“And so she shows up here, drops off her son, and leaves without telling you where she’s going?” McShane asked. He sounded torn between skeptical and incredulous.
Fair enough, Ryan conceded. He was as well.
“Yeah.”
There was silence.
“What are you doing with him, Ryan?” John Cooper asked gently.
“He’s with Cage Washington’s parents,” Ryan said. “His father is a minister. They’re taking us under their wing, thankfully.”
“Good,” Cooper said, smiling at him. “I can’t think of any way I could help but let me know if something comes up.”
McShane ignored that exchange while he thought things through. “Does ICE want the boy?” he asked abruptly.
Ryan shook his head. “No mention was made of that, and Teresa was pretty clear about his citizenship.”
“Birthright citizenship,” the Provost said neutrally. “That’s raising some controversy as well.”
The U.S. Constitution granted citizenship to anyone born on American soil or was born to a parent who had citizenship. There was a small industry that provided wealthy international women a place to stay in the U.S. so that they could give birth to their child here, giving the child citizenship. Trump was known for doing this very thing for Russian women in Florida — a hypocrisy that his followers seemed willing to ignore. He made tens of thousands of dollars per woman. And then he’d turn around and blast the constitutional provision that allowed it — a dog whistle to his base who envisioned poor, destitute mothers who would be dependent on the welfare system to raise the child.
The hypocrisy of it all infuriated Ryan and had even before it became personal. He’d taken an honors seminar on immigration last year — pre-COVID. Now? He worked to unclench his jaw.
“I appreciate you alerting me so promptly on this,” McShane said. “And with a little more notice than last week’s controversy.”
Ryan tried not to laugh. They’d had Cooper call McShane to warn him of the story five minutes before it aired on the broadcast and went live online. Hard to stop a story you didn’t know about.
“If they contact you again have them call me. Do not answer any questions. If they insist, tell them you’ve consulted with me, and any interview will need to be conducted with the university attorney present. I don’t see that we’ve got a problem, but as you say, ICE has gotten more aggressive.”
Ryan nodded, and he did feel relieved at McShane’s position. “What if they raided campus?” he asked cautiously.
McShane shrugged as he stood up. “Then you’ll have another breaking story to make national headlines, won’t you?”
He sighed. “We declared ourselves a sanctuary campus two years ago,” he said less sarcastically. “Without a court order, we’ll not allow them on campus. But the problem is most of our students don’t live on campus. And we can’t protect them when they’re off campus. So officially? We’ll protect our students. But in all actuality? Not a lot we can do once they leave the premises.”
He scowled at Ryan. “And that was not on the record.”
Ryan grinned. “We won’t be doing a story on this, at least not at this point. ICE’s move.”
“Maybe they won’t do anything,” Cooper said hopefully.
Ryan and McShane looked at him with equally grim expressions.
“Or not,” Cooper said, acknowledging their fears.
McShane got up to leave. “Thank you for bringing me into this at this point,” he told Ryan. “I’m surprised you did.”
Ryan shook his head. “This isn’t a news story, it’s a personnel matter. And that’s different. Administrative, not journalism.”
McShane looked surprised. “Good distinction,” he acknowledged as he said goodbye, and left. Cooper lingered behind.
“Why do I get the feeling there is tension between you and McShane. Old stuff?” he asked.
“You could say that,” Ryan said looking out at McShane’s back and avoiding the gaze of his advisor.
“If you need an ear, let me know,” Cooper said, as he too went out the door. “I can listen to more than issues of prior restraint and pretend law enforcement demands. If you want to talk to someone.”
Ryan was surprised at how much the offer moved him. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I may be in to see you.”
He watched the older man walk up the street toward his downtown condo. If he hadn’t, he might have missed the car parked down the street with someone just sitting in it, facing the Newsroom’s front door. Ryan hesitated. Paranoia isn’t a bad thing when there actually are people out to get you, he thought. He pressed the intercom. “Someone up there got a camera with a long lens?”
In a few minutes Joe Castro trotted down the stairs carrying a camera that indeed had a long lens. Even Ryan, who wasn’t particularly an equipment junkie, had a moment of lust for what was a very nice lens — and the camera was top notch too.
“See the car? Can you get a picture of the plates?” Ryan asked.
Joe shrugged. “I use this for football, mostly,” he said. “It’s fast, and it’s good, but it likes a well-lit field. And he’s not conveniently sitting under a streetlight. Let’s see what it will do.”
Joe stepped out where he could get a better angle and shot a couple of frames. The car started up, heading toward them — no choice with the way the driver had been parked. Joe kept shooting the plate, and then as the car drove by, he grabbed a few of the driver.
“I doubt we’ll get anything through the dark windows,” Joe said with a shrug. “But what the hell? No harm in trying.”
Ryan nodded. “If you get anything, give the photo to Will. He seems to know how to run plates.”
Chapter 4
Midnight, Tuesday, the Washington home — Ryan parked his car in front of the Washington home. He felt like he was imposing to arrive this late, but by the time he’d gone home and packed a bag for himself, and then stopped at Target to pick up the stuff on the list
