CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
10:01 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
The White House Residence
Washington, DC
The clock was her nighttime friend.
It hung on the kitchen wall in the First Family Residence, and was an ornate holdover from an earlier time. It was the only sound in the room.
It was made of polished wood, its face covered in rounded glass, the numbers in Latin. It had a pendulum of yellow metal that hung down beneath the face, and which swung back and forth, softly but incessantly.
Tick, tick, tick…
One minute ago, when the clock struck X, a single gong had sounded. The clock always gonged once, no matter what the hour.
Susan sat alone at the alcove table, absently eating a chicken salad sandwich on white toast. The White House chef made what might be the best chicken salad on the plan
