The driver of the Lincoln limo was a man I didn’t recognize from the compound, but then I wasn’t surprised. I circulated among but knew very few of the men and women who constantly flowed in, through and around the Western White House and its grounds. I was so low on the totem pole that nobody had much of any reason to talk to me about anything. I took orders and followed them, and that was it.

“Get in,” the driver said. The window went back up.

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