Dark Ambition by Allan Topol Page A

wife in town?" she said.
    He knew her well enough to tell she was pouting. Trying to cheer her up, he laughed. "If Alice were here, she wouldn't stop me for a minute. I'm afraid that I'm chained to my desk on account of Winthrop's death."
    "Oh. I guess I can understand that. I saw you on Headlines last night. You sounded good, although your shirt was wrinkled."
    Slater laughed again. "I've got no one to iron for me."
    This time she laughed with him. "That won't be me. I don't iron."
    "I didn't think so. You know that I'll see you as soon as I can."
    "I know that, Jim."
    "Meantime, we'll talk."
    When he hung up the phone, Slater resumed pacing. He was a tall, handsome man, with a well-conditioned, athletic look that made him seem younger than his fifty-five years. Dressed in a dapper double-breasted gray pinstripe suit from Gieves & Hawkes on Savile Row—where he shopped twice a year—navy suspenders, and a monogrammed bold striped shirt that had become his trademark, topped off with gold presidential-seal cuff links, he was an imposing figure. With his thick head of dark brown hair parted in the center and pasted down, he looked very much like the New York investment banker he had been as chairman of Bullman and Glass, one of the largest investment banking firms in the world, before Brewster selected him to be secretary of the treasury two years ago. He exuded confidence and success. His appearance had contributed to the adjective "unflappable" that was frequently used to describe Slater in the Washington press.
    Last year, when a rash of scandals brought the Brewster administration to its low point of a thirty percent approval rating, the President had moved Slater from the treasury to White House chief of staff. Slowly but surely, under Slater's cool stewardship, the President's standing had risen in the polls. Congressional Democrats had applauded Slater's efforts, thrilled that someone with a sharp analytical mind and not merely a political hack occupied that critical position in the White House. Increasingly, Slater was being mentioned as the next chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, which he viewed as the most important office in Washington next to being president. Now all of that was at risk.
    In New York, Slater had prided himself on being able to find a way to do any deal and solve any problem. He had brought that ability with him when he came to Washington. He would find a way to deal with this situation. He would steer Brewster through this minefield, just as he had steered the CEOs of so many Fortune 500 companies through their minefields.
    The phone rang again. This time it was Ed Fulton on Slater's office phone. "Is this a good time for a progress report, Mr. Slater?" Fulton asked.
    "Fire away," Slater said in the curt voice he used with subordinates.
    "The prosecutor you wanted, Ben Hartwell, will be here soon to help us get the search warrant."
    "Do you and Traynor still think that the gardener killed Winthrop?"
    "We're sure of it."
    "What was his motive?"
    "Robbery. Gillis needed cash. Winthrop had plenty of it in the house."
    Slater tapped his manicured fingers on the desk. "Before you arrest this gardener, you'd better have an ironclad case. Am I making myself clear?" Slater imagined Fulton trembling at the other end of the phone.
    "Yes, sir. You are."
    "Because you know what would hurt President Brewster next November even worse than Winthrop's death don't you?"
    "Yes, sir. Arresting the wrong man."
    "No, arresting an African American who was the wrong man."
    "I got that, sir."
    "But if you and Traynor tell me after you do the search that he's the one, I won't second-guess you. I'll make sure that we nail his ass. Are you getting me?"
    "Yes, sir, Mr. Slater. Loud and clear."
    * * *
    Before going to the FBI to meet Fulton and Traynor, Ben stopped at his own office in the U.S. Courthouse, a few blocks away. From the bookshelf he pulled down a large dark green volume—this year's issue of Lawyers