“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I say, forcing a grin.

He heads to the right, while I make my way to the left. Although I’m surrounded by fellow employees, the hallway’s never felt more empty. As I’m about to turn the corner, I take one last look at the uniformed officers. The two behind the desk are focused on the line. The one by the X-ray is still watching me. Pretending I don’t notice, I hold my breath and make a quick right. The moment I’m out of sight, I take off. Straight for Trey’s.

I throw open the door to Trey’s office and check his desk. He’s nowhere in sight.

“Can I help you?” his officemate Steve asks.

“Have you seen Trey?” I shoot back, struggling to look like I’m not out of breath.

“No, I-”

“I saw him,” a third officemate interrupts. “I think… uh… I think he had his head stuck up the First Lady’s rear end.”

“That’s right,” Steve says, laughing. “Hell of a photo-op. We brought in some kids. Put her in a living room setting. Fluffy throw pillows. Soft focus on the camera. Real deliverable.”

Press secretaries. Always comedians.

I grab a Post-it, jot a quick note, and slap it against Trey’s computer screen. “Find me. 911!”

“Great code,” Steve says. “Way better than Morse.” Storming back to the hallway, I slam the door as I leave. Once again, I’m drowning in silence. I have to talk to someone-even if it’s just to figure out the next step. As I nervously check the marble hallway, the first person who comes to mind is Pam. I can go to her and… What am I thinking? I can’t. Not after what happened. Not yet. Besides, with Vaughn dead, this whole thing’s about to jackknife. Which means the last place I want to be is behind the wheel of the truck. I don’t care if it’s an election year-I’ve been avoiding it since I left the hotel-I need to go upstairs.

Racing across the soft red carpet of the Ground Floor Corridor, I see a phalanx of sightseers in the middle of a VIP White House tour led by one of the Secret Service tour guides. As I blow past them, two people take my picture. They think I’m famous. If things keep going in this direction, they’re going to be right.

I don’t stop until I reach the uniformed guard who sits outside the movie theater. “Can I ask you a favor?” I beg, my voice racing.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me, judging.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” I begin, “but I was using the bathroom in the OEOB… ”

“Which one?”

“On the first floor-the one near Cabinet Affairs. Anyway, I’m in the stall and I hear two interns bragging about the… uh”-I motion over my shoulder toward the utility box-“about the gun you keep in there.” He sits up straight. “Maybe I heard it wrong-they were whispering the whole time-but it sounded like they either knew a gun was there, or that they had taken a gun from there. It may just be bragging but… ”

He leaps from his seat, sending his chair sliding backwards across the marble floor. Warning me to stand back, he pulls a set of keys from his belt and heads for the still semidented utility box. I watch silently as he fights with the lock-it’s stuck. My whole body’s burning up. It’s like someone’s pounding on my skull. All I hear is the jingling of keys. He’s standing in front of me-I can’t see a thing. It looks like he’s pulling on the door. Harder. Harder. Then… I hear the scratch of rusted metal. The door swings open, and the guard looks back at me. Stepping out of the way, he lets me see it for myself. The gun is sitting right where it’s supposed to be.

“Sorry,” I say with forced relief. “I must’ve heard it wrong.”

“It appears that way, doesn’t it?”

I shrug and turn around, backtracking past the Lincoln statue. The moment I turn the corner, I shoot out of there, running as fast as I can through the Ground Floor Corridor. It’s a good sign, but she could’ve easily put it back.

Three-quarters down the hallway, as I approach the main staircase to the Residence, I finally slow down. As always, my ID and a decisive nod get me past the downstairs guard. “One up,” he whispers into his walkie-talkie.

I fly up the stairs two at a time knowing I’m going to be stopped. I could’ve called her to clear me in, but I didn’t want anyone to know I was coming. Surprise is all I have left-and despite the gun, I still want to see her reaction myself. Sure enough, as I reach the State Floor, two Secret Service officers block my way.

“Can I help you?” the one with black hair asks.

“I need to see Nora. It’s an emergency.”

“And you are… ”

“Tell her it’s Michael-she’ll know.”

Checking me out, he takes a quick look at my ID. “I’m sorry-she asked not to be disturbed.”

I try to keep calm. “Listen, I don’t mean to be a pain. Just give her a call. It’s important.”

“You already got your answer,” the second officer adds. “What word didn’t you understand?”

“I understood all of them. I’m just trying to save us some headache.”

“Listen, sir… ”

“No, you listen,” I push back. “I came here completely civilized-you’re the one who picked the fight. Now I’ve got a real crisis to deal with, so you have one of two choices: You can make a simple phone call and explain that it’s an emergency, or you can brush me away and deal with the wrath of Nora yourself when she finds out that you’re the one who caused this shithouse of a mess. Personally, I’m partial to the latter-I love bloodsports.”

He studies me carefully, moving in close. Eventually, he growls, “Those’re my orders… sir. She’s not to be disturbed.”

Refusing to give in, I look up at the small surveillance camera hidden in the air-conditioning vent. Time to go over his head. “Harry, I know you’re watching… ”

“I’m asking you to leave,” the officer warns.

“Just call her,” I plead toward the ceiling. “All you have to do is-” Before I can finish, three plainclothes officers run up the stairs. Leading the way is Harry.

“We told him she didn’t want to be bothered,” the officer explains.

“I have to see her, Harry. I-” The officer cuts me off by seizing the back of my neck in a tight grip.

“Loosen up,” Harry warns.

“But he-”

“I want to hear what he has to say, Parness.” Parness gets the picture. Uniformed officers don’t argue with plainclothes.

Following instructions, he relaxes just a bit.

“Now where’s the fire?” Harry asks.

“I have to speak to her.”

“For personal reasons or official White House business?”

“C’mon, you know what it’s about. You were there that night.”

He throws me the most subtle of nods.

“It’s important, Harry. I wouldn’t come like this if it weren’t. Please.”

The other officers stare him down. They all know Nora’s orders. She didn’t want to be bothered. Still, it’s all in his court. Finally, he says, “We’ll call her.”

I smile faintly.

He heads into the nearby Usher’s Office and picks up the phone. I can’t hear what he’s saying, and to make sure we don’t read his lips, he turns his back to us.

When he’s done, he comes back into the stairwell. He looks at me deadpan. “Today’s your lucky day.”

I breathe deeply once and run for the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the officer with the black hair opening the visitors log to record my name. Shaking his head, Harry stops him. “Not this one,” he says.