“Somalia.” The secretary of defense, Billy Cannon, never had a problem with interrupting Manny. Usually because he was right. “We should be running exercises with Somalia, because we’re going to have to do the real thing there soon enough. The chances of us actually engaging in open warfare with China seem remote at best. It’s about as useful as running a simulation of a zombie attack.”
The intern returned with a tray and put it down on the sideboard behind the president. He’d brought both a bowl of popcorn and bowls of tortilla chips and salsa, and he took them off the tray to place them on the table in front of the president. Manny watched how discreet the young man was, the way he waited until all the attention was focused on Billy before sliding the snacks in front of the president, the fact that he remembered that Steph liked her soda in a can, despite the White House staff’s determination to serve it to her in cut crystal. There was a particular skill in that, Manny thought, in knowing how to keep the people around you happy while still blending into the background. The intern’s name was Tim or Thomas or something like that, and Manny made a note to himself to see about keeping the kid on after his internship was over.
Manny put a hand on Steph’s shoulder, a familiarity he was afforded by both his position and the length of their relationship, and leaned over her to snag a handful of popcorn.
Billy Cannon and Ben Broussard were at it now, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff still arguing that this China simulation was useful, and Billy not backing down. Manny knew he should cap things, either move them past the exercise and get them out of the room, or go ahead and force Steph to go through the motions, but he enjoyed watching Billy Cannon argue. Billy Cannon came from money, but he looked as though he belonged in uniform. Unlike some of the generals who let themselves go once they’d gotten to the point where they could give orders instead of taking them, Billy was still trim, coiled, handsome, and dangerous-looking, with salt-and-pepper hair and a scar on his temple from hand-to-hand fighting when he was in combat. Billy’s wife had died four or five years ago, of breast cancer, and he’d only recently started dating. Manny could understand why the women in DC were dying to be on his arm. There was even talk that People magazine was considering him for the sexiest man thing. Sooner or later, Billy would decide to retire and then he’d run for some sort of office and he’d be a shoo-in.
“Enjoying the show?” The national security advisor, Alexandra Harris, rose partially off her seat and snagged a few tortilla chips. She didn’t bother with the salsa. Manny liked Alex, and even though they were often at odds on what to do with the information she brought to the president, he thought she’d been one of the best appointments Steph made. Alex was smart, fierce, and loyal, and whatever her opinion was going into a fight, as soon as the president made a decision, she was completely on board. You didn’t get to these heights without an acute sense of political survival and the kind of driving ambition you could see from outer space, but as far as Manny could tell, Alex was exactly where she wanted to be. She never tried to subvert the president. Besides, Alex was seventy-three. Too late for a presidential run of her own. Assuming Steph was reelected, Alex would serve out the first year of Steph’s second term and then retire to the countryside.
Steph finally spoke up, and there was a bit of an edge to her voice. Manny and Alex might both be amused by watching the secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs arguing over whether or not the simulation was even worth doing, but clearly the president was full up.
“Gentlemen,” she said to Ben and Billy, “I assure you I understand the importance of these exercises. You’re going to have to trust me when I tell you that in a time of crisis I will treat things more seriously. The next time we run one of these simulations I will have a better attitude, especially if the exercise is more pertinent, but today is not a time of crisis.” She rose from her chair, and everyone in the room who was sitting snapped to their feet.
He’d made the transition from lover to friend and then back to lover without difficulty, and he’d handled moving from the campaign trail to the White House with equanimity, but getting used to the ceremony that attended having one of his oldest friends go from “Steph, down the hall in my dorm,” to Stephanie Pilgrim, the first female president, had been hard. He’d never been one to stand on formality, but more often than not, since the election, he found himself having to actually stand as part of the formality.
“Madam President?” It was one of the uniformed officers at the bank of computers and monitors on the side of the room. There was a large set of monitors and screens on one wall so that the president and the other advisors could track details, but this officer was looking at something else. His voice was loud enough to cut through the room and bring the president to a stop. Normally an officer of his rank wouldn’t address the president directly unless asked a specific question.