First Daughter

ERIC VAN LUSTBADER

FIRST DAUGHTER

A CKNOWLEDGMENTS

From the very first day I started writing fiction, I've been influenced by many sources, but none as telling or important as Colin Wilson's brilliant book The Outsider.

As an Outsider myself, I never really understood who I was or how I fit in (or didn't!) until I read The Outsider.

For this, and especially for all the help and inspiration his body of work provided while mapping and unraveling some of the characters in First Daughter, a heartfelt thank-you to Colin Wilson.

This is for my cousin David.

With great love and affection.

And for my lost child…

January 20

Inauguration Day

ALLI CARSON sat in the back of the armor-plated limo, sandwiched between Sam and Nina, her Secret Service detail. She was just three days shy of her twentieth birthday, but with her father being inaugurated President of the United States today, she'd scarcely had time to think about what she might get in the way of presents, let alone contemplate what she was going to do to celebrate.

For the moment, it was all about her father. The inauguration of Edward Carson, former senior senator from the great state of Nebraska, was celebration enough. Even she had found it interesting that the media had made such a fuss over the exit polls showing that her father was the first president to be significantly helped by a massive African-American turnout. Those votes had been the result of a national campaign engineered by her father's formidable election machine in conjunction with the powerful black religious and political organization, the Renaissance Mission Congress. Her father had successfully run as the anti-Rove, basing his campaign on reconciliation and consensus building, for which the RMC had been the standard-bearer.

But for the moment, everything else was subsumed beneath the intricate and laborious plans for today, which had been ongoing for more than six weeks, as directed by the Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies. The speeches, balls, cocktail parties, media ops, and shamelessly opportunistic sound bites had begun five days ago, and they would continue for another five days after her father was sworn in, an hour from now.

After eight years of the executive branch being at loggerheads with the legislature, today would usher in a new era in American politics. For the first time, a moderate Republican would be president-a man who, though a fiscal conservative, was unabashedly pro-choice and pro-women's rights, which put him at odds with many Republicans and the religious right. Never mind. His mandate had come from young people, Hispanics and African Americans who, finally deciding it was time for their voices to be heard, turned out in record numbers to vote for Edward Carson. Not only did they find him irresistibly charismatic, but they also liked what he said, and how he said it. She had to admit her father was clever as well as smart. Still, he was of a species-the political animal-that she despised.

Alli didn't even try to peer through the windows. The heavily smoked, bulletproof glass afforded only a glimpse of a world blurred in shadow. Inside, she was cushioned in a plush backseat, illuminated by the soft glow of the sidelights. Her hands were pale against the dark blue leather seat. Thick auburn hair framed an oval face dominated by clear green eyes. A constellation of freckles crossed the bridge of her nose like grains of sand, an endearing touch to a beautiful face. It said something important about her, that she deliberately didn't cover her nose with makeup.

An engine of anxiety thrummed in the pit of her stomach. She'd given her iPod to the driver to plug into the stereo. A wash of fuzzed-out guitars, thumping bass, and steaming vocals from a band called Kill Ha

"I wa

To which Alli would reply: "A Ke

They turned west onto Constitution Avenue NW, heading for the Capitol, where, as convention dictated, the swearing in of Edward Carson and his vice president would take place.

"What about Random House?" Nina, on her right, said suddenly. She had to raise her voice over the music.

"What about it?" Alli said.

Sam, on her left, leaned slightly toward her. "What she means is, are you going to take the deal?"

Sam wore a dark suit of a conservative cut, starched white shirt, striped tie. He had thi

"The memoirs of the First Daughter. Well, in this age, public humiliation is a badge of courage, isn't it?" Alli put her head back against the seat. "Ah, yes, the spellbinding saga of me. I can't wait to read that, so I can only imagine how everyone else will be clamoring for it."

"She's not going to take the deal," Nina said to Sam over her head.

"You think?" Sam said sardonically. Then he allowed a smile to creep onto his pock-cheeked face. "Right. She's no Paris Hilton."

Alli said: "Hey, listen, what Paris Hilton got before anyone else was the difference between exposing things about herself and being exposed. Why fight our tabloid culture, she asked herself, when I can make a mint from it? And that's just what she did. She made exposing yourself cool."

"You're not going to make a liar out of Nina. You're not going to take the deal." Sam frowned. "Are you?"

Alli screwed up her mouth. "Real men would take bets." She didn't like being so predictable.

The limo made a dogleg to the right, onto Pe

Another song came on, "Neon Bible" by Arcade Fire, shaking the interior of the limo, and, strangely, Alli found herself looking at Sam's hands. They were square, callused, vaguely intimidating hands, reminding her of Jack McClure. She felt a quick stab deep inside her, and a darkness swept across her consciousness, like a veil lowered for a funeral. And just like that, the engine of anxiety morphed into a singular sense of purpose. She was looking at the world now as if through a telescope.

They were almost at the Capitol, rolling slowly, as if in thick, churning surf. She became aware of the press of people-dignitaries, politicians, security guards, military men from all the armed services, newscasters, celebrities, paparazzi-their heaving mass impressing itself on the smoked glass.

She was aware of the tenseness of her body. "Where's Jack?"

"My old buddy's on assignment," Sam said. But something in his voice alerted her.