CHAPTER XVI

Aramis checked on his patient one last time, then took the elevator to the 13th floor and headed up the back staircase to the roof. When he had come on staff, he had inherited a key to the door that led to the top of the building.

"Tradition is that it's handed down to the most junior anesthesiologist," the department chair had told him. "It may not seem like much, but trust me, there will be days you'll be glad to have it."

Emerging onto the roof, Aramis had to agree. Although he was still in the middle of the city, here he was alone, with a panoramic view of the skyline. He could even see the Potomac River lazily skirting the edge of the metropolitan area.

He sat down on the weathered Adirondack chair that stood in the far corner, and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

He was suddenly so tired. How had his life become such a mess? All in the space of a week?

Richelieu.

His mobile phone buzzed. He was about to ignore the text until he saw it was from Angelique.

Are you okay? I saw the magazine. Do you want me to get in touch with my friend who works at the top law firm in Alexandria? It may be time to call in a big gun.

He picked up his phone, and texted her back.

I don't know what to do...and I'm not sure I care anymore.

After a moment, the reply came.

We can figure this out. How about I come pick you up and we go for a walk to clear your head? We don't have to talk, but I don't want you to be alone.

He sighed. Although he knew that Angelique's soothing presence was likely just what he needed, he just wanted to be alone tonight.

How about I take a rain check? I think I just need some time to myself. I promise I'm okay.

Alright…but I'm holding you to it.

As Aramis returned to the physicians' locker room in the OR to change, an urgent text came through from Treville.

You and Porthos. Class As. My office. Now.

He leaned his head against the cool metal of his locker.

This is it.My career is over. He asking me to put on my dress uniform in order to prepare for the indictment.

Ten minutes later, he knocked on Treville's door, and opened it to find the colonel deep in conversation with Porthos. The Colonel's head jerked up. "Where have you been?" Treville growled.

"I-"

"Never mind! Walk with me." He strode out of the office, Porthos and Aramis following. Leaving the building via a side exit, he led them to a waiting black SUV, the engine already running. They had barely closed the doors when the vehicle shot forward.

Porthos glanced at Aramis, giving him a questioning look. He shook his head slightly.

"Sir, may I ask where we are going?

"The three of us have been summoned to the White House for a meeting with the president. That's all I know." Treville's voice was tense. He stared out the window, clearly not in the mood for conversation.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Once the SUV had been vetted by White House security, the driver was directed to take them to the curving drive that led behind the mansion. Upon exiting the vehicle, they were led into the East Garden.

"Takin' us through the back door, eh?" observed Porthos.

"Quite the contrary." The three men turned to see a grinning Radley, who was sporting a loud Hawaiian shirt. "Remember me? It's nice to see you again, gentlemen. You should feel quite fortunate. Not everyone scores an invitation to BH2." He lowered his voice. "It's quite an honor, you know. Usually the President only invites captains of industry, or celebrities."

"BH2?" inquired Aramis.

The staffer rolled his eyes. "Bourbon Happy Hour, of course!" He took a few steps back, surveying their appearance. "It appears as though you are a bit overdressed, though. Those military uniforms will totally ruin the mood, and I really don't need a cranky President this evening. Come on, I've a little closet for just this reason."

He led them to a corner office inside the East Wing, and threw up the door to a small closet. A garish collection of shirts were neatly arranged on matching hangers. "Alright, these are the rules. I've had to referee way too many arguments about who gets what shirt. One Direction came here at the height of their popularity, and they were way out of control. My word is law, and I have security to back me up, gentlemen." He scrutinized Aramis for a moment, then handed him an aqua shirt graced with pink flamingos. "Totally you."

"That will go great with my blue polyester pants," muttered Aramis, ignoring Porthos' muffled laughter.

"Sorry man...I don't store pants here. There's not enough room in the closet. The other half is devoted to my clubbing clothes, and I can't deal with them getting wrinkled." Radley glanced up at Porthos, then dove for a hanger. "Major Porthos, I have the perfect one for you!" He pulled out a neon orange shirt festooned with sea turtles. "Remind you of Tiger Lily?"

"I believe you're referring to Tinkerbell."

"Whatever. I just need for her to look fierce when she poses with you for the recruiting poster." He turned to Treville. "Now for the colonel. We need something manly. Ah, I have just the thing!" He reached in and pulled out a shirt that sported a multitude of great white sharks. "Killer, eh?" He laughed uproariously, slapping Treville on the back.

Treville gave him a thin smile, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

As they were led into the private garden, Radley picked up his cell and punched in a number. "The bluebirds have landed."

As if on cue, President Bourbon strode into the garden. "Gentlemen! Welcome to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue! I see Radley got you appropriately kitted out. The shirts look fab with the blue polyester!" He chuckled, slapping Treville on the back.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. President." Treville forced a polite smile to his face. "Will the First Lady be joining us?"

The President put his arm around Treville's shoulders, and said conspiratorially, "No women allowed, Colonel! It's a ground rule of BH2. Anyway, the First Lady is busy planning some charity thing." He waved his hand absently. "I believe it has something to do with sick kids...or inner-city tennis clinics...or sick kids in the inner city who want to learn to play tennis."

