“It sort of looks like it might be bugs, right?”
Don crossed his arms. He was a good boss, Teddie thought, though it wasn’t as if she had a lot to go by. She’d started at CNN right out of college as his assistant, and he’d been the one who’d given her her first shot as a producer. Associate producer. Once or twice she tried to imagine what she would do if he hit on her; her dad might be right that she had a youthful naiveté about the way the world works, but she wasn’t completely stupid. She knew how certain things worked. He wasn’t married and he wasn’t gay and he was only in his early forties, young enough that it wouldn’t have been inconceivable. So she didn’t really understand why he never hit on her, never even hinted at it, except that maybe he was just one of those scrupulous people who didn’t mix business with pleasure. Or maybe he just didn’t do pleasure. Near as Teddie could tell, all Don ever did was work. So he was a good boss, in that he didn’t seem to think of her as some young thing he could take advantage of, but he was also a bit of a pain in the ass in that he didn’t seem to understand that she sometimes might want to do something other than work. He wasn’t much for amusements, and right now he was clearly not amused.
“Come on Teddie. Don’t waste my time. Bugs?”
“Don, I’m—”
She never got the chance to try to defend herself, which was good, because she was pretty sure she was going to say something lame. Instead, they were both interrupted by Rennie LaClair yelling at them across the office.
She followed Don over to the bank of monitors by Rennie’s desk.
“Is that Delhi?”
Rennie didn’t look at either her or Don. “Yep. NBC just put it up. They had a crew on the ground shooting B-roll, but now they’ve got a satellite linkup. Running it live. It’s complete fucking pandemonium on the ground there, and they don’t have an actual reporter working, just a cameraman, but man. Look at this shit.”
It didn’t matter that Teddie wasn’t able to recognize the New Delhi Railway Station. What mattered was that the camera crew was shooting from some sort of elevation. Maybe on top of a nearby building. And what mattered was that there was enough of an open expanse that they could capture the panic. People were running everywhere. No. Not running. Fleeing. They were fleeing. For obvious reasons, none of the televisions had their sound on, but it wouldn’t have made anything more clear. The headline read Panic in Delhi—Possible Terrorism? Whoever was running the show at NBC was thinking of the Mumbai attacks in 2008.
They had it wrong. Teddie knew that immediately. She knew it even before the camera zoomed in on one of the building entrances.
A black thread.
The thread turned into a ribbon.
A river.
A flood.
The White House
Manny didn’t usually run. He walked with purpose, and he was often walking and talking, but running inside the White House wasn’t normally part of the equation. Normally. But today was different.
If it had been anybody else going full sprint toward the Oval Office, he would have been, at the very least, tackled and pinned to the ground, but the agents on duty knew Manny, and they were alarmed by his alarm. He was already sweating and out of breath, a cell phone in each hand and trying to talk on both at the same time. He broke off his conversations to tell the agents and Steph’s bodywoman—political jargon for her personal assistant—to clear the room, but Steph barely glanced at Manny.
The office was crowded. Two congressmen with seven or eight high-rolling donors, a young man who looked familiar to Manny, maybe an actor or singer, and several overwhelmed-looking parents chaperoning a quartet of Girl Scouts in full uniform. Steph, as always, under control, finished the grip and grin, leaning over and putting her arms around the Girl Scouts, grinning on cue for the poof of the camera flash. And then a quick thank-you, the full smile, and stepping back so the handlers could get everybody out. Thirty seconds from the time he entered the room. The woman was a pro. Manny hadn’t even caught his breath yet when the office was empty.
As soon as the doors were closed, Steph’s smile dropped. “The Chinese?”
“No. India. Alex and Ben should be here any minute. Billy’s on his way.” Both of his cell phones started ringing at the same time, but he let them go.