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images that reflected in his mind coursed around the strange events that had literally hurled him into the White House。
As the Vice President he was sworn into the nation's highest office when his predecessor was forced to resign after admitting to a mental illness。 Mercifully； the news media did not launch a full…blown investigation。 Of course there were the routine interviews with White House aides； congressional leaders； and noted psychiatrists； but nothing smelling of intrigue or conspiracy emerged。 The former President left Washington and retired to his farm in New Mexico； still respected with great sympathy from the public； and the truth remained locked in the minds of a very few。
The new Chief Executive was an energetic man who stood slightly over six feet and weighed a solid two hundred pounds。 His face was square jawed； with firm features and a brow that was usually furrowed in a thoughtful frown； yet his intense gray eyes could be deceptively limpid。 The silver hair was always neatly trimmed 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