Chapter 9

Dinner conversation continued where it left off in the living room. Polly was anxious to hear more about my 'adventures, ' and pressed the point several times. Rather than take the bait, I answered with the very basics and let it go each time.

"Honestly Kevin," Polly was working herself up quite nicely. "You are going to have to be more forthcoming about all of this, or I will be forced to make Hamilton order you to." She smiled when she said it, but I knew she was totally serious.

I waited for Hawk to put his foot down, and he did ... eventually. "Polly, I think Kevin is bound by certain rules of secrecy, and no matter how hard you press him, I doubt he will violate the privacy agreement he signed."

That put a damper on her pumping me about getting shot, but did nothing to dampen her curiosity about my private life. "Kevin, Hamilton tells me you are an orphan. What was it like growing up in an orphanage?"

I decided that the only defense here was going to be smothering her in details, instead of keeping quiet. "Imagine living in a long, narrow room, with ten cots lined up against one wall. Beside each cot was a four-drawer dresser that contained everything – every single thing – that belonged to you. Then imagine that every time one of the other boys wanted what was in your dresser drawers, he just stole it, and beat you to a pulp if you mentioned it to anyone.

"If you can imagine those things, you have the total picture of growing up in an orphanage.

"I couldn't wait to win my emancipation and get out of that hell hole. The people running it wanted one thing, and that was the check they got every month, in my name, from the Social Security Administration. I was just that to them – a canceled check."

That shut her up about the orphan thing.

As we ate I kept thinking about the name I got off the lone survivor of the attack at Atlantis. Hawk needed to know that the shooter named someone much too close to him, but what would he do with such incendiary information, and how would/could he use it to its best advantage?

The only thing I was sure of was that I needed to share that tidbit with him privately, if such a thing were possible.

The chef prepared an exceptional meal, and we all enjoyed the informal setting, allowing Polly and Constance to let their hair down, even if just a little. Conversation wandered all over the place, taking in such eclectic subjects as the latest show on Broadway, to the current front runner in the NFL.

Polly's personality emerged just a tad when the subject of the New England Patriots came up. "I don't care who does what, the Pats will trample everyone in their way. There is no way anyone else wins the Super Bowl. You can cancel the rest of the season and hand over the trophy now." She was deadly serious about her Pats.

Hawk laughed and put in his two cents. "I suspect the Steelers and Seahawks will have something say about that, long before the first Sunday in February. Constance had no favorite team, and I declined to pick a winner, so the topic was mercifully closed.

After the main course, Hawk led us all into the living room and asked dessert to be served to us our there. He wanted to relax and enjoy the warm fire before hopping Marine One back to the White House.

I was right. Polly didn't like sleeping in a cottage. The Presidential suite was just her style.

When we were saying goodbye, Hawk put his hand on my arm and stopped me, saying, "You look like there is something you want to say to me before you leave."

I looked around to make sure no one could overhear our conversation, and said, "Mr. President. When Catherine O'Malley was murdered protecting me, one of the shooters didn't die immediately. It took him a little while to bleed out, and I encouraged him to tell me who sent them. The only name he mentioned was Samantha Young.

"I don't know if Samantha Young was who sent them, or if she was their contact person, or if she was someone they needed to kill because she knew their names. What I know is that he clearly repeated her name and then died."

Hawk studied my face while turning that little bombshell over in his head. I hated putting her name on the spit in such a way, but that was what the shooter said, and if she was involved, she was way too close to the President to be trusted. Hawk thanked me and ushered us out. I doubted I'd ever be invited again, but felt better for having told him.

Constance was chatty as could be while our Marine escort drove us back to Aspen Lodge and our own roaring fire in the fireplace. Apparently our watchers also did fire duty.

We made no pretense of using separate bedrooms. Constance undressed, freshened up, hugged me from behind and said, "I'll be out in front of that lovely fire when you are done in here."

That gave me a chance to think about the oddness of the evening we just experienced. Why would the President of the United States fly almost an hour out to Camp David just to have dinner with me and Constance, and then fly almost an hour back to the White House to sleep? We didn't cover anything earth shaking, nor did he ask me for anything special. Nothing about the evening made a bit of sense.

It was possible that Hawk felt he owed that to me as a reward of some kind, but even that is way too thin to be believable.

I was still chewing on it when I cuddled up beside Constance on the leather sofa facing the fire. As soon as we were settled, Constance shed her robe and nightgown, and pressed her nude body against me. That changed my whole outlook on the evening, and we spent considerable time contemplating the finer points of physical pleasure, before retiring to the bedroom.

The morning sun woke me long before Constance. I hopped out of bed, used the bathroom, closed the curtains, and poked the fire back to life in the living room. Then I settled down with a hot cup of cocoa to watch the morning news.