Ben dearly desired to take the president into the other room for another confab, but he knew Cartwright was already impatient with the progress of the trial. Moreover, he’d seen several of the cabinet members on the big screen glancing at their watches. Understandably so-the clock had barely more than a hour left till the colonel had promised to deploy the next missile. He didn’t want to risk their ire by requesting another delay.

Oh, well. If the president had something to tell him, he could always slip him a note.

Swinburne cleared his throat. “Your honor, I’d like to call the president’s chief of staff to the stand. Sarie Morrell.”

Everyone was surprised, but Sarie herself was absolutely stunned. She pressed her hand against her chest. “Me? Why me? I don’t have anything to say to that polecat.”

Swinburne smiled, possibly the creepiest smile Ben had ever seen in his life. “Why don’t we determine that on the witness stand?”

Sarie looked pleadingly at the president. He smiled reassuringly and nodded toward the witness stand.

Sarie headed toward the chair. As she passed Swinburne, Ben heard her mutter under her breath, “You’re making a big mistake.”

Swinburne did not appear particularly threatened.

At first blush, Ben would’ve thought Swinburne was making a mistake, too. Secretary Ruiz’s loyalty to the president might have been in question, but Sarie’s was not. She had been with the president for many campaigns, not just the last one. She had served as his chief of staff when he was governor, too. She was renowned for her efficiency, her hard work, and her dogged devotion to her boss. She was known to go to great lengths, to stay up all night, to plunge into the lion’s den-or a nest of Republicans-to help her boss obtain his goals. Her loyalty was simply not in question.

But Swinburne was not a stupid man.

So why would he call such a potentially dangerous witness?

Well, he wouldn’t, Ben realized. Unless he had a very good reason. Unless he had a specific goal he wanted. Some information he thought he could get out of her.

What did Sarie know?

This time Swinburne didn’t waste time on her credentials or background, even though Ben knew both were impressive. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in making her look good. Perhaps his goal was exactly the opposite.

“Please state your name.”

“Sarah Lynn Morrell.” Ben loved the way her accent gave the last vowel in Morrell about three syllables.

“And your current position?”

“I’m the president’s chief of staff.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Counting previous positions, almost fifteen years.”

“So it would be safe to say that you like working for him?”

“Well, I’m not one to abandon ship while it’s still in the water.”

“Would it be safe to say you like the man personally?”

“I’ve never known a better man than Roland Kyler in my entire life. And I’ve known a lot of good men. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was a southerner.”

“And I suppose that makes you somewhat devoted to him?”

“Absolutely.”

Swinburne turned toward Admiral Cartwright. “Judge, given the witness’s obvious inclinations-one might say biases-I ask permission to treat her as a hostile witness.”

Ben arched a eyebrow. For a nonlawyer, he was making a savvy move. If she was a hostile witness, he could ask leading questions. Which might be necessary to lead her into whatever snake pit he wanted to visit.

Cartwright turned toward the witness. “Ms. Morrell, do you understand that Mr. Swinburne wants to declare you to be a hostile witness?”

She frowned. “Hostile isn’t a strong enough word for it.”

“So… that motion will be granted. Proceed.”

Swinburne adjusted the tie of his suit jacket. “Ms. Morrell, please tell the members of the cabinet what happened on the morning of March twenty-eighth.”

She stared back at him blank-faced. “Are you kidding? That was two weeks ago. Do you have any idea how busy I am? How would I know?”

“Are you saying you don’t remember?”

“Can I look at my Filofax?”

“Is it down here?”

“No.” Just as well. If she had used it to refresh her recollection, Swinburne would have had the right to examine the entire calendar. Heaven only knew what he might have found.

“Let me try to help you, Ms. Morrell. That was the day of the Easter egg roll.”

“Oh.” Sarie’s face seemed to flatten, as if someone had sucked all the life out of it.

“Ringing any bells yet?”

“Well… it was a very busy day.”

“No doubt. What happened?”

“Well, of course, they bused in all those schoolchildren. Lots of adorable little runts, most of whom had no idea where they were or why it was important. Dragged here by teachers, followed by parents chasing after bragging points. One kid slugged another over a pink plastic basket. Another tried to urinate in the rosebushes. A fight broke out over who got to stand at the front of the line. So they could chase after those inedible wooden eggs.” She sighed. “Lovely event.”

“And did the president play any role in this festivity?”

“Well, yes. He opened up the ceremony.”

“Was he on time?”

A stricken expression came across Sarie’s face. She looked as if she had been caught in a trap. Perhaps she had. Swinburne was frighteningly well informed.

“No. He did not appear on schedule.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I’m his chief of staff. A big part of my job is making sure he is where he’s supposed to be. On time. So when he didn’t show up in the Rose Garden, I went to look for him.”

“And did you manage to find him?”

“Eventually. It took a good fifteen minutes.”

“So I will assume, knowing how quickly you move, that he wasn’t in any of the first fifteen or so places you looked for him. Where did you finally find him?”

Sarie pursed her lips. “In the Portrait Hall. Just beyond his secretary’s station outside the Oval Office.”

“And what was he doing there?”

“He was… looking at the pictures.”

“What pictures?”

Sarie took a deep breath, her shoulders heaving. Ben didn’t need a sixth sense to realize this was something she really didn’t want to talk about.

“Each incoming president gets to choose which of the full collection of presidential portraits in the White House gallery they wish to have hanging in the hallway, where they are bound to see them almost every day. Most everyone keeps Washington and Lincoln, but there’s room for more. Clinton chose Jefferson, because he was named for him. Dubya chose his father, an obvious gesture of respect. Reagan chose Coolidge, because… well, no one really knows why he chose Coolidge. Silent Cal had been in the basement so long they weren’t sure they could get all the dust off him.”

Even Swinburne smiled a little. “And whom did President Kyler choose?”

“Kennedy. And FDR.”

“And what was he doing in the gallery with these pictures?”

Sarie looked away. “Well, I don’t know that he was doing anything, exactly…”

“Ms. Morrell,” Swinburne said sternly, “you are under oath. Tell the cabinet members what he was doing.”

She sighed. “He was talking to them.”

Beside him, Ben saw the president avert his eyes, toward the floor.

A discernible susurrus flowed through the room. Swinburne appeared incredulous, although Ben suspected he wasn’t even surprised. He must’ve known what he was fishing for. “He was talking to the portraits?”

“Oh, you know how you do when you’re alone and you don’t think anyone is listening. You just start saying your thoughts out loud. It’s no big deal. I remember a deb who talked to the centerpiece at her coming-out party.”

“What exactly was he saying?”

Sarie squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. “I believe they-I mean he-was talking about… God.”