Power Play

Eric Hainny stepped forward. “Madame Secretary, I am here on the president’s behalf to request your resignation, effective immediately. Your lawyers and the White House will work out how and when your stepping down will be announced to the world.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. “If you resign voluntarily, the president will see to it there is a suitable period before the Justice Department considers any criminal or civil charges.”

Day Abbott said to Savich, “I want to see my father. I want to see him now.” On his way out the door, he stopped beside Perry, simply looked at her. “You’re my sister. I wonder if I’ll ever see you as a sister,” and Day Abbott walked from his mother’s office.

Sherlock watched the secretary of state walk to her desk, sit down in the high-backed leather chair, take a Montblanc from her pen tray, and sign her name to the paper. She never read it.

Savich’s house

Wednesday evening

Perry stood in the living room doorway for a moment, her eyes on her mother. She’d been through so much since George had died—his son William Charles, Arliss, Day, the press—but she’d kept it together, managed to protect and support Perry through all of it. And Hooley and Connie, too. Tonight, Perry thought, was for her mom.

She announced from the doorway, “I’ve got steaming-hot pizzas from Dizzy Dan’s, veggie for Dillon and pepperoni and sausage for the rest of us, all waiting on the dining room table.”

Sherlock said, “We’ve even got nice paper plates and a big bottle of champagne.”

Pizza, Natalie thought, as she rose, smiling, toward her daughter—when was the last time she’d bit into cheese so hot her teeth burned? She knew very well why her daughter had insisted they all come over to the Savich household tonight—to cheer her up, as well as celebrate their victory. What an odd way to think of bringing down George’s son and learning her best friend had betrayed her. Well, I’m still alive, so if that isn’t a victory I don’t know what is. A victory. She’d take it. Natalie was thinking she did indeed need cheering up, maybe even a victory dance, but what she needed more was time to come to grips with all that had happened. But after the pizza and after tonight.

Once the champagne was poured, Perry raised her glass. “Mom, it’s over and we’re all safe, thanks to everyone here and Hooley and Connie. Let’s drink up before the pizza’s cold.”

Halfway into her second slice of pizza, Natalie said, “Is there any more news since this morning about William?”

Savich wiped his hands on a napkin. “I know Homeland Security spoke to him today at the federal prison infirmary at Lockport. The doctors are very encouraging about his wound. Oh, yes, and Sir Giles Lamont-Smythe, the British ambassador, visited with him and acknowledged him as Viscount Lockenby. He said the British government has no reason to bring charges against William at the moment, since they have no proof he broke any British laws. He said he’d be speaking with you, Natalie.”

“Yes, Giles called me this afternoon. He’s a nice man, a friend of George’s for years. He was happy it’s over. I’m pleased Scotland Yard has ended the investigation. If they consider any future charges that have anything to do with me, I told him I wouldn’t be a party to it. I might as well tell you now—I’m going to try to get as many of the charges as I can against William dropped here at home.”

“Mom, he nearly killed Hooley.”

Davis said, “Natalie, are you certain about this? He’s dangerous, unstable, and Perry’s right, he nearly killed Hooley, not to mention a United States ambassador—namely, you.”

Natalie looked at the sea of baffled faces. “I know he’ll go to prison for what he did to Mark, but please try to understand. No matter what else he is, William Charles is George’s son. No matter William up and left England at eighteen to search out who he was and where he belonged, George loved him dearly. And William loved him, none of you can doubt that.

“I can’t, I simply can’t destroy the son his father loved so very much. Yes, I know he will go to prison, but I won’t contribute to throwing away the key. For George’s sake, I’m going to try to help him.” She smiled at all of them. “Perhaps in the process, he’ll come to believe I wasn’t responsible for his father’s death. Perhaps soon, William and I can grieve for his father together.”

She was a romantic, a complete over-the-top optimist, Savich thought. He himself couldn’t begin to guess if William Charles McCallum was even capable of changing his mind, but he prayed she was right. He said, “I suppose you’ll also be speaking to Director Comey?”