Chapter 32

Very early Wednesday morning. The sun will be rising in about four hours over the troubled capital of an apprehensive nation. Doctors have just given the Secret Service, F.B.I. and police permission to briefly question John Stevenson about his motives for attacking the President of the United States. They see a pale man lying on the bed with a number of tubes and wires coming from him.

"You have been advised of your rights and have declined to have an attorney present during your interrogation, correct?"

A very soft, husky voice whispered, "Yes."

"You also know that we are recording whatever you say to us."

"Yes."

"Why did you try to kill the President?"

"I had a contract."

"From whom?"

"From Carlos Malena."

"Who is he?"

"He is in charge of enforcement for the Medellin Group. If someone gets out of line, Carlos takes care of him."

"Why did he put out a contract on the President?"

"She was talking about legalizing drugs and if her plan to do that went through, we would lose billions."

"How much were you paid?"

"Two and a half million dollars."

"What were the terms of the contract?"

"Kill the President. I got half up front and the other half upon completion of the contract."

"Who else did you have working with you?"

"No one. I have contacts where I got the gun, but I work alone."

One officer turned to another. "That fits in with his M.O."

"How were you planning to escape?"

"I was heading toward the Metro, back to my hotel, where I had a car. Then to Miami and out of the country."

"Do you know that the President survived?"

A stunned look came across his face. "How? I saw at least four or five shots hit her. There was no way that she should have lived."

"She had on a bulletproof vest and something under her hat. We didn't want to take any chances."

"Well, I tried."

John Stevenson then began gasping for air. The doctors rushed over to his bed, clearing all nonmedical personnel out of the room, and began trying to revive him.

Fifteen minutes later, the doctor came out and announced to the lawmen, "He's dead."

The President had been operated on and her left leg and right arm were wrapped in bandages and immobilized. Before she had undergone surgery, President Lehrer had signed a paper naming Senator David Burns of Nebraska, the senior surviving senator who was still recovering from his own injuries from the Capitol bombing, as acting President while she was under anesthesia. She had discussed this with Fred Valentine, whose opinion was that the senior surviving senator would be de facto President Pro Tempore of the Senate, and would therefore be next in line to the presidency.

The President also had bruises on her chest from the impact of the bullets on her kevlar vest and she suffered from a moderately severe headache from the shot absorbed by the helmet under her hat. The neurologist who had examined her assured her that there was no permanent damage from the shot to her head, and that the headaches would eventually go away.

Steve Stone, who had been in the limousine behind the President's and had escaped injury, wheeled the President to her daughter's room, preceded and followed by heavily armed guards who stayed out of earshot as long as the voices were quiet. "How are you feeling, Kathy?"

"Sore, especially when you hit that bump and when you bumped into that door."

"Sorry about that. This damn wheelchair doesn't steer real well. I'll try to be more careful."

"I sure hope so."

"What's the latest word on Sara and Marty?"

"They've both stabilized now, although Marty is just barely. They're both still critical. The doctor thinks they'll both make it, but it's going to take a long time, and neither of them is out of danger yet. The next couple of days will determine how they do." The President then began quietly crying. "I feel so damn guilty that I put them in this position, this position where they now have to be especially careful that someone may try to kill them in order to get at me."

Steve stopped the wheelchair outside of Sara Lehrer's room and moved in front of the President, putting his arm around her while she cried into his shoulder for a moment. "Kathy, you had no way of knowing this would happen," he whispered to her.

"But I should have had the Secret Service equip them with bullet proof vests like they did for me."

"We will do that in the future, whenever either of them goes out in public. We weren't prepared for that possibility this time, and the results were nearly tragic. I am sure that the Secret Service won't let that happen again."

"You, too."

"What do you mean, me too?"

"I want you to wear a bullet proof vest, too. I don't want anything to happen to you, either. And that is an order that I will pass along right now." She called over the ranking Secret Service agent. "Beginning with his next trip outside of this hospital, I would like you to make sure that Dr. Stone is wearing a bullet proof vest, and have them available when Sara and Marty are ready to leave here. I will not have any of them needlessly exposed to any more assassins if I can help it and I want to reduce any risks they may have."

"Yes, Mme. President." He looked at Steve. "Dr. Stone, at your convenience, I would like to have you measured so that we make sure it will fit you. Some of the new ones are so thin that you can barely notice it under a suit."

Steve looked dubiously at the agent and said nothing. "Dr. Stone," said the agent as he calmly took Steve away from the others. "When one is close friends of the President of the United States, one endures a little bit of discomfort for the peace of mind of that President, that friend. Peace of mind is something that Presidents should have if they are to be able to effectively carry out their duties, but unfortunately it is something they seldom have in abundant quantities. This President presently has less peace of mind than is good for her. She has been shot. Her children have been shot and are critically wounded. She has been placed in a position unlike that of any other person in history. She is the most powerful person in the world, and she had been totally unprepared for it when fate thrust it upon her. Yet, she has taken command more naturally than any president I have served, and I've been guarding presidents since Nixon. The whole world may blow out from under her, but if, and that is a big if, she should happen to go down, she will go down fighting. She's got guts."

"The world is in one hell of a mess," continued the agent. "The fate of the world has been thrust upon your friend's shoulders. A friend would try to ease that burden as much as possible. That would allow her to concentrate on saving the world."

Steve felt guilty. He knew how much Kathy Lehrer cared for him. He knew how much he cared for her. He was only now beginning to get over the shock of the shooting and the realization that his lover was now President of the United States. How much his life had been transformed in just a few short days! Steve Stone would just have to adjust to his new status. Steve came to a decision. Now for the timing.

He spoke to the agent. "I wear a 42 long jacket."

"Thank you."

They returned to the group still waiting outside the hospital room. The doctor came outside the room and approached the President.

"Mme. President, you may go in to see your daughter, but only for a few minutes. I'm afraid I can only allow two people in there at one time."

The President turned to the young doctor who had been pushing her wheelchair. "Steve."

The two of them then entered the hospital room. They saw a teenage girl lying motionless on the bed, tubes and wires connected to her slim, attractive, yet still very much violated body. Steve moved the chair so that the wounded mother's left side was next to the bed. Kathy Lehrer reached out and grasped her daughter's hand and gave it a strong squeeze.

"Sara, Momma's here."

Sara weakly applied slight pressure against her mother's hand.

"Honey," continued the President, "We're going to make it. Steve is here, too."

Steve had pulled up a chair onto the other side of the bed. "Sara, it's Steve. You've been badly hurt, but you're going to make it." He also squeezed her hand and received a weak response.

They sat there for several moments as the President gently stroked her daughter's forehead. "Sara this always made you feel better when you weren't feeling well."

Sara tried to muster a weak smile, but didn't have the strength. The doctor came into the room. "I'm afraid you will have to leave for a little while. She needs to rest."

Steve rose from his chair and gave Sara's hand a squeeze. "You get some rest, now. Take care, hon." He then went around to the other side of the bed behind the President's wheelchair.

She continued stroking her daughter's forehead and cheek. "I love you, Sara. I want you to rest and get better real soon. I love you. I'll see you again in a little while. Get some sleep."