Executive Privilege Read Free

didn’t interest Charlotte anymore.
    “Hi, Tim,” she answered, unable to keep a tremor out of her voice.
    “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, laughing. “I guess I just have that effect on women.”
    Charlotte managed a weak smile. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the pages collating in the plastic tray attached to the copier.
    “What are you up to?” Tim asked.
    “Just copying a report on the Asian trade deficit. Senator Gaylord wants to hammer Farrington on his trade policy.”
    “That should be easy. Farrington’s trade policies have been a disaster. If he gets elected we’ll be a Chinese territory before his term is through.”
    “I agree completely,” Charlotte said, egging Tim on in the hopes that he’d be so busy expounding his theories that he wouldn’t pay any attention to the papers she was copying.
    The ploy worked, and the last page shot out of the machine halfway through Tim’s tirade against the evils of the subsidy Japan was giving to one of its industries.
    “I’m glad you’re around to explain this economic stuff to me,” said Charlotte, who’d aced her course in international economic theory.
    “Not a problem,” Tim answered as Charlotte stacked the original and the copy in two neat piles.
    “Say, it’s almost dinnertime. Want to grab a bite?” he asked.
    Charlotte glanced at the wall clock. It was only a little after six and she had a few hours to kill before her meeting.
    “Gee, I’d love to. Where do you want to go?”
    Tim named a Thai restaurant a few blocks from campaign headquarters.
    “Thai sounds great. Give me a few minutes to straighten my desk and do a few odds and ends. Can I meet you in the lobby?”
    “Sure thing.” Tim beamed.
    Charlotte stalled for time in the copy room by leafing through one of the paper piles. As soon as Tim was out of sight, she extracted the five stolen pages from the stack of originals and returned to Reggie Styles’s office. She had just finished putting them back in the lower drawer when Tim walked up.
    “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding suspicious this time.
    “God, Tim! You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me. You’ll give me a heart attack. Instead of having dinner with you, I’ll be in the hospital.”
    Tim’s face cleared and he smiled. “Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he said.
    Charlotte placed the economic report in a stack of papers in Styles’s in-box and carried the copy with the list of slush fund contributors to her desk.
    “I’ll see you in a minute,” she said as she slipped the documents into her backpack and began straightening papers in a way that made her look as if she were actually doing something.
    “See you in the lobby.”
    The door closed behind Tim. Charlotte sagged with relief. She’d done it. Of course, she’d have to fake enjoying dinner with Tim. She couldn’t think of a way to get out of it without raising his suspicions, but that was a small sacrifice. Her adventure in political espionage had made her ravenously hungry anyway, and she was sure Tim would insist on paying for the meal. A narrow escape and a free meal; not a bad evening so far, she reckoned, and it would only get better in a few hours.

Chapter Three
    Early in his presidency, Christopher Farrington had felt like a fraud, and he’d wondered how many other presidents had felt this way. Farrington was certain that every person who went into politics harbored a secret dream of one day being the president of the United States, but once the chosen few achieved their dream, he wondered if holding the office felt as surreal to them as his ascension to the presidency felt to him.
    In his case the dreamlike quality of his presidency had been heightened by the fact that there had been no election, only an early morning visit from a Secret Service agent telling him that President Nolan had suffered a fatal heart attack and he was now the commander in chief. One minute he was serving in the relative anonymity of