The Eighth Day Read Online Free PDF

able to smile in public because all the burdens of office were carried on the shoulders of his COS. To her, Reynolds’s face seemed cast in stone, the turned-down ends of his mouth arching in the same direction as his bushy eyebrows. She imagined his whole countenance would crack if he were ever to hazard a smile.
    Cheryl panned across from him to see—in marked contrast— William Hiccock. At forty-five years of age, he retained the confidence and dynamic persona of the starting quarterback he was in college. He still looks good enough to be on the cereal box. Out of so many bright, young, and even more powerful men around here, why was he the only one able to affect—often only with a nod or a boyish smile—the breathing patterns of most of the female White House staff? Most would say this was because of Hiccock’s easy manner and bedroom eyes. But she recognized something else in him. Even here, outside his habitat, standing on the rocky, uneven terrain of politics, where seasoned professionals often lose their balance, she saw him take and deliver full body blows when fighting for a concept or ideal. Her intuition told her that his position in these battles was purely based on passion and not in any way manipulated to advance his own career or line his pockets. And this was hugely attractive.
    Cheryl found any passion to be rare in a place where most men are just doing what it takes to move up. Those overachievers were the ones who presented you with their ego first, second, and always. One might attribute it to her lack of experience, but she could not believe Hiccock ever broadcast a false or manipulative message. He was an enigma: a political appointee, the president’s national science advisor, but without a political bone in his broad-shouldered body.
    “So what’s your assessment of the damage to the industry?” she heard Reynolds ask Hiccock, pulling Cheryl out of her daydream.
    “It was a design-and-research facility. Manufacturing is split between their Johnson City plant and a few German fabricators.”
    “What is the impact?”
    “For the immediate future, none, because the chips and integration they were designing was tomorrow. Their current output will not be affected, so it’s only down the road …”
    “Shorter sentences, Hiccock!” Reynolds interrupted and then summed up. “No immediate impact. Good. The boss cut the ribbon at that building. It was part of his high-tech initiative.”
    Hiccock took a sip of some Starbucks “President’s Blend” coffee and Cheryl saw a chance to break in, coughing for attention.
    “Yes?” Reynolds said sharply, softening it with an insincere smile when he realized it was a woman at the door. His face didn’t crack after all.
    “The proposed draft of the president’s statement,” she said as she handed the single page to Reynolds.
    “It is with great sadness … hmmm …” The chief of staff had a way of mumble reading while he scanned any document, bypassing the fluff but billboarding the factual or meritorious parts. “The incredible loss of more than 600 lives both in the buildings and on the commuter trains which were caught … uh hum … Our prayers and thoughts go out to the families … Yes, this is fine.” He picked up a pen and scratched his initials on it. “Take it up to the residence for him to review.”
    Cheryl left and Reynolds resumed his conversation with Hiccock. “So you felt the blast three miles away?”
    “It was massive. I went to the scene afterwards but it was too hot to get close.”
    “You were there?”
    “I was speaking a few miles away. It didn’t look like anything bigger than your fist was left, so I jumped on the late shuttle back to D.C.”
    “What were they working on there that could have blown up like that?”
    “Not a thing. Mostly high order …” He paused as Reynolds snapped his fingers and yelled down the hallway.
    “Cheryl!” The aide returned in an instant. As if inspired by the gods of