LITMIR.BIZ

       6

       Chevy Chase, Maryland, Monday, 9.25pm

      Robert Kassian considered asking the Secret Service man to knock on the man’s door, but feared that might backfire. The mere sight of an agent on a suburban street (and no matter how much they bragged to the contrary, they always looked obvious) would attract too much attention, might scare their man off.

      But neither could they simply turn up themselves, unannounced. That too would get attention. Even if he was not recognizable, Jim Bruton was. Within a few minutes, somebody would have tweeted a photo with the caption: Guess who just turned up in this neighbourhood. What *are* they up to?

      The obvious solution was to call ahead. But every call on their phones was logged. Same was true of the driver’s. It was not worth the risk.

      So they simply pulled up in Kassian’s official car – which was fractionally the less visible of the two – and asked the driver to go knock on the door and inform Dr Jeffrey Frankel that the White House Chief of Staff was waiting outside on an urgent matter and ask if he would be so kind as to allow him to come in.

      To Kassian’s relief, the doctor and his wife were alone. No house full of teenagers, no Washington dinner party: that, he hoped, would reduce the likelihood of a leak. Dr Frankel said nothing in the hallway, though when he saw that there were two of them – that the Defense Secretary was here too – he furrowed his brow. He waved them into his study, which looked out onto the street.

      ‘Excuse me,’ Kassian said, closing the curtains without asking the doctor’s permission. ‘Just to ensure a little more privacy.’

      Dr Frankel’s face creased in irritation. He looked older than the sixty-four years registered in the White House personnel database. His face was lined, even wizened. What hair he had was white and wiry, framing a birdlike face.

      Kassian looked around. There were pictures on display on every available surface: Frankel and wife on vacation in Florida; Frankel and daughters deep-sea fishing; Frankel raising a glass at a bar mitzvah; relaxed and smiling with adult children and a horde of grandchildren, at what appeared to be a Thanksgiving dinner.

      Of the fact that Frankel was physician to the President of the United States, and that he had ministered to several other key Washington players, there was no sign. Kassian had seen enough private studies in this town to know this was unusual. The lack of an ‘ego wall’ made Frankel a rare creature. Everyone said they cherished family above all, but this man seemed to mean it.

      ‘Dr Frankel,’ he began at last. ‘It’s very good of you to see us at home and at such short notice.’

      ‘All right.’ Translation: Don’t waste my time with pleasantries. Kassian remembered that one of the very few groups of people who had as high an opinion of themselves as politicians were doctors. They were very seldom overawed.

      Now Bruton spoke. ‘Doctor, we wouldn’t be here unless we had one helluva big problem.’

      ‘I’m sure. But why is your problem my problem, Mr Bruton?’

      ‘Because we need your help.’

      Kassian tried to make amends by adding swiftly, ‘We need your judgement.’

      ‘Enough with the riddles. Tell me what’s going on.’

      Bruton led, as always. He proceeded to describe what had happened during the night. He dropped in the odd military term, always useful when trying to strong-arm a civilian, but otherwise kept it straight. At the end, the Defense Secretary looked over at Kassian. His eyes said: Close the deal.

      Kassian swallowed, then said, ‘Dr Frankel. The United States constitution allows for this situation. The Twenty-fifth Amendment says—’

      ‘I know what it says. I’m the Chief Physician at the White House. Of course I know what it says.’

      ‘So now you know why we’re here.’

      ‘Have you spoken to the Vice President and the other cabinet secretaries? The amendment is very clear that any declaration that the President is unfit “to discharge the powers and duties of his office” has to come from the Vice President and a majority of the heads of those departments of the federal government. They’re the ones you should be talking to.’

      Kassian shot a look at Bruton. The Vice President was all but an unknown quantity, to them and to the rest of Washington. A former mayor plucked from obscurity by the President, he had cannily allowed himself to become a blank screen on which every faction could project their fantasies. The op-ed pages, along with a cluster of House liberals, imagined him to be the moderate on a white charger who would ride to the republic’s rescue. Meanwhile the party’s ideologically pure wing nurtured the hope that he was a conservative true believer, just waiting for the right moment to emerge. Neither camp had much to go on besides its own wishful thinking.

      ‘Sir, with all due respect,’ said Kassian. ‘I think those individuals’ first response would be to ask for an expert medical opinion.’

      ‘That’s what I’d ask for,’ Bruton said, before adding, ‘So this ball is going to come bouncing back to you, one way or another.’

      ‘Especially,’ Kassian said

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