Assassination Page #4

Take a defensive position.

Damn!

Bet that was Bracken.

We'll still get that

son of a b*tch.

Seems this time I was mistaken.

You might say that.

I suppose you'd like an apology.

Screw you.

Well, that won't be

necessary, ma'am.

Hey, Killy, you're not falling

for that bimbo, are you?

The First Lady can be many things,

she can be a dipsomaniac...

or a kleptomaniac, she could

even be a nymphomaniac...

but she can never be a bimbo.

Nevertheless...

are your salmon swimming upstream?

Just having the last word,

Killian. Thank you.

- Senator.

- I have no time...

- Make time.

- I don't like your tone.

You said you'd call me after

speaking to the President.

The President has taken you off the First

Lady's protection. I agree with him.

These terrorist attacks are aimed at you.

Anyone in your vicinity is in danger.

You ought to play the ponies,

Mr. Killian. Your hunch was right.

The body was booby-trapped.

Well, there goes the neighborhood.

Back up, they're coming through.

Why kill the kid?

All he said was the people

upstairs weren't getting it on.

Well, maybe somebody up there

doesn't like the news.

But why kill him?

If I were you, I'd

worry about Bracken.

Yeah, I need a change of address.

- You need a food taster.

- Are you volunteering?

I'm going to reassign you

to a new surveillance.

I want a 24-hour watch on One

Momma's secretary, Polly Sims.

- Have a heart, Fitz.

- No crap, Killy.

- That's an order.

- What about my seniority?

That will get you the day shift

with Charlie Chang to cover.

Just in case Miss Sims goes

somewhere that you can't.

And I get the moonlit nights in

huggermugger heaven, I suppose?

I'm only trying to keep your ass

out of the war zone for a while.

- Where do you think she's going?

- National Museum of American History.

How do you know that?

Because that's where they exhibit

all the Inaugural Ball gowns...

from Martha Washington

to Nancy Reagan.

And today, One Momma is

gifting them with her gown.

She went into the ladies room,

came out, she left her bag in there.

Go back and keep an eye on the bag.

So, you made me.

What the hell are you up to?

It's been fun on the merry-go-round,

but I'm running out of tickets, ma'am.

Please, don't call me "ma'am."

Okay, but what are

you up to this time?

I'm running.

You know I can't let you do that.

Yes, you can, you must.

I know you were angry when they

assigned you to watch Polly...

but I ordered that because

I'd soon be playing Polly.

And you're the only

one I can trust.

You arranged this?

I had to. I was desperate.

Please, bear with me.

Leave your car here,

and come with me in mine.

Please.

Okay.

Just sign for one room.

What?

You know what the media

could make out of that?

For God's sake, Killian, you

don't think I'm making a pass?

For crying out loud.

I guess not.

A married couple will

attract less attention.

They'll be looking for a single

woman. Sign for one room.

You're right.

You can't just disappear.

You're the First Lady.

I'll call Cal, he'll cover for me.

Till when?

Till the Secret Service find

out who's trying to kill me.

I don't like saying this, but

has it ever occurred to you...

that the President might be

the one who wants you dead?

Never.

- It's your life, you're betting on it.

- I know that.

Will you help me?

Please?

Okay, I'll do it.

Thank you.

But you're going to

have to do as I say.

Starting now, you make no telephone

calls to anybody at any time.

I don't see why.

It's either that or else.

If you say so.

- You ever handle a gun?

- I've done skeet shooting.

I want you to keep this with

you in case you need it.

It's loaded, the safety's on, all you

have to do is pull back the hammer...

- and then the trigger.

- It looks awfully little.

May be little, but it shoots a .410 shotgun

shell that will take a man's face off.

I'm going out to make

a telephone call.

There's a phone right here.

Internal phones can

be listened in on.

If you're calling about money

and stuff like that...

I've got $25,000 in

traveler's checks.

In whose name? Mrs. President?

My maiden name, Laramie Royce.

That's smart.

Hello?

Charlie, don't have

a lot to tell you.

I'll call you again

Thursday, 897-10.

Roger that information. 897-10.

But don't hang up on me.

Damn you, Killy.

- Get dressed.

- What?

It's Pritchard Young,

the number-two man. Get dressed.

- That was really horrible.

- Yes, but necessary.

We've made it to Pickett's Charge.

15,000 men were killed here.

Now it's 15,001.

- Charlie?

- Where are you?

Don't ask questions, just listen.

One Momma's running for cover,

and I'm going with her.

About your car, I paid a guy

$100 to drive it back to DC.

He's going to leave it at

the Watergate parking lot.

I'll call you again,

Wednesday, 897-12.

Wait a second, are you

trying to melt that iceberg?

Charlie, consider who she is.

Mister.

Mister, did anyone ever tell you...

that your wife looks sort of

like the president's wife?

Her head is big enough

without any help.

Greyhound again?

- You ever ride a motorbike?

- Of course.

I don't think $6,000 is such a

bargain for a pair of used bikes.

They'll never look for

you on one of these.

How do you like me as a redhead?

You look like a cross between

Little Orphan Annie and Lassie.

That's not very nice.

Actually, you could wear Medusa's

snakes and still look good.

Why thank you, Killy.

I thought you were immune.

No, it's just that when a sign

says, "Keep off the grass"...

I keep off the grass.

I obey the rules.

Can we change the subject?

I'd like some answers.

I guess I owe you that much.

Derek Finney was murdered because

he asked you a question.

A simple question.

Yes. Everybody knows that your

husband, the President...

was a hero when he was

in the Air Force.

When his F-111 had a flame-out

over Atlanta, Georgia...

rather than bail out and risk the lives of

a lot of people, he rode the plane down.

You checked records?

Yes. Especially the

hospital records.

And because of the crash,

and as a result of the injuries....

Cal was my first lover.

We met at UC Berkeley.

In politics, a bachelor

has a poor future.

Calvin needed a wife, otherwise he'd

have been passed by as the candidate.

He's a good man. I've

always had faith in him.

I wanted to help,

so we got married.

We made it as romantic as we

could politically, nationally.

Yes, you two did clown

it up for the public.

It was agreed that once Cal was

safely in the catbird seat...

I could do as I pleased.

I could either go along

for the joyride...

or get a discreet divorce.

That ties it up. That's the hitch.

There's no hitch.

It's enough of a hitch for them to chase you

across the country, trying to kill you.

Don't you see? If you

divorced the President...

he wouldn't stand a chance of

being reelected. But as a widower....

Cal would never hurt me.

How could he possibly have

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