“If so, I haven’t found it. And believe me, I’ve tried.” She flashed him a quick smile. “I’ve turned on all my southern-girl charm and then some. Even offered to come by the House cafeteria and whip up a batch of my grandmama’s hominy grits. He didn’t go for it.”

Ben shook his head. “The man must be made of steel.”

“Well, he’s from New Jersey. They don’t know what good food is.”

“Wait a minute,” Dr. Albertson said. “I’m from New Jersey.”

“And have you ever eaten my grandmama’s hominy grits?”

“Well, if the opportunity arose…”

“I brought some to the potluck at Vice President Swinburne’s house last month. And I made careful note of who partook and who did not. You were not among the partakers.”

Albertson cleared his throat. “Well, I would’ve been.” He patted his stomach. “But that darned spastic colon of mine was acting up.”

Sarie gave him a long look. “Do tell.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had grits,” Ben said.

“Well, you’re a man of culture and refinement,” Sarie replied. “I feel certain you would adore them.”

“Doesn’t that pretty little wife of yours fix you breakfast?” Albertson asked.

“She does,” Ben replied. “She makes a fantastic spinach omelet. When she has time.” And when she didn’t, he did not add, or when she wasn’t looking, he dug into his secret stash of Cap’n Crunch. Living with a health food nut could be so challenging at times.

A deep, gravelly voice cut into the conversation. “This must be the Three Stooges. On their way to tell the emperor he’s got no clothes.”

Ben veered left and saw his least favorite person in the entire White House, Admiral Wilson Cartwright, the head of the White House Military Office. He was a stocky older man, about a foot shorter than Ben, but if you judged by his bearing and manner, you would think he must be at least three feet taller.

Ben had never been very good with the military. But Cartwright seemed to have an absolute antipathy for lawyers. Whenever possible, Ben just tried to stay out of the man’s way.

“We’re off to see the wizard,” Ben answered.

Cartwright made a guttural growling sound. “Then you can follow me.”

Of course. It would have to be that way. Cartwright led the way down the corridor.

“Are you interested in offshore drilling?” Ben asked.

“Oil reserves are first and foremost a military concern,” Cartwright replied in a tone that suggested Ben was a total idiot for asking.

“Yes, but this is a legal matter. The injunction-”

Cartwright’s eyes moved closer together. “Maybe you’ve been too busy chasing ambulances to notice what’s been going on in the Middle East for the past fifty years or so, but it’s the greatest threat to this nation, so I don’t have the luxury of looking the other way.”

Ben knew it was foolish to even reply. Anything he said would be twisted around to fit into the man’s monomaniacal worldview. But the perverse imp within Ben wouldn’t let it lie. “I still don’t understand why the military needs to attend a legal strategy session.”

“Well, I don’t know why Robert Griswold appointed you to his staff. A man that age normally has more sense. But I do know this: as soon as we enter the Oval Office, you’ll do your bleeding-heart routine about the environment and you’ll oppose every sensible approach to reducing our dependence on foreign oil. Someone with some perspective has to be there.”

So that was what this was all about. “I’m all for reducing our dependence on foreign oil,” Ben said. “But I won’t sacrifice our natural resources for another basin of oil or two. The only long-term answer is alternative-”

“I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on so-called long-term solutions. I have to deal with the threats that confront us in the here and now.”

“I still don’t understand-”

Cartwright stopped abruptly. “You don’t have to understand, Mr. Kincaid. All you have to do is file your little lawsuits and stay out of the way of the men who are doing the real work to protect this nation. You understand what I’m telling you? Stay out of my way.”

Ben tucked in his chin. “You may have been confused by my snappy attire, but I am not in the military. I am not under your authority and I do not take orders from you.”

“Everyone in this building takes orders from me, mister.” To some extent, Ben knew that was true. As head of the White House Military Office, Cartwright was in charge of the entire building and everything that transpired within, including communications, food, medicine, emergency procedures, and all forms of executive transportation. If the president wanted something done here, it went through Admiral Cartwright. And if Cartwright wanted to attend this meeting, there was no way that Ben could stop him. “So my advice to you is to stay out of my way. I do not like enemies and I do not treat them kindly.”

“Oh, look,” Dr. Albertson said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve arrived. What a shame this engaging conversation will have to come to an end.”

Ben noted that Sarie had to bite down on her lip to keep from smiling.

They approached the northeast door to the Oval Office. Ben knew there were four entrances to the executive office. The northeast door opened onto the president’s secretary’s office; the northwest door led to the main corridor of the West Wing; the west door connected to a small study and a dining room; and the east door led directly to the Rose Garden. This was the primary way in for visitors, perhaps because it made it easier for his secretary, or the chief of staff if she was available, to prevent unwanted intrusions.

They were greeted by the press secretary, Alden Meyers, a tall man from Connecticut whose background was in advertising.

“The president may be delayed,” he told them in a hushed voice. “There’s a crisis. We’re preparing a statement.”

Ben immediately thought of the Speaker of the House and the legislation now being debated. “A legislative crisis?”

Meyers lowered his head gravely. His voice dropped at least an octave. “No. A nuclear crisis.”

Admiral Cartwright moved rapidly to the forefront. “Nuclear? Has there been an detonation?”

“No,” Meyers replied. “Not yet, anyway. But a nuclear suitcase bomb has disappeared from a secret Arlington armory. The CIA has some leads and they’ve been tracking suspects.”

“Terrorists.”

“That would be the worst-case scenario. It’s always possible it was misplaced-”

“Someone misplaced a nuclear bomb?”

“-or relocated. One of those left-hand-doesn’t-know-what-the-right-hand-is-doing situations. But the circumstances suggest theft by foreign agents, so the CIA has been investigating.”

“Have they apprehended anyone?”

“Not yet. There’s an agent in the field who thought he had something important, but we haven’t heard anything back from him yet.”

“Are we going public with this?”

“The president says yes, even though he knows there will be negative fallout. It will undoubtedly cause panic and criticism. But the people have a right to know. And he’s afraid that if he doesn’t and a bomb goes off, he’ll look like he didn’t know what was going on.”

“I think that’s a mistake,” Cartwright grunted, looking at the Oval Office door. “But I guess I can tell the man myself.”

“Look,” Ben interjected, “my little meeting can wait. Sounds like the president has more important things-”

“No,” Meyers said. “Your meeting may be brief, but he wants it to happen. The president wants to continue doing business as usual. It’s important not to let a possible terrorist threat interfere with the work of governing. And we don’t know at this time that there’s any immediate threat.”

Ben shrugged. “Whatever the man wants.”

Sarie knocked on the door. “Roland?”