“Thank you, Mr. President.” Stone gulped. He took a long sip from his bourbon.
“Good stuff, Knob Creek,” the president said. “Knob Creek was where Abraham Lincoln spent his early years, in Kentucky, you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president raised his glass. “It’s the patriotic thing to do,” he said, taking a sip. “Though I mustn’t be patriotic too often these days, given the nature of the work.”
“I suppose not, sir.”
The president sat down on the sofa beside him. “Let me come directly to the point; the others will be here soon.”
Stone waited and listened.
“I believe that, some years ago, you were involved in a widely publicized criminal trial, on the island of St. Marks, way south of here.”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“I believe I even caught a glimpse of you on 60 Minutes.”
“Yes, sir, it was important to the outcome of the trial that we obtain as much media coverage as possible.”
“I forget; what was the outcome of the trial?” The president asked, raising his eyebrows.
Stone had the distinct feeling that he had forgotten nothing. “My client was hanged,” he replied.
President Lee burst out laughing. “I’m aware that you believed her to be hanged, until some years later, and I’m aware of your most recent encounter with her. Where is she now?”
“In a Florida prison, Mr. President.”
“Ah, yes, and she’s been asking me for a pardon every year since; for her husband, too. Tell me, Stone, if you were in my position, would you pardon them?”
“Since I don’t represent her anymore, I can say candidly, absolutely not. Both she and her husband deserve worse than being where they presently are, and the country is better off for having them there.”
The president chuckled. “We are of one mind,” he said. “Stone, someone is going to ask you to go back to St. Marks for…a visit.”
“That would not be unpleasant duty, Mr. President. It’s a beautiful island.”
“I hope you can take the time to go.”
“I was requested to pack my bags, Mr. President, and I have done so. May I ask why you want me to go back?”
“Oh, I haven’t asked you to go back,” the president said. “Someone else will, but I will not. And I must ask you to recall this meeting, this room, this bourbon and this conversation as wholly imaginary.”
“As you wish, Mr. President.”
“Stone, I’m sure you know that I am up for reelection in the autumn, and I wanted to tell you personally that your visit to St. Marks may, in one way or another, have a profound effect on my chances. Since, in light of your campaign contributions in the past, I have some reason to believe you think it might be important for me to finish my administration’s work, I wanted to tell you personally that you may soon be in a position to contribute to my campaign in a larger way than you imagine, and I want you to know, in advance, that you have my deep gratitude for your help.”
Stone was too baffled to speak, and he was relieved of that obligation when a door behind him opened and a woman’s voice said, “Will, honey, it’s time for us to go in.”
Stone sprang to his feet and turned to see the first lady, who was also the Director of Central Intelligence, standing in the open door.
“Kate, darling, this is Mr…” the president started to say.
“I know who he is, Will,” she replied, walking over and shaking his hand. “And I’m glad to have the opportunity to thank you for your efforts in solving the death of your cousin, Dick Stone, last summer. Dick was about to assume an important post at the Agency, and I had hopes that he might one day succeed me, when I’ve played out my string. Lance Cabot has told me how helpful you were to him during the investigation.”
Funny, Stone thought, and I was laboring under the apparent illusion that Lance
was helping me. “You’re very welcome, ma’am.”