Chapter 23

"Ohhhhh ... yessssss ... right there ... don't stop ... don't stop ... please don't stop ... yesssssssss ... it's perfect ... good ... good ... so goooooodddddddd ... yes."

Colleen dropped onto my chest and we both struggled to catch our breath. She was just beginning her eighth month and as big as I remember her being when she had James – the first time.

We had made very slow, gentle love in my bedroom, upstairs at the Residence, and knew it was likely the last time before our child would be born. I was already thinking of him as James. Colleen talked non-stop about motherhood, and Millie was still in a frenzy waiting for her first born grandchild.

I decided we needed time alone, as much to be together, before it was too far into the pregnancy, as for Colleen's mental health. She needed a break from the hen party, energetically clucking, night and day, waiting for Colleen to join the mommy club. When I thought about the high intensity emotions at our Branson house, I decided that Jim should be knighted in this life, and granted sainthood in the next, as he withstood it night and day.

When Colleen finally caught her breath, she gave me that sneaky smile and asked, "What role did you play in bringing down Cutler? It looked like something that would have had your fingerprints all over it. Jack won't breathe a word about Cutler's death, and neither will he look me in the eye when I ask."

"I understand Mr. Cutler suffered a rather extreme heart attack following a rather extensive period of intense emotional stress..." My smile said the rest, and Colleen let it drop.

Millie insisted on flying onto DC to accompany Colleen home, this close to her due date, and we all three had a quiet dinner upstairs in the Residence. Having Millie with us seemed to calm her down, at least a little. She was still a bundle of nervous energy, and her blatant happiness at Colleen's pregnancy was almost comical, but still beautiful. I never did out live my attraction to her, and imagined, sitting there between them that I never would.

"Rebecca is the little drill sergeant at home," Millie was catching me up on all the news. "She fusses over Regina and Beth Ann's diet, the babies nap schedules, Colleen's prenatal vitamins, and pretty much everything else. I think she needs you to come home and calm her down."

"I think I need to drag you over my knee and spank your bottom until you calm down! You are so wound up, I'm surprised you haven't given yourself a heart attack." I was only halfway kidding, and Millie knew it. I could tell the thought of my hand on her bottom pleased her very much, but I wisely kept that observation to myself.

I rode out to Reagan with the girls and saw them off, before heading back to the Residence to get ready for my week. When I arrived home I discovered I had a visitor. "Mr. Secretary," I said respectfully to the Treasury Secretary.

Stanton was sixty-four, a career achiever, first in textiles, then oil, and finally high tech. his business savvy was a cloak that hid his amazing mind for detail, organization, and processes. The Service was improving every day that Ken was in charge, and you could hear people starting to talk about a President Ken Stanton, someday...

"Mr. Vice President. We need to talk..." Ken Stanton was tall. I looked up to him, and I was a little over six-feet. He was also the owner of an excellent spine. His back was as straight as Oliver North's when he addressed Congress, all those years ago.

And talk we did...

Sensing my discomfort, the Secretary got right to it. "Everything is buttoned down on the Cutler thing. Because we made no attempt to get the news feeds to take the story, they thought we were trying to keep it a secret. Since we didn't want them finding out that Cutler had died, that meant Cutler dying WAS the news story, and not how and why.

"I never really realized how easy it is to lead the press around until this came up.

"Well, the reason for my visit. The President is starting to ask questions. I have no intention of answering them, but he will eventually ask you. I'm thinking he has to be told of the attempt on his life at some point, but what is that point? When does the head of the Secret Service tell the President that a former Vice President, and his opponent for the White House, banded together with everyone with an axe to grind and decided to have him killed?

"I pretty sure there's no roadmap for how to deal with this." He was upset at having to keep this from his boss, so I solved the problem for him.

"Rick," I called out, and he stepped in immediately. "Call the Cottage and ask Jason if the President is in, and find out if can I come in and get a few minutes with him. DO NOT get into a discussion about why. I'll deal with it when I deal with it."

Rick replaced Jason several months earlier, when Charles decided he wanted his aide back. It was a no-brainer to elevate Rick, if just to piss off the career parasites that thought they were entitled to have Jason's job, because they'd been around a long time, doing very little, to nothing. He was growing into a great Chief-of-Staff, and I had one more layer of protection for our secrets.

"Mr. Secretary," I said honestly, "Don't over think this. Charles is bound to find out something, sooner or later, so I'll tell him the truth, just not some things that he needs to be in the dark about, for deniability's sake, and that's that." I could tell he was relieved to know we would stop keeping the facts from the President, and that I would be the one to take the fall, if it came to someone having to drop on their sword.

He departed quickly, and Rick announced the President would see me as soon as I could get over there.

"John, it is good to see you. We don't get to spend much time together. Is everything Ok?" He looked fit, rested, and happy. Any sitting President ages tremendously, due to the schedule, pressure, and tension of knowing all (or almost all) of our secrets. Charles looked like he had made peace with the demands, and could live with the secrets, meaning he might get to enjoy being the head of the free world, instead of consumed by it, like so many others.

"Mr. President. I am very fine, Sir. And glad to hear you are too. May I inquire as to the health of your bride, daughter, and the lovely little Casey?"

That got a big smile. Charles LOVED to talk about his only grandchild. "The ladies are doing well, and will thank you for asking, but Casey has all kinds of news. You must step upstairs and greet her before you leave.

"Now, what can I do for you?"

"I need you to sign a blanket pardon for me. As soon as I have it, I will tell you an amazing story, that happened right under our noses, and almost got us both killed."

He looked shocked and I briefly thought he would refuse, but he picked up the phone and ordered a pardon prepared, leaving names and dates blank, and brought to him immediately. It took no time before an aide delivered the document, and Charles filled in the blanks, signed it, and placed his presidential seal in the appropriate place.

Then he sat back and gave me 'the look.'

"Mr. President. Former Vice President Cutler was very busy in the months before his death, putting together a cooperative of moneymen, fanatics, and crazy people, with the intention of having us both killed." Charles bolted straighter in his chair when I dealt that card. "My staff, my personal – personally paid and maintained – staff, sniffed out Cutler's plans, investigated it, discovered the names of those involved, and when confronted with his crimes, Cutler expired.

"Everything else you heard was pure fantasy, and I heard the Treasury Secretary has been asked to provide info on the Cutler incident, but I can tell you he almost none of the details. When I discovered you were in mortal danger, I took very blunt action. I have dossiers on all of those involved, and, with your permission, I suggest that you leave it total in my hands, as to how to deal with your would – be killers."