It was a warm, crystal-clear, late-spring afternoon, and the trees blanketing the rolling hills of western Maryland were bursting with blossoms and new leaves—a lighter green than they would be after they were fully grown in. “Can I offer you something to drink? A beer, maybe? I’d have one with you, but it’s probably not a good idea.” “That damn nuke thing, huh?” Christian asked. President Jesse Wood grinned. “Yup. You’d have to worry about it, too, if you’d been my running mate. One good reason to be glad you aren’t the vice president.” “Hey, I’ve got my own issues.” “I know you do,” Wood agreed, gesturing toward a Secret Service agent standing by the door, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Mr. Gillette will have a bottled water. It’s been a while and I forgot. He doesn’t drink alcohol.” “Yes, sir.”
