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See Chapter one for ratings, summary, and disclaimers Enjoy! Chapter 22
The door to Leo's office opened, and four young men and women filed out. They stood at Margaret's desk and waited for their boss. Ron Butterfield emerged next with Leo, the men still deeply immersed in conversation. "There will be questions, Ron. You understand that, don't you?" Leo stopped in the outer office and looked at Ron. "One minute, sir," Ron replied. He turned to his agents and gave them an almost imperceptible nod. Without a word, they left the office. Ron turned to Leo. "Sir, this will be controversial. I have no doubts about that, but please understand that every one of these agents is signing an affidavit under their own volition. There has been no pressure." "The Secret Service doesn't comment on procedure." Leo regarded him with arms folded. "Correct, sir. And I will be happy to explain to the press the unique nature of this situation as well as the opportunity we have here to clear up misinformation." "You can account for every communication Josh had in the last two weeks?" "Every minute. Every phone call he made was monitored. We have a roster of every guest he had in his office. He literally has only been at home or at work, and he hasn't been home that much. We can prove that it was highly unlikely that he could have conspired against Mr. Harris. I think I can be quite convincing with the press." "That's still not going to be good enough for everybody," Leo persisted. "Sir, I believe that a diversity of opinion is the stuff of life." "Ron, you realize that this is something of a career risk for you. The President has you on a short list for the FBI director when that comes around again. You do know that? If this falls apart, you're not going to look so good to folks up on the hill." "I wouldn't be much good to The President if I was the kind of guy that let a pansy threat like that back me down." Ron leveled his eyes at Leo. "You want to do this?" "Sir, these bastards are not going to trap him like they did with Sam and Toby, and it's breaking my heart. I'm so ready for them that my bones ache. But they're not coming for him like that. They've shown their hand, and now they're walking around like smug sons-of-bitches. I won't have it." Ron shook his head in disgust. "We have a chance here to get Josh off the hook. We have a chance to step on companies that have rewritten values and morals that we hold dear. And I say that a little risk-taking is just what's called for about now." "Okay. We're going to do it. Get your people ready and we'll talk about releasing it Monday morning. You're going to stand up in front of the press." Ron nodded in response. Leo was ready to head back into his office when Ron stopped him. "Sir, is Margaret coming in today?" asked Ron, his eyes suddenly losing their steady gaze. "Don't you remember? This is the Saturday morning she testing for her belt. She mentioned it the other day when she was here." "Well, I was wondering because she...I was a little short with her the other day, and I was thinking that another apology was in order." Ron had taken a sudden interest in staring at the blank wall behind Margaret's desk. "I wouldn't trouble yourself, Ron. Margaret is one tough cookie. Believe me, if something was still bothering her, you would know it." "Nevertheless, I would...feel better about it." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Leo's eyebrows arched as he watched The President's chief security officer fumble about like a little boy wearing new church clothes. Then one end of his mouth slowly curled up into a grin. "Ron, I have a great idea. You should go watch her test for that brown belt. She won't have anybody there which is too bad because she's really proud of herself. I would go, but I got that thing in a few minutes. "Well, sir...I don't think...I'm sure she would not want someone like myself to just show..." "Ron, you'd be doing me a big favor. You don't know this woman like I do. She's going to be pelting me with little comments about my absence for the next week. The idea that I am sending someone in my stead might just appeal to her." "Why would she continue to trouble you about this? She knew you couldn't go." Ron wore a confused look. "That's really sweet, Ron. Really, I mean it. You know, you thinking that logic plays a part in this woman's life. That's rich," said Leo. "You really don't know the first thing about a natural redhead, do you?" "Sir?" Ron's confusion grew. "Trust me, Ron. She'll get a kick out of this. I'm going to give you Master Lee's address. It's not very far from here. Maybe you'll even learn a new move yourself. What do you say?" Leo felt like a salesman at a used car lot. Five minute later, he had Ron heading in the direction of his car with Master Lee's card safely tucked in his breast pocket. Leo grabbed the accordion files he needed, and went in the direction of the Oval Office. As he turned the corner, he was blindsided by a kid carrying an armful of notebook paper. Long practice in the art of navigating crowded government hallways served Leo well. He hugged his files tightly to his chest, and watched as the young man's papers flew into the air and gently seesawed their way to the ground. The kid had a wild look in his eyes as he watched his pages skate across the smooth, marble floor. "You okay?" Leo