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questions later. It was a well-established routine in the White House.
    “Charles,” he said through the still-open door, “would you please get some coffee.” He reread the transcript and thought about the young woman still standing in front of him. “Please sit down,” he told her, motioning to a comfortable armchair next to him. “What do you think Leo will say when he learns you woke me up so early?” He glanced at a small carriage clock on the desk. Leo Cox, a former general in the United States Air Force, ran a relaxed but well-controlled office for the President.
    “He’s already said it, Mr. President. I called him before I called Charles to wake you. General Cox should be here in fifteen minutes.” On cue, Charles walked in with a fresh pot of coffee.
    “Was he the only other person you woke?”
    “Yes, sir,” she answered, now certain she had done the right thing. The gentle warmth in his voice was very reassuring.
    Pontowski smiled, pleased with her. Cox does pick the right people, he thought. She keyed on the political sensitivity of this immediately and wasn’t afraid to get the ball rolling. How much further can she carry it? “What do you recommend I should do first?” he asked, his voice serious.
    “Make a personal phone call to Senator Courtland with the news,” she answered immediately, “and arrange a meeting with him at the first opportunity.”
    Pontowski picked up the phone and spoke to the operator. “Please put me in contact with Senator Courtland immediately.” He hung up. “How do you think the good senator will respond?” he asked.
    “He’ll try to crucify you with it, sir.”
     
    William Douglas Courtland stretched an arm over the sleeping girl to pick up the telephone. The first insistent ring had woken him and he was fully alert. “Yes,” he said, not letting the touch of hostility he felt at being disturbed show in his voice. “Of course, I’ll take the call.”
    The girl stirred as he sat upright and pulled the covers away. “Oh…what…?” she mumbled. The dewiness of sleep gave her the look of a twelve-year-old nymph.
    Courtland placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver. “It’s Pontowski,” he told her. “I need to take this in private.” She nodded and slipped out of bed. He smiled at her as she disappeared naked into the bathroom. She’s younger-looking than most of them, he thought, but a hell of a lot smarter. “Yes, Mr. President,” he said, his voice now smooth and rich. He listened silently, making the appropriate responses. Then: “Yes, thank you for calling and I’ll be there.” He hung up and sank into the pillows.
    “Can you make some coffee?” he called.
    “Coming right up,” the girl answered and appeared in the bathroom’s doorway, still not dressed. “Trouble?”
    Courtland grunted an answer and watched her walk across the room, dragging a towel. She is beautiful, he thought, and the same age as Heather. He worked through the contradictory emotions he felt for his daughter. Heather in trouble again, this time serious. Goddamn! Why couldn’t she stay low-profile? Out of trouble. And who in the hell has kidnapped her? I never did think much of her going on that trip anyway, not that telling her would have made a difference. Probably just made her more determined to do it.
    The senator thumbed through his small black notebook, finding the telephone number he wanted. He quickly dialed the number, calling Troy Spencer’s parents. “Hello, Keenan? Bill Courtland here. I’m afraid our kids are in some trouble.” He went smoothly through the motions of telling the Spencers what he knew about the kidnapping and reassuring them that everything possible was being done. “I’ve already contacted the President and he’s agreed to see me first thing,” hetold them. “Yes, I’m quite sure he will be responsive to this. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll call you right after I see him.”
    Courtland hung up and smiled when he