“Not really, no.”

“Did he provide any kind of explanation?”

“Well, I guess at one point he did say that he longed to be free, free like a butterfly, free like the wind. Maybe that had something to do with it.”

“And was he surprised when you declined to get in with him?”

“Actually, yeah. He was. A bit cranky about it, too. Almost as if he had forgotten about, you know, gender differences and such.”

“What happened next?”

“Oh, I eventually managed to get the little butterfly out of the water. I held out a towel-well, I held it between us to block the view, if you know what I mean. He was jabbering exuberantly about how good it was to be alive! Jumping up and down like an eight-year-old. At one point he asked if I thought it would be a good idea to hold the next cabinet meeting at a nudist camp.”

Ben saw several necks stiffen on the television screen.

“And your reply?”

“I told him I thought it would be an interesting experiment, but he would have to get a different chief of staff because I wouldn’t be there.”

“Thank God for that,” Swinburne said. “You may be the only thing that’s kept the executive branch from descending into total chaos.”

“Well, I try to help out where I can.”

“Was there anything else unusual about this encounter?”

“Wasn’t that unusual enough?”

“Any crying or praying? Talking to imaginary friends?”

“Not this time, sugar.”

“Fine. I believe there was at least one other instance of unusual presidential behavior that you observed.”

Darn. Ben had been hoping he might forget. He scanned the room, wondering if anyone else was as tired of this as he was. Unfortunately, all he saw was rapt attention. He decided that objecting on the grounds of repetition might be ill-advised.

“Yes. There was. Just one other. Three days ago.” Her face lost all traces of attitude and humor. Ben got the disturbing feeling that this episode was going to be the worst of them all.

“And what did he talk about on this occasion? Butterflies?”

“No,” Sarie said, lowering her eyes. “Suicide.”

With one word, Ben knew Sarie’s testimony had transformed from an account of eccentric behavior to something far more dire.

“Had the president gone missing again?” Swinburne sounded almost hopeful.

“In a sense. It was late at night. After hours. He wasn’t missing any meetings. His wife just wondered where he was. I think he was late for their weekly gin game or something.”

“Is tracking the president in your job description?”

“I was doing it as a favor for Sophie.”

“I see. How long did it take you to find him this time?”

“Over an hour.”

“Really? I would’ve thought a hyperkinetic sort such as yourself could’ve covered the entire White House in an hour.”

“Twice. But I still couldn’t find him. Because he wasn’t there. Not exactly.”

Ben wondered if she would wait for the obvious question. She did. There could not be any surer sign of her reluctance to proceed.

“Where did you find him?”

Sarie took a deep cleansing breath, then released it slowly. “On the roof.”

Swinburne went bug-eyed. “What?”

“His keepers were going nuts, naturally. He hadn’t logged out-not that he would’ve been allowed to leave by himself-but they couldn’t find him. He might still be up there if we hadn’t heard from a cook. Turns out there’s a service panel in the corner of the kitchen. Climb through and you’re out on the roof.”

“Sounds like a potential security hazard.”

“Of course it was bolted, but on the inside. Who even knew it was there?”

“The president, apparently.”

“Well, yeah. The cook just saw the tips of his shoes before they vanished out of sight. When I inquired, she pointed out the passageway to me and I dutifully scrambled up it. I really should be paid more than I am, you know?”

“As should we all.”

“So I grabbed this little iron ladder that looked as if it’d been there since John Adams first moved in, and pretty soon I was on the roof. Can you believe it? The roof of the White House. Who even knew that was possible?”

“Not me. But I didn’t know there was an underground bunker before they dragged me here today.”

“Good point. So the wind was horrible-practically blew me off the roof-and I knew this couldn’t be safe because we were probably vulnerable to snipers and such, but I toughed it out and looked around. Over by the railing-and by that I mean the edge of the roof-that’s where I found the president.”

Ben wondered if he should object on grounds that the witness was employing a horrendously run-on sentence. He decided Cartwright probably wouldn’t be amused.

“What was he doing?”

“He was… laughing.”

“Laughing? Not crying?”

“Well, that too. It was strange. He was doing both at the same time. And talking.”

“What was he talking about?”

“Oh, many things. Rapidly. One topic after another.”

“Let’s take them in order. From the top.”

Sarie frowned. “Well, at the start, he was talking about flying.”

Swinburne did a double take. “Flying? Like a butterfly?”

“I suppose. He said, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could get away from it all? Just fly away.’”

“Then what did he do?”

“He stood up.” Sarie licked her lips. It was obvious that this had been a difficult experience for her, one she did not relish recounting. “That was a bad idea in and of itself. I told you how strong the wind was up there. An accident would be easy. But he didn’t seem to notice. He extended his arms in front of him, like Superman, you know? He shouted, ‘Up, up, and away!’ Bent his knees and sort of… sprang. ‘I can flyyyyyyyy!’ he shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘Flyyyyyyy!’” She paused, caught her breath. “I thought he was really going to do it. I panicked. I grabbed desperately for his feet. The irony is, he wasn’t actually trying to fly, but my stupid groping almost knocked him off the roof.”

“Did his feet leave the roof?”

“No, thank God. But that seemed to puzzle him. He acted as if… as if he really thought it was going to happen.”

“As if he really believed he could fly?” Swinburne suggested.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That was my impression. He expected it to happen and it didn’t. So he was perplexed.”

Beside him, Ben saw the president shaking his head. Did that mean it wasn’t true? That it hadn’t happened like that? Or just that the president was miserably embarrassed by this testimony?

“What happened next?”

“He sat down, eventually. But his mood had changed. He wasn’t talking ninety miles a minute anymore. There was a lot more crying and a lot less laughing. Somehow the fact that he had failed to fly seemed to have really depressed him. He became despondent. Difficult to talk to. So mostly I just listened.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t remember it all. He just seemed so… hopeless. Helpless. Deep in despair.” She turned toward President Kyler. “I’m sorry, Roland.”

“You just go on telling them what you saw,” he said softly but firmly. “There’s never any harm in telling the truth.”

A noble sentiment, Ben thought. But he knew from personal experience that it was the truth that could often be the most damaging.

“Please continue,” Swinburne said, urging her on.

“He was sobbing. Tears were streaming down his face. He said things like, ‘What’s the point of it? What’s the point of going on? No one cares if I live or I die.’”

Even Admiral Cartwright, he of the stoic judicial face, reacted to this. This testimony was getting darker by the moment.

“He said he was barely getting started but he was already a terrible president. He said he had let the American people down. He said he knew things were going to get worse before they got better and he just couldn’t handle it. I tried to talk to him, tried to tell him that wasn’t true, that he was a good man, that people all around the world had tapped into his optimism, his desire for change, for world peace. But it was no use. He was inconsolable. That was the greatest irony, I thought. He had brought hope to people all around the world. But he couldn’t bring hope to himself.”