med and parted on the right side in the homespun style of a Kansas banker。
He was not handsome or flamboyant in the eyes of the public； but emitted an appealing style and charm。 Though he was a professional politician； he somewhat naively viewed the government as a giant team with himself as the coach who sent in plays during the game。 Highly regarded as a mover and shaker； he surrounded himself with a cabinet and staff of gifted men and women who made every effort to work in harmony with Congress rather than enlisting a band of cronies who were more concerned with fortifying their personal power base。
His thoughts slowly focused on the local scenery as his Secret Service driver slowed down and turned off River Road North through a large stone gate bordered by a white rail fence。 A uniformed security guard and a Secret Service agent wearing the standard dark sunglasses and business suit stepped from the gatehouse。 They simply peered in the car and nodded in recognition。 The agent spoke into a small radio transmitter strapped to his wrist like a watch。
〃The Boss is on his way。〃
The limousine rolled up the tree…lined circular drive of the Congressional Country Club； past the tennis courts on the left teeming with the staring wives of the members； and eased to a stop under the portico of the clubhouse。
Elmer Hoskins； the advance man； stepped forward and opened the rear door。 〃Looks like a good day for golf； Mr。 President。〃
〃My game couldn't get worse if we were standing in snow；〃 the President said； smiling。
〃I wish I could shoot in the low eighties。〃
〃So do I；〃 said the President as he followed Hoskins around the side of the clubhouse and down to the pro shop。 〃I've added five strokes to my score since taking over the Oval Office。〃
〃Still； not bad for someone who only plays once a week。〃
〃That and the fact it bees increasingly difficult to keep my mind on the game。〃
The club pro came over and shook his hand。 〃Reggie has your clubs and is waiting on the first tee。〃
The President nodded and they climbed into a golf cart and set off over a path that curved around a large pond and onto one of the longest golf courses in the nation。 Reggie Salazar； a short； wiry Hispanic； stood leaning on a huge leather bag packed with golf clubs that came up to his chest。
Salazar's appearance was deceiving。 Like a small Andes Mountains burro； he could lug a fifty…pound bag of irons around eighteen holes without losing a breath or showing a drop of sweat。 When he was only a boy of thirteen he had carried his ailing mother in his arms with a three…year…old sister strapped to his back across the California/ Baja border thirty miles to San Diego。 After the illegal alien amnesty was granted in 1985 he worked around golf courses； being a top caddy on the professional tour。 He was a genius at learning the rhythm of a course； claiming it spoke to him； and unerringly picking the right club for a difficult shot。 Salazar was also a wit and a philosopher； blurting adages that would have made Casey Stengel envious。 The President had drawn him in a congressional tournament five years before and they became good friends。
Salazar always dressed like a field laborer denim jeans； western shirt； GI boots； and a rancher's wide brimmed straw hat。 It was his trademark。
〃Saludos； Mr。 President；〃 he greeted in border English； his dark coffee…brown eyes glistening。 〃Do you wish to walk or ride the cart？〃
The President pressed Salazar's outstretched hand。 〃I could use the exercise； so let's walk for a while and maybe ride the back nine。〃
He teed off and hit a lofting ball with a slight hook that stopped rolling 180 yards up and near the border of the fairway。 As he strolled from the tee the problems of running the country melted away and his mind began planning the next shot。
He played in silence until he dropped his putt in the cup for a par。 Then he relaxed and handed his putter to Salazar。 〃Well； Reggie； any suggestions for dealing with Capitol Hill？〃
〃Too many black ants；〃 Salazar replied with an elastic grin。
〃Black ants？〃
〃Everyone wear dark suits and run crazy。 All they make is paper and wave tongues。 Me； I'd write law saying congresspeople could only meet every other year。 That way they'd cause less trouble。〃
The President laughed。 〃I can think of at least two hundred million voters who would applaud your idea。〃