asked, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. The young man did not have the polished appearance of a White House page. "Hey man, I am sorry." The young man was on the ground frantically trying to corral his work. "Don't think I've met you yet." No, seriously man, it's okay that I'm here. I have a pass. I've been hanging here the last two weeks." The kid started to pat himself in search of his West Wing ID. Sam rounded the corner and survey the unlikely scene. "I see you've met Jerome." "It appears that I have," Leo replied. Sam could see the need for clarification. "Jerome is one of our tobacco orphans." Leo gave a satisfied nod. "Where is that pass?" Jerome was saying to himself as he rooted through his pockets when a realization hit. "It's in my coat!" "Your coat is in my office," Sam reminded him. "If you hadn't made me take off my coat, I would be able to show the man here my legitimate pass to be here," Jerome said, giving Sam an accusing look. "Okay. First off, J, it is not twenty degrees in this building. You don't need to wear a coat in here. Secondly, this is a distinguished building of great tradition. A person does not walk around these hallways hiding inside a hooded parka. Not to mention the fact that your beloved coat needs to spend some serious time in a washing machine." The kid gave Sam a hard look, but Sam was unmoved. "Jerome, this is Leo McGarry. Most people here in DC would say that he is the second most powerful person in the country." Jerome looked at Leo suspiciously. "Never heard of him." "I'm a behind the scenes guy," Leo said with a grin. He extended his hand to the kid. Jerome warily reached out and shook it. "Jerome and I are working on a possible little something for the hearings." "Oh?" Leo said, reacting to the cryptic nature of Sam's explanation. "We'll know more on Monday," Sam assured him. Then he gave Jerome a light push. "Come on, Kid, let's get back to my office. We got work to do. If we can pull this together in the next two hours, you and I can go watch Georgetown play a little ball tonight." Jerome's tough look softened, and he quickly took off down the hall after Sam. Leo looked after them for a moment, musing on the complexity of the people in his life.
Danny stopped up in the midst of the crowded tavern and waved him over to the table. Lou spotted him, and elbowed his way through a sea of New Yorkers shouting over one another with drinks in their hands. Lou slid himself into the booth across from Danny, and dropped his dusty fedora on the table. Danny pushed a Dewar's over to him, and Lou immediately reached for it. "So?" Danny asked as Lou sipped at the warm alcohol. Lou slammed the glass down with satisfaction and smiled. "It took only one hour. Leon cried like a baby. He spilled everything. He said he couldn't pass up the money. Said that his daycare costs have doubled in the last eighteen months." "He did it because his daycare bills went up?" Danny looked at him incredulously. "That and the fact that he was in hock to the bookie for 85 G's." "That's the price of ruining a man's career?" "Leon Harris thinks we were all put on this earth to entertain him, and lately we've been nothing but a big disappointment to him. He thinks he had every right to do what he did." "Does he implicate the cigarettes?" Danny stared at him intensely. "Nothing definite. A man came to him with a briefcase full of money and a job. Leon says he didn't ask questions." "The IRS? The break-in? What about those things?" "Leon still wonders if it wasn't Josh. They didn't tell him they were going to gaslight him." Lou surveyed his empty glass with dismay. "And your keepers at The Post?" "We are going to issue a front page retraction and apology to Josh Lyman and the Bartlet administration as well as details of Leon's odyssey into the world of slander. The editor who pushed it through is going on a long vacation. His dislike of the Bartlet administration led to sloppy administrative judgment. I don't expect him back." Danny grimaced. "You guys are really taking a hit. Although I gotta say that it's the right thing to do." "Yeah, I'm feeling real good about myself right now." Lou was frantically trying to flag down a waitress. "You must put on the ol' Garibaldi charm there." Lou started to smile. "I didn't go near him. I sent in the woman who runs the night desk, Selma Dritz. A more frightening woman never lived. Harris wets his pants every time she comes near him. It took her about ¾ of an hour to get the whole sordid tale." Danny chuckled. "Okay, that's already more than I want to know. Listen, I want everything. I want to put this to bed tonight." "Sorry, Pal. It's not immediately available for your use. I figure I can throw it your way somewhere around midnight tonight." "So you guys get the first morning edition, and I get tomorrow afternoon. Very smooth, Lou. I hate to have to remind you who brought you this story." "Don't act all wounded, Concannon. You came to me because you couldn't do it without me. That doesn't make you all that indispensable. Besides I know you idiots over at the Times are going to stick to us over the next couple of days regarding our handling of this whole affair. So I am not really looking to do you any favors." A waitress had started toward him, and then got a strange look on her face and moved away. Lou turned his head back to Danny with a perplexed look on his face. Lou