Davey’s eyes dropped to Pip, and Isabel knew there was no point in continuing.
Suddenly, Davey jumped up and signed, “Goodnight,” and without a kiss or a hug for anyone, not even George, he ran to his room.
George slumped back into the sofa as Isabel left to get Davey dressed for bed. He glowered at Ed, but the former general didn’t notice or care; he had moved to the window and was gazing out at the snow flurries. After a minute, Ed gave George a curt nod, turned and walked off, leaving George to stew in front of the fire alone.
ISABEL sat cross-legged on the bed with Davey.
“A cross-your-heart promise means something,” he signed at her. Deep in his own heart, he was sure she’d broken her promise because Ed had wanted her to. It was always Ed’s fault. All Ed had needed to say was no. He was the man in the house. When Isabel ran for president, Ed was going to be First Man; the papers said so, and a First Man must be really important, or he wouldn’t be first. So, if Ed had just said no, it would all be over and they would all go up to the shack. That’s what George said, and George knew about stuff because he was old. But Ed didn’t say no.
Davey pushed Isabel away as thoughts started pouring out to him; if only he knew how to sign them.
At least he didn’t scream.
46
THE PRESIDENT-ELECT stood behind the lectern in the Transition Office pressroom, flanked by David Prescott and Isabel, and a wall of oak veneer behind him with a logo of “The Office of the President-Elect”. His tone had been even, his demeanour calm but purposeful. With his announcement over, his eyes skimmed across the ragged carpet of raised hands and he gave the first nod to the Chicago Tribune reporter, who was guaranteed to ask a safe starter question since Don Thomas had set it up.
“Sir, can you give us some background to this appointment?”
“Sure, Anne. Representative… or should I say, Ambassador Prescott,” said Foster, “has worked over many years developing close links with China…”
Don Thomas, standing at the side, twisted around to watch the press’s reactions.
Bobby Foster continued, “and when I offered him the ambassadorship, not only did he accept but, conscious of his responsibility as the likely new House Speaker, he sought my counsel. Isabel Diaz was the obvious choice to us both… as Speaker, I mean. Unconventional, sure, but obvious when you think about it. I have spoken to the leadership of both Parties and, as I already mentioned, I am delighted to say that she has their unwavering support and we all expect the House to elect her at its first session on…”
“Do?a Isabel, why are you doing this?” It was the correspondent from Miami’s El Nuevo Herald. He was fresh to the Washington press gaggle and blurted out his question without waiting for the President to finish, let alone being called.
Isabel tilted her head toward Foster.
“Go ahead,” he said, forcing a smile through gritted teeth, and he stepped back from the lectern to make room for her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking his spot. “For this phase of my life I deeply wanted to serve the American people but, in case you missed it, things didn’t go as I planned…,” though she did get the laughs she planned. “And you know,” she shrugged, “when the President of the United States asks…”
“Ms Diaz…”
Another one! Foster was incensed.
“Los Angeles Times… Isn’t there an irony here, ma’am? My read of the succession rules says you’ll be next-in-line after Vice-President Taylor if anything, God forbid, should happen to the President. That’s right, isn’t it?”
The reporter’s analysis was only half correct. As Don Thomas had explained it to Foster and as most legal commentators were now busy scribbling, there was simply no way Isabel could become president; at least not without a Supreme Court bench that would be bold enough to upend centuries of settled constitutional law, and that wasn’t going to happen.
Isabel smiled at the reporter, “There’s no irony. It’s just plain irrelevant.” No one seemed to mind she’d ducked the question.
47
THE REAL GOAL—panicking voters into Hank Clemens’ arms to deliver the election—had failed. But after the guerrilla “ImposterFoster” campaign to destabilise Foster’s new presidency had gone viral, it had paid off in an unexpected way. Levering Isabel into a post that was prize Democrat booty was a sign of Foster’s desperation, which the conspirators had been able to relish for the few days prior to it becoming public knowledge.
“Outstanding press conference,” said Dwayne. Despite being voice-masked, as they all were, his code-name flashed up on all the phone screens.
Isis snapped, “What was that?”
“The press conference. I said it was…”
“No, the background noise.”
“Oh? I was riffling through the newspaper. Sorry,” said Diana. “That line, There’s no irony. It’s plain irrelevant. How good was that?”