The Last Phoenix Read Free Page B

was proof that Pontowski had a future beyond that of running the presidential library.
    “What a magnificent view,” Maddy said, leading the small group to the one secure observation point. Because of two attempted assassinations, the Secret Service made sure that no one was within earshot or, for that matter, any other kind of shot. While security was intense, Maddy still moved without fear among people as the agents standing post worked themselves to a frazzle and into an early retirement. “How’s Little Matt?” Maddy asked.
    “Growing like a weed,” Pontowski replied, “and he’s not so ‘little’ anymore. Maybe that’s why everyone is calling him Zack these days.”
    Maddy laughed. “Brian never told me. It’s much better than that horrible name Brian was calling him. I know Sarah will like it.” Sarah was Maddy’s fourteen-year-old daughter, who had a not-so-secret crush on Pontowski’s son. Then the tone of Maddy’s voice changed as she became all business. “Have you had time to think about it?”
    Pontowski nodded. “The ambassadorship to Poland is tempting, but I’ve got to get the library off the ground. I can’t believe the stacks of documents and files we’re sorting.”
    “You’re lucky,” one of the former presidents said. “No real hard issues like the tapes the Nixon Library has to deal with.”
    “Anyway, not yet,” the other president allowed.
    Again Maddy laughed, enchanting Pontowski. “There’s always a rat in the woodwork.” They all assumed her “rat” was the man ambling toward them. Patrick Flannery Shaw was a shaggy bear of a man given to wearing rumpled plaid suits, scuffed shoes, and outrageous ties. At first glance he seemed totally out of place. But the knowledgeable knew he was a shark swimming in his perfect environment.
    “Mizz President,” Shaw said, putting on his thickestsouthern accent, “we got a passel of people who need tendin’.”
    Maddy pleaded helplessness. “What can I do?”
    “Win the election,” the older of the two presidents said.
    She shook hands all around, coming to Pontowski last. “Matt, please think about it. I don’t need an answer until after the election.” She turned to go. “Oh, Mazie needs to talk to you. Can you escape from all these dusty archives?” “Mazie” was Mazana Kamigami Hazelton, her national security adviser.
    “For Mazie,” Pontowski answered, “anytime.”
    “I believe she’s free tonight,” Shaw said. “I’ll set it up for after the banquet.” Then the president was gone, locked in a deep conversation with Shaw.
    “Sounds like a command performance,” the younger of the two presidents said.
    “With the Dragon Lady,” the older growled, “damn right.”
    Pontowski only smiled and shook his head.
    San Francisco
    Saturday, July 24
    “General Pontowski,” the Secret Service agent said, “this way please.” Pontowski followed the amazingly fit young man into a service corridor on the ground floor of the Fairmont Hotel. They stopped at a guard station, where Pontowski emptied his pockets and was searched. A uniformed guard ran a wand over him, searching for metallic objects. The wand buzzed when it passed over Pontowski’s right knee, and three guards immediately surrounded him.
    “It’s the pins in my knee,” Pontowski explained as he pulled up his pant leg to show the long scars on his knee. “Ejected from an F-16,” he explained. “Bad landing. Shattered my kneecap.”
    “Understand, sir,” the Secret Service agent said. “But we’ll need an X ray to confirm, if you’re to see the president.”
    Pontowski was confused. “I thought—”
    “I can vouch for him,” a familiar voice said. Pontowski turned to see Chuck Sanford. “Evenin’, General. Setting off alarms—again?”
    A smile spread across Pontowski’s face. “It’s been a while, Chuck. I thought you were with Brian.” Sanford was normally assigned to guard Brian Turner, the president’s son.
    “I’ve been