"I see," Treville murmured. "Well, you must be sure to give her our regards."

Louis, however, had turned his attention to a curvaceous server in a colorful sarong, who floated towards them with a tray of drinks.

"May I offer you a Whiskey Rock-a-Roller, Mr. President?" she cooed.

"Ah, my favourite bourbon-based cocktail!" He took the glass with his right hand, and slid his left along the curve of her lower back. "May I say that you are looking fetching as ever, Mariel?"

"Why, thank you, Mr. President." She slanted her dark eyes up at him. "I'm at your service, as always."

"And what service you provide," murmured Louis with a grin, giving her bottom a light swat as she sashayed away. "Treville, I fancy a game of horseshoes. Come with me."

Aramis looked away, repelled by the President's behavior. He thought of Anne, and wondered how she managed to put up with her husband. The First Lady seemed gracious and kind, and she was certainly beautiful. He's an idiot, he thought grimly.

Porthos handed him a drink. "He may be a pig, but he's our Commander-in-Chief. Can you try not to be so obvious?"

Aramis shook his head. "I'm just—so done with all of this. All of these people in power, Porthos—"

The big man took his arm and led him off to a tall hedge at the opposite side of the garden. Louis had drawn Treville over to the horseshoe pit at the far end of the area, so they had a moment relative privacy.

"You need to calm down," muttered Porthos. "What's got you so upset?"

Aramis downed half his drink, then stared at Porthos. "Have you seen the latest issue of Expose?"

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "It's not exactly my cup of tea. I get enough of the Kardashians and their like on social media."

"Well, this week's magazine struck a little too close to home for me. There's a feature on Adele—and the "playboy military anesthesiologist" who killed her."

"Are you serious?" Porthos bristled. "Richelieu?"

"Who else? He means to take me down, Porthos."

Xxxx

Athos sat at a small table at Pho DC, gazing out at the street below the second-floor restaurant. It had been another hot, humid day in the city, and the air conditioning in the restaurant was a welcome relief. He shifted in his chair, looking at his watch once again. How the hell did I get myself into this?

At the time, it had seemed the gentlemanly thing to do. He had asked Rhiannon to dinner on impulse, and was now berating himself for having been so impetuous. Looking down at his wrinkled khakis, he grimaced. If he was lucky, she wouldn't show up.

Just then, the door pushed open, tinkling the bell attached to it.

"Hi Mai! It's been a while!"

"Rhiannon! Where have you been hiding?" The slim young Asian woman behind the counter hugged the redhead, then grabbed a menu.

"The hospital has been insane the last few weeks," replied Rhiannon ruefully. "To be honest, I've been too tired to even stop by and pick up takeout."

"Well, we're glad to have you back! Look, your table is waiting for you!" She pointed to a table in the far corner.

"Actually, I'm eating with someone." Rhiannon glanced over at Athos with a shy smile, and waved.

"Really?" Mai's eyes sharpened, and she grinned. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this." She led her customer over to the table, then turned and gave Athos a mock glare. "It's all becoming clear now, my friend."

Athos sighed. "This is just two colleagues having dinner, Mai. Nothing more."

"Please, Athos!" She put her hands on her hips. "All those times you put me off when I tried to set you up with my cousin Chloe! 'I'm too busy, Mai…I have to work on a research project, Mai…I'm not a good conversationalist, Mai. That was just a bunch of barnyard confetti."

"What would I have in common with a professional surfer who does performance art in her spare time?"

"That's besides the point!" she retorted. "But if you won't have Chloe, this woman would be my next choice to rock your world. Now don't act all shy, Rhiannon! I've seen you in class." Mai headed off fetch them some drinks, her laughter floating behind her.

"Class?" Athos raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Rhiannon flushed. "We take a dance class together."

"Ballet? Or something more modern?"

Mai placed two tall glasses of iced tea on the table. "Oh, it's modern all right. You wouldn't catch your granny doing it."

Rhiannon shot her a warning look. "I think what Mai means is that it's-"

The door of the restaurant suddenly opened, and a man walked in with a clipboard, his head bobbing to muted music blaring from his headphones.

"Can I help you?" Mai asked.

"Yeah, I've a delivery for a-Lt. Col. Athos?" He looked around uncertainly, then spied Athos. "Yo, man, is that you?"

Athos stood up. "Well, yes, but I-"

"Be right back." The deliveryman vanished out the door, and returned a minute later with a bouquet of flowers in an exquisite crystal vase. Placing them on the table, he held out his clipboard. "Sign here."

Rhiannon flushed. "Those are beautiful, but Athos, you really didn't-"

Athos barely heard her. His eyes were focused on the delicate blue flowers in the vase. Forget-me nots.

"Class A" or "service dress" uniforms are the dress uniforms that Air Force personnel wear.

I never tire of writing Athos and Milady. More of them soon...but first I need to turn my attention back to Aramis and Anne.