“Is that what it was? A party?”

“And a pretty good one, too.”

“My sources tell me that a ticket to that party cost a million dollars.”

“I don’t think there’s that much caviar in the world,” Kate said. “And no caviar was served.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Stahl said.

“You’re very perceptive, Lesley. But now that I’m not pulling down a government salary I can throw a party without publishing the guest list in the White House daily schedule. It’s very liberating.”

• • •

Holly turned toward Stone. “I’ll bet you know something about this.”

“Maybe.”

“Come on, give!”

“Didn’t you hear the lady? It’ll cost you a million dollars to find out.”

“Who do I make the check to?”

“That would tell you more than Kate wants you to know.”

• • •

“Mr. President,” Stahl said, “can you shed some light on this?”

“I wasn’t there,” Will said, “and I’ve got your videotape to prove it. And I haven’t seen the guest list, either.”

“All right, then let me ask you a substantive question: How much advice have you received from your wife over the past eight years, and how good was it?”

“First of all,” Will said, “since she was director of Central Intelligence for all that time, I got regular office-hours briefings from her, and they were superb.”

“How about after office hours?”

“I got advice from Kate then, too, and it may surprise you to learn that it was very often about domestic affairs. She has an abiding interest in what goes on inside this country and inside the government, and the advice I got from her about those things was always right on the mark. In fact, I would put her in the top two or three among my advisers on domestic matters.”

• • •

“That sounds to me like an endorsement,” Holly said.

“And I think that’s as close as Will will come to one.”

“Now that 60 Minutes has asked about that party,” Holly said, “everybody in the media is going to be all over this.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Stone said.

“And you were at the party, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And it cost you a million dollars?”

“It did.”

“That can mean only one thing,” Holly said, poking him in the ribs. “She’s going to run for office.”

“Kate can do whatever she wants now, what with Will finishing his second term.”

“Well, with the convention looming, it’s too late for her to run for president,” Holly said, “so it would have to be for the senate in Georgia, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know if there’s an open seat down there,” Stone replied.

“Then she must be going to—”

Stone kissed her. “Shhhhhh,” he said, then switched off the TV.

15

When Stone awoke the following morning, Holly was gone, and her side of the bed had been neatly made up. When he sat down at his desk after breakfast, there was an e-mail from Holly’s personal account.

Check this link, it said, and an address was spelled out. He clicked on it. The site was called Crazy Rumors and Wild Speculation.

Last night on 60 Minutes, the top was peeled off a new political can of worms, namely the “party” thrown by First Lady Katherine Rule Lee last week at the Lees’ Carlyle Hotel penthouse for twenty very rich Americans, each of whom allegedly contributed a million dollars to be there. But contributed to what? That’s serious political money, and only a run for one of three offices would attract such a sum: a senate seat or the presidency or the vice presidency. Kate Lee is a Georgia resident, and the incumbent is a Democrat well positioned for reelection, so that’s out; it’s too late to run for president, what with the primaries nearly over and the convention looming, so that’s out. That leaves the vice presidency, and nobody stages a campaign for that. But if Kate wants to be president someday, such a campaign might be a smart move. She’s young enough to wait eight years before going for the big job, so we might be seeing something new in national politics. The names of the Big Twenty shouldn’t be hard to figure out (see below), and by the way, we hear there were twenty-one guests. Who’s the extra man or woman?

• • •

Stone checked the list below and found it to be substantially accurate, but his name was not there. He replied to the e-mail: Sounds like a pretty good guess to me. He clicked SEND.

Joan appeared at the door. “There’s a political reporter from the Times on the phone, named Josh Altman. Do you want to speak to him?”

Stone thought for a moment, then picked up the phone. “This is Stone Barrington.”

“Josh Altman at the Times, Mr. Barrington.”

“Good morning.”

“Did you see the interview with the president and first lady on 60 Minutes last night?”

“Yes, I did.”

“A source is telling me that you were the twenty-first person on the guest list of that party. Is that true?”

“I had dinner with the president and the first lady last week,” he said.

“And what was discussed at that dinner?”

“It was a private dinner and a private conversation.”

“Were you then invited to the big party?”

“As I said, it was a private dinner and a private conversation. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“Somebody posted a made-up guest list on a website this morning. Was it accurate?”

“Good morning to you, Mr. Altman.” Stone hung up.

Joan was back; she turned on Stone’s office TV and changed the channel to Fox News. A very blonde woman and three men occupied a sofa facing the camera.

“Who knows anything about this party the first lady gave last week at the Carlyle?” the blonde asked.

A young man spoke up. “I’ve talked to one person who may have been at the party, he won’t say. But while I didn’t get any names, he hinted that at least one of them was a big-time New York attorney, and several of the guests were prominent Republicans who may have voted for Will Lee last time.”

“We all know there were a few of those,” the blonde said, then moved the conversation to another subject.

Joan switched off the set. “Looks like the guy from the Times isn’t the only one on your trail,” she said, then she went back to her desk.

Stone’s private line rang, and he picked it up. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. I hear Fox News is calling you a big-time New York attorney.”

“That sounds more like Bill Eggers,” Stone said. “And what are you doing watching TV at this time of the morning? You should be ashamed of yourself, wasting the city’s money that way.”

“Somebody told me about it,” Dino said defensively.

“Nah, you were watching Faux News. Bad Dino!”

“All right, I turned it on to what was said about a police shooting last night, and I just happened to hear.”

“What police shooting?”

“Sean Donnelly got popped coming out of P.J. Clarke’s in the middle of the night. He had apparently closed the place.”

“Is Sean dead?”

“No, it was a chest wound, caught a lung instead of his heart. He’ll live.”

“Who the hell would shoot a cop who’s been retired for fifteen years?”

“Good question. We’re looking at his old cases. Maybe somebody Sean put away got sprung and is holding a grudge.”

“I think I’ll send him a dozen roses,” Stone said, “just to piss him off.”

Dino laughed hard. “And don’t include a card, it will drive him nuts!”

“Where have they got him?”

“New York Hospital.”

“Consider it done.”

“You want dinner this evening? Viv’s back, and she’s always happy to see you.”

“Sure.”

“Clarke’s at eight?”

“You’re on.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. “Sean Donnelly caught a bullet last night. He’s at New York Hospital. Send him a dozen red roses, no card, and book me a table for three at Clarke’s, please, eight o’clock.”