Power Curve by Richard Herman Page A

apologize, Mr. William. I know I shouldn’t run.”
    “Well, thank you, Miss Sarah. I do appreciate that. You do seem happy today.”
    “Brian, my brother, is coming back from school. He’s going to live here and go to the Academy in Georgetown.” She spun away and danced down the hall, not quite running. William smiled and shook his head. The staff was buzzing with rumors about the president’s son returning from boarding school. The most popular gossip held that he was being kicked out because of discipline problems. But cooler heads maintained the Secret Service was worried about threats and thought he would be safer in the White House.
    Madeline Turner came out of the dining room with her mother. The two women spoke quietly for a moment, outof his hearing, before they parted. Turner took the few steps to her private study, and William followed, the day’s routine underway. She settled into her spot on the couch. “Well, William, I imagine the rumors are flying.”
    “Indeed they are, Madam President.”
    A pensive look spread across her face. “What’s the betting?”
    William poured her a fresh cup of coffee. “Two to one that it’s a discipline problem.”
    “And your bet?”
    “I don’t engage in that type of thing,” William answered.
    “A safe bet would be that it’s a security problem,” Turner said.
    William smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.” He withdrew in time to hold the door for Shaw and Jackie Winters.
    “Good morning, Mrs. President,” Jackie said, preempting Shaw.
    “Mizz President,” he said, flopping into the couch opposite her. He handed her the day’s schedule as Jackie settled into her usual niche. The PDB followed in short order.
    She scanned the thin document. “China seems very quiet.”
    “I agree with the analysis that it’s a lull while Beijing feels out your administration. But we do want to stay on top of it. Harry S. was one of the best men to sit in the Oval Office. He warned that domestic policy can hurt you but foreign policy will kill you.” They continued with the routine, and he handed her the day’s action list. “Mizz President, you can’t put off selecting your V.P. much longer. If you want, I’ll get a list together and have the FBI and Treasury check ’em out.”
    “Jackie, please wait for me downstairs.” Her personal assistant quickly left, leaving them alone. “I’ve already made my decision,” Turner said. “Gwen Anderson.”
    “Mrs. Integrity?” The look on Shaw’s face resembled that of a maiden aunt who has just discovered a sexually transmitted disease has been named after her favorite niece. Gwen Anderson, the current secretary of health and human services, was considered the most ardent feministin the administration and reported to be incorruptible. For Shaw, the first was an inconvenience, the second, a fatal liability. “Ma’am, you really need to think about this. You need balance to your administration.”
    “I’m concerned with ability, not balance,” Turner continued. “I’ve spoken with her, and she’ll be here this afternoon for further discussions. She has been very forthcoming and assures me there are no skeletons in her closet.”
    “Mizz President,” Shaw protested, “surely you’re not going to take her word on that?”
    “You’re right. Have the FBI check her out. Do it quick. But there are no dents in her armor.”
    “All we have to do is find the key to her chastity belt,” Shaw muttered.
    “Do I sense a hesitation, Patrick?”
    “Yes, ma’am. You certainly do. You should be thinking ahead to the next election and choosing your running mate now. To be viable, you need a veep from an anchor state who can breeze through the confirmation hearings. Don’t go revving your engine when you haven’t got gas in the tank.”
    “Is this your lecture on spending political capital?” Turner asked.
    “Yes, ma’am, it is, and we’re running on about a quarter tank. It was touch and go getting the Senate to