Knightly nodded. “They arrived about fifteen minutes ago and are requesting an interview immediately.”
“Tell them they’ll have to wait,” Young said. “I’m not ready to speak with them.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mayfield said. “If word gets leaked out that you refused to speak to them—”
“Someone is going to start a rumor no matter what you do,” Knightley said. “If you’re not comfortable speaking with them right now, tell them to go take a hike. They work for you anyway.”
“The FBI’s top brass is all loyal to Michaels,” Young began. “I think they still blame me or see me as somehow responsible for his death.”
“That’s something they need to get over,” Knightley said.
“Not if they’re going to use it against Noah just to destroy his campaign,” Mayfield said. “All it takes is one source whispering something to a Washington Post reporter and it’s going to be taken as the gospel truth by most Americans. Any chance at nuance is lost once they begin that game.”
“That’s par for the course in Washington politics,” Knightley said. “We all know that. So, I’m just asking what difference does it make if he wants to take some time to think about it and develop a strategy with all his advisers? This is a critical point in the campaign. If we make the wrong move, it’ll be over before you can say President Peterson.”
“And I think the wrong move would be to put off the FBI and give anyone there with a grudge an opportunity to torpedo the campaign,” Mayfield said.
Knightley put his hands on his hips. “Well, Mr. President, you’re in charge. It’s your campaign. But if I were you, I would tell them to stick it in their ear. You’re running the country and don’t have time for petty accusations like the one Peterson brought today on the Internet. For all we know, he set that up himself just to bring you down.”
Young sighed and shook his head. He stood and paced around the office, mumbling to himself.
“Does he always do this?” Mayfield asked.
“Get used to it,” Knightley said. “I’m not sure if he’s speaking with the ghost of Lincoln or the spirits that are simply tormenting him. But he talks to them all the time.”
Young glared at Knightley. “This is how I like to process things. Do you have a problem with it?”
Knightley looked wide-eyed at Young. “Whatever works for you. It’s your thing.”
“I need to make a call,” Young said. He sat down at his desk and dialed his secretary. “Can you get me General Van Fortner on the line?”
“Certainly, Mr. President,” she said.
A few seconds later, Van Fortner answered the phone.
“Mr. President, how are you?”
“I’ve had better days, though lately there haven’t been many good ones.”
“Are you catching a lot of flack for that stunt Peterson pulled?”
“So, it looked like a stunt to you?” Young asked.
“What else could it have been? Like you would’ve authorized any such spying on Peterson. That’s just ludicrous. And it’s not like he could prove it anyway.”
Young didn’t say a word.
“Mr. President, are you still there?”
“Still here, General,” Young said. “Are you aware that the FBI arrested J.D. Blunt and have accused him of orchestrating that whole debacle with Peterson?”
“That’s absurd. I’ve known J.D. forever, and I know he does a lot of crazy stuff, but he’d never do something like that on his own volition. If he did it, someone with a lot of sway put him up to it.”
“Look, I didn’t call you to talk about that,” Young said. “I wanted to ask you what you think I should do right now. The FBI wants to speak with me, and I haven’t even talked with my lawyer yet. How bad do you think it will look if I tell them to forget it?”
“I’d wait and speak with more of your advisors,” Fortner said. “You can never be too careful in cases like these. The implications of what a conversation with them will mean could dramatically impact the election—for good or for bad. You just don’t know what it’ll be. And not speaking to them will also have a similar effect. But if you engage in a conversation with them, at least you can control the narrative.”
“Good point, General.”
“Now, if it backfires on you, please don’t hold me accountable.”
“Okay, I’ll grant you immunity if that’s the case,” Young said.
“Excellent,” Fortner said with a nervous laugh. “Now I can sleep with a clear conscience tonight, knowing I’m not going to be tossed in federal prison for any bad advice that I gave the president.”
“I appreciate your perspective, too.”
“Any time, Mr. President,” Fortner said before he hung up.
Young froze. With bulged eyes and a furrowed brow, he stared at Knightley.
“What is it, sir?” Knightley asked.
“I just heard a click on the line right before I hung up.”
“You’ve never heard that before?” Knightley asked.
“Someone was listening in on my call, weren’t they?”
Knightley nodded. “See. What did I tell you?”
Young seethed as he glared at Mayfield. “Go tell the FBI that I need more time.”
CHAPTER 18
Washington, D.C.
BLUNT TOSSED AND TURNED all night as he slept on the hard cot one of the FBI agents had brought into the interrogation room. At the first glint of sunshine trickling through the blinds, Blunt got up, ready to put the night behind him and face a new day. He wanted to hear news that whatever secret operation was underway would have occurred overnight and that he could be released.
An agent knocked on the door, gaining Blunt’s permission before placing a cup of black coffee on the table and slipping out into hallway.
“Didn’t I already tell these jackwads I don’t drink coffee?” Blunt groused before dropping the cup into the trash. He then yelled, “A real breakfast would be nice.”
A half hour passed before Justin Frazier entered the room.
“How’d you sleep?” Frazier asked.
“You owe me big time after this,” Blunt said, his voice gravely. “I’ve had better nights sleeping on the dirt
