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to the voice, jumped to his feet, and eight minutes later was in the Oval Office. No shower, no tie. He stared at Fletcher Coal, his chief of staff, and sat properly behind his desk.
    Coal was smiling. His perfect teeth and bald head were shining. Only thirty-seven, he was the boy wonder who four years earlier had rescued a failing campaignand placed his boss in the White House. He was a guileful manipulator and a nasty henchman who had cut and clawed his way through the inner circle until he was now second in command. Many viewed him as the real boss. The mere mention of his name terrified lowly staffers.
    “What happened?” the President asked slowly.
    Coal paced in front of the President’s desk. “Don’t know much. They’re both dead. Two FBI agents found Rosenberg around 1 A.M. Dead in bed. His nurse and a Supreme Court policeman were also murdered. All three shot in the head. A very clean job. While the FBI and D.C. police were investigating, they got a call that Jensen had been found dead in some queer club. They found him a couple of hours ago. Voyles called me at four, and I called you. He and Gminski should be here in a minute.”
    “Gminski?”
    “The CIA should be included, at least for now.”
    The President folded his hands behind his head and stretched. “Rosenberg is dead.”
    “Yes. Quite. I suggest you address the nation in a couple of hours. Mabry is working on a rough draft. I’ll finish it. Let’s wait until daylight, at least seven. If not, it’ll be too early and we’ll lose much of our audience.”
    “The press—”
    “Yes. It’s out. They filmed the ambulance crew rolling Jensen into the morgue.”
    “I didn’t know he was gay.”
    “Not much doubt about it now. This is the perfect crisis, Mr. President. Think of it. We didn’t create it. It’s not our fault. No one can blame us. And thenation will be shocked into some degree of solidarity. It’s rally around the leader time. It’s just great. No downside.”
    The President sipped a cup of coffee and stared at the papers on his desk. “And I’ll get to restructure the Court.”
    “That’s the best part. It’ll be your legacy. I’ve already called Duvall at Justice and instructed him to contact Horton and begin a preliminary list of nominees. Horton gave a speech in Omaha last night, but he’s flying in now. I suggest we meet with him later this morning.”
    The President nodded with his customary approval of Coal’s suggestions. He allowed Coal to sweat the details. He had never been a detail man himself. “Any suspects?”
    “Not yet. I don’t know, really. I told Voyles that you would expect a briefing when he arrived.”
    “I thought someone said the FBI was protecting the Supreme Court.”
    Coal smiled wider and chuckled. “Exactly. The egg is on Voyles’ face. It’s quite embarrassing, really.”
    “Great. I want Voyles to get his share of the blame. Take care of the press. I want him humiliated. Then maybe we can run his ass off.”
    Coal loved this thought. He stopped pacing and scribbled a note on his legal pad. A security guard knocked on the door, then opened it. Directors Voyles and Gminski entered together. The mood was suddenly somber as all four shook hands. The two sat before the President’s desk as Coal took his customary position standing near a window, to the side of the President. He hated Voyles and Gminski, and theyhated him. Coal thrived on hatred. He had the President’s ear, and that was all that mattered. He would become quiet for a few minutes. It was important to allow the President to take charge when others were present.
    “I’m very sorry you’re here, but thanks for coming,” the President said. They nodded grimly and acknowledged this obvious lie. “What happened?”
    Voyles spoke quickly and to the point. He described the scene at Rosenberg’s home when the bodies were found. At 1 A.M. each night, Sergeant Ferguson routinely checked in with the agents sitting in the