23
THE WHITE HOUSE: 12:45 P.M., MONDAY
There was no mistaking the perpetrator of the assault on the door of Nicholas Scanlon’s office. Two knocks, sharp as a tack hammer. The White House press secretary allowed ten uncomfortable seconds to elapse before looking up from his work. Melissa Stewart, NBC’s chief White House correspondent, was leaning against the doorjamb, her arms folded defiantly, her newly tinted hair tousled from her last live shot on the North Lawn.
“What’s on your mind, Melissa?”
“We need to talk.”
“No paper in the ladies’ room again?”
Stewart stepped inside the office and closed the door.
“Please come in, Melissa,” Scanlon said sarcastically. “Have a seat.”
“I’d love to, Nick, but I’m in a bit of a rush.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Confirm a story.”
Scanlon shuffled the papers on his desk and played for time. “What have you got?”
“I know who’s holding Elizabeth Halton hostage.”
“Do tell, Melissa. We’d all like to know.”
“It’s the Sword of Allah, Nick. A few days ago a DVD of Elizabeth was left in the countryside of southern England. They want Sheikh Abdullah back, and if we don’t have him on a plane bound for Egypt by Friday night, they’re going to kill her.”
“What’s your source?”
“That doesn’t sound like a denial.”
“Answer the question, please.”
“You don’t really expect me to divulge my source, do you?”
“At least characterize the nature of the source for me.”
“Law enforcement,” she said. “But that’s as far as I go.”
Scanlon swiveled his chair around and gazed through his bulletproof window toward the North Lawn. A fucking leak… It was a miracle they had managed to keep a lid on it this long. It had been just six months since Scanlon had left his lucrative job as a lobbyist and public relations executive to come to work for the president, but in that time he had been given ample evidence of Washington’s proclivity to leak. And the worse the news, the faster it gushed out. He wondered what would possibly motivate a federal law enforcement official to slip a piece of news like this to a reporter. He rotated his chair around and looked into Melissa Stewart’s large blue eyes. But of course, he thought.
“You still sleeping with that guy from the Bureau?”
“Stay out of my personal life, Nick.”
“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, and I hope you take it in the spirit it is offered. This is not a story you want to be first on.”
“That doesn’t sound like a denial either.”
“As you can imagine, we are in the middle of some very delicate operations around the globe right now—operations that will be placed in jeopardy if this news is revealed before we’re ready.”
“I’m sorry, Nick, but this is just too big to sit on. If it’s true, we have to go with it. The American people deserve to know who’s holding Ambassador Halton’s daughter.”
“Even if it gets her killed?”
“You’ve sunk into the depths before, but that’s the lowest.”
“I can go much lower, Melissa. I’ll deny it’s true, and then I’ll denounce you from the podium.”
She turned and reached for the doorknob.
“Wait,” Scanlon said, his tone suddenly conciliatory. “Perhaps we can reach an accommodation.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“How long can you give me?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Twenty,” Scanlon countered.
“Fifteen.”
Scanlon nodded in agreement. Stewart looked at her watch.
“If the phone in my booth doesn’t ring in fifteen fucking minutes,” she said, “I’m going to march out to the lawn and tell the world who’s holding Elizabeth Halton.”
The president was seated at his desk when Nicholas Scanlon entered the Oval Office three minutes later, accompanied by White House Chief of Staff William Burns and National Security Advisor Cyrus Mansfield.
“Why the long faces, gentlemen?” the president asked.
“There’s been a leak, Mr. President,” Scanlon said. “NBC knows who’s holding Elizabeth.”
The president closed his eyes in frustration. For more than a week now, he had been walking a fine line, attempting to show appropriate concern in public for the fate of his friend’s daughter while at the same time making it clear to the terrorists that they had not managed to incapacitate the most powerful man on the planet. Only those closest to the president knew the physical and emotional toll the kidnapping had taken on him.
“What do you suggest, Nick?”
“Taking the bull by the horns, sir. I think it would be better for the country and the rest of the world to hear the news from your mouth than Melissa Stewart’s.”
“How long do we have before she goes on the air with it?”
Scanlon looked at his watch. “Nine minutes, sir.”
The president looked from his press secretary to his national security advisor. “I need to know whether I’m going to be placing any sensitive operations in jeopardy if I go public now. Get the director of the CIA on the line. The secretary of state, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president looked at Scanlon again. “Assuming no one has any objections, where would you like to do this?”
“The Briefing Room feels appropriate to me.”
“No questions, though.”
“I’ll make that clear to the reporters beforehand.”
“How are you going to handle Melissa Stewart?”
“We’ll have to promise her something,” Scanlon said. “Something big.”
“Couldn’t we just appeal to her sense of decency and patriotism?”
“We’re talking about Melissa Stewart, Mr. President. I’m not sure she has a pulse, let alone a sense of patriotism.”
The president exhaled heavily. “You can tell her the first interview I do after this is over will be with NBC News. That should make her happy.”
“That’s going to cause me problems elsewhere in the press room, sir.”
“I’m afraid that those are your problems, Nick, not mine.”
“Would you like me to draft a statement for you, sir?”
The president shook his head. “This is one I can handle on my own.”