They continued along the course； followed at a discreet distance by two Secret Service agents in a golf cart while at least a dozen others prowled the course grounds。 The banter remained cheerful as the President's game went smoothly。 After he retrieved the ball from the cup on the ninth green； his score tallied thirty…nine。 He considered it a minor triumph。
〃Let's take a break before we attack the back nine；〃 said the President。 〃I'm going to celebrate with a beer。 Care to join me？〃
〃No； thank you； sir。 I'll use the time to clean grass and dirt from your clubs。〃
The President handed him the putter。 〃Suit yourself。 But I must insist you join me for a drink after we finish the eighteenth。〃
Salazar beamed like a lighthouse。 〃An honor； Mr。 President。〃 Then he trotted off toward the caddy shack。
Twenty minutes later； after returning a call from his chief of staff and downing a bottle of Coors； the President left the clubhouse and joined Salazar； who was sitting slouched in a golf cart on the tenth tee； the wide brim of his straw hat pulled low over his forehead。 His hands hung loosely draped on the steering wheel and were now encased in a pair of leather work gloves。
〃Well； let's see if I can break eighty；〃 said the President； his eyes glistening in anticipation of a good game。
Salazar said nothing and simply held out a driver。
The President took the club and looked at it； puzzled。 〃This is a short hole。 Don't you think a number three wood should do the job？〃
Staring at the ground； the hat hiding any facial expression； Salazar silently shook his head。
〃You know best；〃 the President said agreeably。 He approached the ball； flexed his hands on the club； arched into a back swing； and brought the head down gracefully but entered into a rather awkward follow…through。 The ball sailed straight over the fairway and landed a considerable distance beyond the green。
A perplexed expression spread across the President's face as he retrieved his tee and climbed in the seat of the electric cart。 〃That's the first time I've ever see you call the wrong club。〃
The caddy did not reply。 He pressed the battery pedal and steered the cart toward the tenth green。 About halfway down the fairway he reached over and placed a small package on the dashboard shelf directly in front of the President。
〃Bringing along a snack in case you get hungry？〃 asked the President good…naturedly。
〃No； sir； it's a bomb。〃
The President's eyebrows pinched a fraction in irritation。 〃Not a funny joke； Reggie〃
His words suddenly choked off as the straw hat rose and he found himself staring into the indigo…blue eyes of a total stranger。
〃Please keep your arms in their present position；〃 said the stranger conversationally。 〃I am aware of the hand signal you were advised to give your Secret Service people if you thought your life was endangered。〃
The President sat like a dead tree； disbelieving； more curious than afraid。 He couldn't trust himself to speak at first； to assemble the right words。 His eyes remained locked on the package。
〃A stupid act；〃 he said finally。 〃You won't live to enjoy it。〃
〃This is not an assassination。 You will not be harmed if you follow my instructions。 Do you accept that？〃
〃You've got guts； mister。〃
The stranger ignored the remark and kept talking in the tone of a schoolteacher reciting class rules of conduct。 〃The bomb is a fragmentation type that will shred any flesh and bone within twenty yards。 If you attempt to alert your bodyguards I will detonate it with an electronic control strapped to my wrist。 Please continue your golf game as if nothing is out of the ordinary〃
He stopped the cart several feet from the ball； stepped to the grass； and glanced warily at the Secret Service agents； satisfying himself that they appeared more intent on scanning the woods around the course。 Then he reached in the bag and pulled out a six iron。
〃It's obvious you don't know crap about golf；〃 said the President； mildly pleased at gaining a small measure of control。 〃This calls for a chip shot。 Hand me a nine iron。〃
The intruder obliged and stood by while the President chipped onto the green and putted into the cup。 When they set off for the next tee； he studied the man seated beside him。
The few strands of gray hair that strayed beneath the straw hat and the lines bordering the eyes revealed an age in the late fifties。 The body was slender； almost frail； the hips slim； a good match for Reggie Salazar except this man was a good three inches taller。 The facial features were narrow and vaguely Scandinavian。 The voice was educated； the cool manner and the squared shoulders suggested someone who was used to authority； yet there