The Last Phoenix Read Free Page A

elected, the former congressman and now governor David Grau. Leland and Grau’s opening salvo was an attack on her legitimacy. They claimed she was a political lightweight and incompetent, not capable of leading the United States, and had come to the presidency only through the vice presidency and the death of President Quentin Roberts. It was turning into a savage personal fight, and the fall campaign and run-up to the November election promised to be a brutal, take-no-prisoners battle.
    A woman reporter floating behind Nancy said, “She may be the most beautiful widow in the United States.” Nancy agreed, for Maddy was at her best on this particular day. The president’s brown eyes sparkled with life, and her makeup was perfect for the sunlight, accentuating her high cheekbones and smooth complexion. “That white linen suit is very elegant,” the reporter continued. “She has a fabulous figure.”
    Indeed she does, Nancy thought. She waited for the inevitable question.
    “Off the record,” the reporter ventured, “is there anything to the rumor about Matt Pontowski?”
    Nancy knew better than to deny it. “Only what the president has said,” she answered. “They’re good friends and have the same mutual interests as any parents.” She didn’t have to explain what the “mutual interests” were. The reporter knew that the president’s and Pontowski’s fifteen-year-old sons were best friends attending New Mexico Military Institute in Roswell. Nancy saw the cause of the delay move down the veranda and walk across the lawn toward the presidential party. She glanced at her watch and went in search of the deputy chief of staff. She found himstill fretting over the delay. “Thirty minutes” was all she said. The young man scurried away to set the wheels of the campaign back in motion. “Oh, Maddy,” Nancy breathed. “He does light your fire, doesn’t he?”
    The “he” was Matthew Zachary Pontowski III, the president of the library and grandson of the late President Matthew Zachary Pontowski. Every person, not to mention the TV reporters, at the dedication ceremony of President Pontowski’s library was talking endlessly about the physical resemblance of Matt Pontowski to his famous ancestor. Pontowski was exactly six feet tall, lanky, and with the same piercing blue eyes and hawklike nose. His shock of graying brown hair with its barely controlled cowlick was an exact replica of the late president’s, and he even walked with the same limp. Like his grandfather and father, he had flown fighter aircraft in combat, but no reporter really understood the significance of that. Still, it was the stuff that made news good entertainment, and they played it to the hilt.
    Secretly each reporter hoped there was some truth to the rumor of an affair between Madeline Turner and Pontowski. But a strong sense of self-preservation held them in check—for always lurking in the background was Patrick Flannery Shaw. No one knew exactly what Shaw did as the special assistant to the president; however, he had direct access to Turner at any time and any place. That, plus a well-deserved reputation as the president’s pit bull, made it mandatory to stay on his good side. The one White House reporter who had gotten crosswise with Shaw had suddenly found himself reporting local events in Pocatello, Idaho. It was an object lesson that didn’t need repeating.
    The TV cameras on the veranda zoomed in on Pontowski. “Matt,” Maddy called, “what a wonderful ceremony.” She extended her hand. “I was quite moved by your words. He was a wonderful man.”
    “Thank you for coming, Mrs. President,” Pontowski said, gently taking her hand. The TV cameras recorded that they touched for a few seconds longer than required by protocol.But that was all. Pontowski shook hands with the two former presidents, and both were eager to recall the last time they had met. The reporters scribbled in their notebooks that the friendly reception