He walked past a Marine in the lobby of the West Wing. Cabinet members milled in the waiting area. Labor talked to Health and Human Services. Defense huddled with Education. Alter and Wenner were on a couch talking, waiting for the meaningless, photo-op predeparture Cabinet meeting. Everyone stared at Addis when he entered. He walked toward the couch. Wenner got up; Alter remained seated, his hands folded atop his wooden cane.

“What happened at the Mayflower?” Wenner asked.

“Everyone’s fine,” Addis answered. “Margaret’s fine.”

“But it was close?” Alter asked.

“Yes,” Addis said.

“We’re going to have to turn this damn city into an armed camp,” Alter said.

No, just stop the games.

“And he’s dead?” Wenner asked.

“As dead as Bob Hanover,” Addis said.

“Good,” Alter blurted out. He then smiled weakly. “Though it would have been preferable to have taken him alive. For questioning and all that.”

“If anyone was curious,” Addis said.

Alter and Wenner exchanged glances.

“About Ms. Lancette—” Wenner began to ask.

“She worked with you directly?” Addis interrupted.

“She was a good officer, and I promise we’re—”

“Fuck you, director,” Addis said. “And fuck you, Mr. Secretary.”

Wenner’s eyes widened. Alter stared at his wing-tip shoes. Other Cabinet officials shied away. Addis straightened his tie.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I have to see a man about a dog.”

Grayton and Kelly intercepted Addis in the anteroom outside the Oval Office. “Whoa, cowboy,” Grayton said and placed a heavy hand on Addis’s shoulder.

“Got to go,” Kelly said into his cellular phone. He snapped it shut and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

Addis ignored them and looked at Mumfries’s startled secretary: “Please tell the President that I need to speak to him for a minute.”

Grayton stiffened his arm and held Addis in place. Kelly shook his head at the secretary. Two Secret Service officers at the door to the Oval Office stepped forward.

“Sorry, Nick, the President is busy,” Grayton said.

“I think he’d want to see me,” Addis replied.

“Now’s not a good time; he’s occupied with more pressing matters,” Kelly said. His thin lips barely moved when he spoke.

Addis pushed Grayton’s arm away. He turned toward Kelly.

“Actually, Ham, now’s the most appropriate time ever.”

Grayton positioned himself inches in front of Addis.

“And now is not going to happen,” Grayton said.

Protecting yourselves? Protecting him? One and the same?

Would talking to Mumfries change anything? Addis had pondered that question as he had walked past the Roosevelt Room, where aides and media technicians were preparing, where Brew McGreer was barking at underlings—fucking this, fucking that—as a flustered Ken Byrd looked on.