They’re news actors, Natalie told herself. Everyone’s acting a part in the drama. Play the part. Play the game. Win the game. Natalie exhaled. Rate now to report later.

“I see it on your face,” Matt said, now at her side.

“See what?” she asked, reluctant to give in to him.

“That you know I am right.” He looked smug. “That you know I know how to win this.”

“Really, Newstradamus?” she said as they walked past the elevators toward the stairwell.

He moved to stand directly in front of Natalie, stopping her in her tracks, until she relented. “Okay, okay!” she said. “What do you think I need to do?”

“Step one. Hair. Makeup. Tan.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she moaned. But she understood. Matt knew how to play the game. Why not take some advice from an expert? Turning, she walked to the elevator and hit the down button. As they rode to the lobby, she made a decision.

Deep breath. She’d do it.

9

Some of the President’s Men

“Absolutely not.” The First Lady was on the phone, her dormant incredulity flickering to life. “I will not play along with your reckless games. Don’t ask again.”

She stabbed End and handed the cell phone back to her agent Beth.

“They’ve lost their minds,” she said and started pacing the room, replaying the conversation in her head. It was her chief of staff calling to say the president’s team wanted to issue a statement in the First Lady’s name, blaming Venezuela for the doctored photo and demanding an apology from President Gomez. Of course such an accusation by the First Lady against her country of origin would be convincing. It would garner international attention.

There was no evidence the photo came from the Venezuelans. It could just as easily been produced by BamBam’s people, or any huevón with access to Photoshop. Hell, the White House could have made it up to serve some interest she hadn’t considered.

They want me to attack my own people. For this? No.

The president’s staff consistently treated the East Wing, where the First Lady’s staff worked, as an inferior rival faction of the White House, undeserving of real information which had to be kept and protected by the big boys in the West Wing.

As she worked it over in her mind, the First Lady’s incredulity grew into anger.