He gets up from his desk, walks around, and takes a seat across from Cole. He leans forward and looks him right in the eye. “What in the hell were you thinking, sneaking off to Hanover like that? You had to know I’d find out.”

Pearce has always had a way of finding things out. That’s why Cole is here. He learned a few things about Garrett Wilson’s murder last week from the news. But he has a feeling that Pearce knows more. “Of course I did. I just didn’t want you to stop me.”

“And what was so important that you had to burn two thousand gallons of government fuel and land at an unsecured airfield?”

“I wanted to talk to Garrett Wilson face to face.”

“And what did you talk about?”

Cole can feel his temper rising. “That was between him and me. I don’t need your permission to talk to a reporter, Burton. You’re not my handler.”

“Cole, you’ve always needed me, even at Dartmouth. Do I have to remind you how I helped when those rumors started about you?”

“That was then. This is now.”

“And now is an even more delicate time. Anything any of us does can affect the president’s agenda! How do you think it would look to the inquiring public? First Gentleman meets with reporter; reporter ends up dead. So yes! You should have asked my permission. And you’d better damn well hope nobody on the outside finds out about your little excursion. This is bigger than you, Cole!”

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Maddy.”

“Not on purpose, no. But think about the risk you took!” Pearce inhales deeply and settles down. He eases back in his chair and says in a lower voice, “In four days, the president will address the nation and announce the Grand Bargain. The challenge is to keep a lid on this while we prepare her remarks and work with the majority and minority leaders in both houses so that they will all appear with her when the announcement is made. No matter what we might have promised along the way, we’re not leaking anything. We’re not tipping off anybody. Not the press. Not the Supreme Court. Not Wall Street. The networks will get ten minutes’ notice. In the meantime, I can’t have the president’s husband taking random undisclosed trips.”

“Okay, Burton, I promise I’ll put myself on a leash until the announcement is made. Now tell me what you know about Garrett Wilson’s murder.”

Pearce shrugs. “From what I hear from Brattleboro, Wilson was holed up in a cabin with a kilo of high-grade coke. Way too much for personal use. Looks like he was getting ready to cut it and distribute it.”

“So why would his killer leave the kilo of coke behind?”