stretched his neck over his shoulder trying to locate another server. He caught someone's eye, and she started to move their direction when Danny caught her eye and began to wave her off wildly. Startled, she veered off, and Lou turned back to Danny with another confused look on his face. Danny shrugged his shoulders in innocence. "Well, Lou, you got me. I'll have to take what I can get. Good luck getting McGarry on the phone for a reaction," said Danny as he adopted a tone of resignation. "That part sucks. That man is notoriously hard to reach during the weekend," Lou growled as he glared at his empty tumbler. "Are you sure you want to go with the story without White House reaction? It might look like more mismanagement on the part of the Post." "I don't have any damn choice." "It's too bad you and I are no longer working on this together. I could have McGarry on the phone in the next hour." Danny looked casually out onto the crowd. "Don't play with me, Concannon." "I spend my day in the same building as he does. I say 'hi' to him four times a week. I know how to reach the man." Lou Garibaldi fixed him with a deadly glare. "Hey Buddy, you're the one holding all the cards. I just wanted to work together on this thing. You're the one that broke up with me." We do this in my office in one hour," he said tightly. "You bring a reaction, and I'll show you everything." "Sounds good." Danny smiled at him as Lou pulled himself to his feet. "Hey Lou, before you go, I wanted to tell you that this Dewar's is the last drink I'm ever going to buy you." Lou gave him a puzzled look. "I had a little talk with your wife last night." "What in the hell did you do?" "Calm down there, big guy. I have known her for twenty years. She's a good woman, Lou. She deserves better than you." Danny remained impassive to the growing anger building on his friend's face. "She can't stand watching you became a slave to your drink." "It's none of your damned concern." "Well, I happen to disagree. Newspapermen are allowed to live past 53 years old these days. I thought a friend should tell you that." "Danny, this is not as simple as it looks," Lou reasoned. "I don't want to hear the standard bullshit about the Garibaldi men, and their history with booze. You are not destined to repeat your father's history or your grandfather's." "You don't understand." Lou backed away, shaking his head slowly. "Two o'clock, Lou. You have an appointment tomorrow afternoon at 2 p.m. in the boardroom of The Post," Danny shouted. Lou stopped and screwed up his face. "Your wife is going to be there as well as your three kids, their spouses, and your grand children. Your managing editors and your peers on the editorial team will be rounding out the party. They all have some things to say to you." "An intervention?" "I don't know what they call it these days, Lou." "This is a bad idea, Danny. I'm too old to do anything about this." Lou was shaking his head slowly. Danny could see the fear building in his eyes. "All you need is courage, Lou. And I know you have that in spades." Lou stood there quietly for a moment considering his words. "It probably wasn't such a good idea to tell me. Don't these things work better when it's a surprise? You know, just to make sure that people show." "Lou, you think that alcohol has the strongest grip on you. I would disagree. I think that good, honest journalism is the thing that holds you the strongest. I know you're going to be there. You're working on one of the best stories of your career, and I don't believe you could ever walk away from that. Hell, Lou, alcohol isn't even your number one obsession. That right there tells me you're going to beat it." Lou stared at him as people shouldered their way around him.
Leo slammed down the phone and pumped his fist in the air. He gave a whoop and then sat there grinning for a minute. Then he looked around the ostentatious but empty living room of his hotel suite and it dawned on him that excitement is not the same when there is no one around to share it with. He grabbed the phone again.. The first call was a no-brainer. It took only the push of a button to speed dial the person who should be the first to hear the news. "Hey! Wake up!...No, no, nothing disastrous. I have good news for you...Yes, it's about Harris. You, my young friend, are off the hook. Harris has been exposed, and by his own paper, no less...I swear to God, Josh. I just got off the phone with Concannon...I don't know. He and the Post were working together, I guess. I didn't ask too many questions. Gift horse mentality, you know...It's going to be in the morning edition tomorrow...I want you here by six a.m. We're going to have to do a press conference...Hell yes, you're back at work. No more vacation for you...What's that in the background?...It sounds like someone is in the room with...No, no, what am I asking? None of my business, Josh. Just disregard. Your private life is your private life. It's not like you're sleeping with your assistant or something...That was a joke, Josh... Calm down! Like I said, it's none of my business. Anyway, get here early...Oh, and wait 'til you hear what Butterfield and the Secret Service were doing to do for you...No, I'll tell you tomorrow. We're not going to need them now...Get some sleep, and be ready to work. You have four days to catch up on...Bye."
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