Young White House attorney Michael Garrick becomes enmeshed in a deadly conspiracy when he gets too close to Nora Harston, the president's sexy daughter, and finds himself on the run, accused of a murder he did not commit.

The First Counsel

By Brad Meltzer

Warner Adult

Copyright © 2001 Brad Meltzer
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9781570429897

Chapter One

I'm afraid of heights, snakes, normalcy, mediocrity, Hollywood, theinitial silence of an empty house, the enduring darkness of a poorlylit street, evil clowns, professional failure, the intellectualimpact of Barbie dolls, letting my father down, being paralyzed,hospitals, doctors, the cancer that killed my mother, dyingunexpectedly, dying for a stupid reason, dying painfully, and, worstof all, dying alone. But I'm not afraid of power-which is why I workin the White House.

As I sit in the passenger seat of my beat-up, rusty blue Jeep, Ican't help but stare at my date, the beautiful young woman who'sdriving my car. Her long, thin fingers hold the steering wheel in acommanding grip that lets both of us know who's in charge. I couldcare less, though-as the car flies up Connecticut Avenue, I'm farmore content studying the way her short black hair licks the back ofher neck. For security reasons, we keep the windows closed, but thatdoesn't stop her from opening the sunroof. Letting the warm,early-September air sweep through her hair, she leans back andenjoys the freedom. She then adds her final personal touch to thecar: She turns on the radio, flips through my preset stations, andshakes her head.

"This is what you like?" Nora asks. "Talk radio?"

"It's for work." Pointing to the dashboard and hoping to be cool, Iadd, "The last one has music."

She calls my bluff and hits the last button. More talk radio. "Youalways this predictable?" she asks.

"Only when I-" Before I can finish, the shriek of an electric guitarpierces my eardrum. She's found her station.

Tapping her thumbs against the steering wheel and bobbing her headto the beat, Nora looks completely alive.

"This is what you like?" I shout back over the noise. "Thrashradio?"

"Only way to stay young," she says with a grin. She's kicking myshins and she loves it. At twenty-two years of age, Nora Hartson issmart. And way too confident. She knows I'm self-conscious about thedifference in our ages-she knew it the first moment I told her I wastwenty-nine. She didn't care, though.

"Think that's going to scare me off?" she had asked.

"If it does, that's your mistake."

That's when I had her. She needed the challenge. Especially a sexualone. For too long, things had been easy for her. And as Nora is sokeenly aware, there's no fun in always getting what you want. Thething is, that's likely to be her lot in life. For better or worse,that's her power. Nora is attractive, engaging, and extremelycaptivating. She's also the daughter of the President of the UnitedStates.

As I said, I'm not afraid of power.

The car heads toward Dupont Circle, and I glance at my watch,wondering when our first date is going to end. It's quarter pasteleven, but Nora seems to just be getting started. As we pull up toa place called Tequila Mockingbird, I roll my eyes. "Another bar?""You gotta have at least a little foreplay," she teases. I look overlike I hear it all the time. It doesn't fool her for a second. God,I love America. "Besides," she adds, "this is a good one-no oneknows this place."

"So we'll actually have some privacy?" Instinctively, I check therearview mirror. The black Chevy Suburban that followed us out ofthe White House gate and to every subsequent stop we made is stillright behind us. The Secret Service never lets go.

"Don't worry about them," she says. "They don't know what's coming."

Before I can ask her to explain, I see a man in khakis standing atthe side entrance of Tequila Mockingbird. He points to a reservedparking spot and waves us toward him. Even before he pushes thebutton in his hand and whispers into the collar of hisstruggling-to-be-casual polo shirt, I know who he is. SecretService. Which means we don't have to wait in the long line outfront-he'll take us in the side. Not a bad way to barhop, if you askme. Of course, Nora sees it differently.

"Ready to rain on his parade?" she asks.

I nod, unsure of what she's up to, but barely able to contain mysmile. The First Daughter, and I mean the First Daughter, is sittingnext to me, in my crappy car, asking me to follow her under thelimbo stick. I can already taste the salsa.

Just as we make eye contact with the agent outside the Mockingbird,Nora rolls past the bar, and instead heads to a dance club halfwayup the block. I turn around and check out the agent's expression.He's not amused. I can read his lips from here. "Shadow moving," hegrowls into his collar.

"Wait a minute-didn't you tell them we were going to theMockingbird?"

"Let me ask you a question: When you go out, do you think it's funto have the Secret Service check out the place before you getthere?"

I pause to think about it. "Actually, it seems pretty cool to me."

She laughs. "Well, I hate it. The moment they walk in, the reallyinteresting people hit the exits." Pointing to the Suburban that'sstill behind us, she adds, "The ones who follow me, I can deal with.It's the advance guys that wreck the party. Besides, this keepseveryone on their toes."

As we pull up to the valet, I try to think of something witty tosay. That's when I see him. Standing at the front entrance of ournewest destination is another man whispering into the collar of hisshirt. Like the agent who was standing outside the Mockingbird, he'sdressed in Secret Service casual standards: khakis and ashort-sleeve polo. To call as little attention to Nora as possible,the agents try their best to be invisible-their attire is keyed totheir protectee's. Of course, they think they blend in, but last Ichecked, most people in khakis don't carry guns and talk into thecollars of their shirts. Either way, though, I'm impressed. Theyknow her better than I thought.

"So, we going in or what?" I ask, motioning toward the valet, who'swaiting for Nora to open her door.

Nora doesn't answer. Her piercing green eyes, which were persuasiveenough to convince me to let her drive, are now staring vacantly outthe window.

I tap her playfully on the shoulder. "So they knew you were coming.Big deal-that's their job."

"That's not it."

"Nora, we're all creatures of habit. Just because they know yourroutine-"

"That's the problem!" she shouts. "I was being spontaneous!"

Behind the outburst, there's a pain in her voice that catches me offguard. Despite the years of watching her on TV, it's the first timeI've seen her open her soft side, and even though it's with a yell,I jump right in. My playful shoulder-tap turns into a soothingcaress. "Forget this place-we'll find somewhere new."

She glares angrily at the agent near the front door. He grins back.They've played this game before. "We're out of here," she growls.With a quick pump of the gas, our tires screech and we're on to ournext stop. As we take off, I again check the rearview mirror. TheSuburban, as always, is right behind us.

"They ever let up?" I ask.

"Goes with the territory," she says, sounding like she's been kickedin the gut.

Hoping to cheer her up, I say, "Forget those monkeys. Who cares ifthey know where you-"

"Spend two weeks doing it. That'll change your tune."

"Not me. My tune stays the same: Love the guys with guns. Love theguys with guns. Love the guys with guns. We're talkin' mantra here."

The joke is easy, but it works. She fights back the tiniest smile."Gotta love those guns." Taking a deep breath, she runs her handacross the back of her neck and through the tips of her black hair.I think she's finally starting to relax. "Thanks again for lettingme drive-I was starting to miss it."

"If it makes you feel better, you're an excellent...