to say,” Dunne said, sitting at his desk.

The two were in Dunne’s office in the underground Secret Service bunker below the West Wing.

“This is our job. And, to be frank, Clarence, I don’t want you or your crew even stepping on our shadow.”

Crew? Dunne thought. Did he use street language when he talked to his white colleagues?