Executive Privilege Read Free Page A

the vice presidency and the next minute he was the Leader of the Free World.
    No one watching Christopher Farrington walk down the hall to his son’s room would have guessed that he harbored doubts about his ability to lead the nation. Farrington looked presidential. He was tall and broad shouldered, his full head of glossy black hair had enough gray to give a simultaneous impression of vigor and maturity, and his welcoming smile told you that he might have risen to the heights, but he was still a guy with whom you could share a cup of coffee at your kitchen table. Tonight, as he stood in the doorway watching his wife tuck in the covers around Patrick, their six-year-old son, he also looked like any proud parent. His chest swelled with pride when Claire leaned over and kissed Patrick’s forehead.
    President Farrington’s son would have none of the childhood memories the president had. Chris had grown up poor in rural Oregon with only a dim recollection of the father who’d deserted him, his mother, and his brothers and sisters. Most evenings, his mother had been too tired from working two jobs to tuck in Chris or his siblings. On the occasions when she’d bothered, her breath had been a mixture of mint and cheap liquor.
    Sports had saved Farrington’s life. He was six five and had a good enough jump shot to corral a scholarship at Oregon State, where he’d guided OSU to two appearances in the NCAA tournament. He was no slouch in the classroom either and his grades and financial need had earned him a full ride to law school in Oregon. There was a good chance that he could have gotten into one of the nation’s elite law schools, but political office had been Christopher Farrington’s goal since being elected class president in high school. A degree from Harvard or Yale didn’t appeal to him as much as the possibility of making influential contacts during his three years in law school, and at this he succeeded. Powerful backers and his notoriety as a sports hero helped him win a spot in the state senate on his first try. He’d risen to the position of majority leader when he decided to take on an incumbent governor, who was brought low by a financial scandal uncovered by an intrepid reporter two months before the election. Farrington’s closest friend and top aide, Charles Hawkins, had learned about the governor’s peccadilloes before advising his boss to make the run and had fed the information about them to the reporter when the time was right.
    Claire lowered the shade in Patrick’s room, and the spotlighted Washington Monument disappeared from view. She turned toward the doorway and smiled.
    “How long have you been standing there?” she asked when they were in the hall.
    “A few seconds,” Farrington answered as he closed the door quietly behind them.
    The hall outside the family bedrooms reminded the Farringtons of a floor in a colonial inn. A plush blue carpet went well with the old-fashioned, off-white wallpaper that President Nolan’s wife had selected. A few oil paintings from the 1800s depicting rural America in all its glory were interspersed with portraits of some of the lesser-known presidents. Freestanding lamps and a few small chandeliers lit their way. The Farringtons didn’t care much about interior decorating so there had been no change in the décor since Christopher had ascended to the presidency.
    The president was dressed in a dark blue, pinstripe business suit. The first lady was dressed in a powder blue pants suit and a cream-colored silk blouse. As they strolled down the hall Farrington wrapped his arm around Claire’s shoulder. It was easy to do, since Claire was only a few inches shorter than her husband.
    The first lady was a powerfully built woman who had gone to Oregon State on a volleyball scholarship and ended up as a third team all-American in her senior year. Her shoulder-length brown hair was curly, her nose was a little too large, and her blue eyes were a tad small for her