The man smoothed the lapels of the suitjacket he'd gone "home" to retrieve. It was the one he'd meant to put on in the morning, not the one that smelled like Biscotti.
"What building are we in?" The man asked a black woman Capitol Police person. AV people checked the mini-monitor of the next room. On screen all of us behind the wall could not be seen. Just the wall. A Coordinator looked too. "Is that pitcher crooked?" An Aide peered at room readiers and then at the monitor on a cart with covered, uneaten lunches. The Aide pulled at the front corners of his blazer and the unseen, veritable steam rose through his chest, up into his head, pushed up his eyebrows and he took a breath. "It is. But I'm choosing not to demerit anyone at this time."
"Heard," said a uniformed.
An Honor Guard lifted a curtain from a plate glass view. "The Lobby. I know where we are now," Senator Graham said and took several envelopes from a breast pocket.
The horses stood perfectly still and magnificent in the center of the Lobby floor. The riders unflinching.
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