“I’m not sure. It might have something to do with what happened last night.” Michael hesitated briefly. “I think it would be best if we talked about it in person.” Seamus got the point instantly.
In Washington it was best to assume that anything said over the phone was potentially being recorded by God only knew whom. “Can you give me a hint as to what it’s about?”
Michael rocked back and forth in his chair.
“It involves a mutual friend of ours.” Back in Minnesota Seamus squinted at a fishing boat that was cutting across the entrance to the bay. The old man knew immediately whom Michael was talking about. “I see. Keep it under your hat until I get into town.”
“All right.”
“I’ll see you in a couple days.”
“Are you flying your plane?”
“Yes.”
“Call me and let me know when you’ll be landing.”
“I will. Say hello to Tim and Liz for me.”
“Will do.” Michael hung up the phone and thought about the individual he and
Seamus had just alluded to. He definitely has the motive, Michael thought to himself. The motive and the ability. News of the letter swept across the country. The real life drama that was unfolding in the nation’s capital had seized the attention of every American.
The President sat in his high-backed leather chair, staring out the windows behind his desk in the Oval Office. He had been sitting in this position for the last ten minutes and had not moved a muscle. He was pondering the isolation of his office. Thinking about the hard fact that he, the President of the United States, knew no more about what was going on than anyone else in the country. He thought of how short his budget victory had been.
Today was supposed to be a day of celebration, a day when he could bask in front of the cameras and take another crucial step toward a second term. Instead, the unthinkable had occurred. His budget would never be passed without Jack Koslowski, and whoever was responsible for the killings was threatening his life as well. He thought about the possibility of these murderers getting near him and came to the comforting conclusion that they could not-not with all the Secret Service agents and modern technology that surrounded him. He knew he would have to address the nation, but had no idea what to say. It was almost two in the afternoon, and Stevens had yet to stop and think about the deaths of his former colleagues or the loved ones they had left behind. He was immersed in himself and how the events of the day would affect his career, his place in history. In
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the hallway outside the Oval Office, Ann Moncur was waiting to get in and see the
President. If you wanted to have a meeting with the President, you had to go through his chief of staff, and Moncur was sick of going through Garret. The media was all over her, wanting a response from the White House on the killings. Everyone assumed the
President would be addressing the nation, and she needed to let the press know when. Stu
Garret came rumbling around the corner with Mike Nance and the White House communications director, Ted Hopkinson. Hopkinson’s unofficial title was spin doctor.
With the help of Garret, he’d taken over most of Moncur’s responsibilities. Garret had to keep the feminists happy and let them think Moncur was important. So he gave
Moncur the title and let her brief the media on the day-to-day events at the White House, but that was as far as it went. All the strategy planning, intentional leaks to the media, opinion-poll analysis, and one-on-ones with the President were handled by Hopkinson.
Moncur stepped in front of Garret and blocked his entrance to the Oval Office. She had brooded all night about the way he’d treated her the day before and decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. In a firm voice she said, “Stu, I need to see him.”
“Not now, Ann, we’re really busy.” Garret went to step around her and she moved in front of him. “Stu, I’ve got the media all over my case.
They want to know when he’s going to address the nation.”
“I will let you know as soon as we decide,” snapped Garret. “Is that what you guys are going to talk about in there … his speech, the media strategy? I should be included.”
Moncur paused and Garret looked away, shaking his head no.
“I’m sick of you cutting me out of the loop, Stu. I’m the White House press secretary, not him.” Moncur pointed her finger at Hopkinson. “I should be involved in this.” Garret grabbed her arm and pushed her to the side, sticking his face directly in front of her.
“Ann, I don’t need this shit right now. We’ve got a crisis on our hands. Go to your office, and I’ll let you know what time he will be addressing the nation as soon as we get out of this meeting. Now get the hell out of my way.” Garret turned and entered the office with
Nance and Hopkinson behind him. The President heard the door open and spun around in his chair. Garret threw his arms up in the air. “How could this day get any worse? We’ve been busting our asses trying to get that budget passed, and just when we’re in the clear, we get the rug pulled out from under us.” Garret pointed toward the door. “And now I’ve got every clown and his brother trying to pick a fight with me. This morning it was that idiot from the FBI, and now it’s that joke we call a press secretary.” The President stood from behind his desk and walked over to join the others in front of the fireplace. He sat in a chair with its back to the fireplace, and Garret sat by himself on the couch to Stevens’s left, while Nance and Hopkinson sat on the other couch to the right. “Gentlemen, what have you decided?” asked the President. “Well, we’ve picked a time. We’re going to have you address the nation at eight this evening. That way we’ll get maximum exposure.”
Garret paused for a moment and looked at Nance and Hopkinson.
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