Acts of Mercy

Eight

The press secretary’s office was down the hall from the West Wing Reception Room, and as Christopher Justice turned the corner toward it a few minutes past noon, on an errand for the President, two men just emerged from the office were walking shoulder to shoulder and talking animatedly. Even though they had their backs to Justice, he recognized them: Attorney General Wexford and Peter Kineen.

Justice paused, looking after them. There was probably some innocuous reason for them to be together, but it struck him as odd that Kineen, the President’s bitter rival, should be here in the White House; that he should be so intimate with the attorney general, who was also chairman of the President’s reelection campaign. And odd, too, that both men had been together with Austin Briggs (whom Justice didn’t particularly like because he sometimes seemed to use questionable judgment in his comments to the press).

Thoughtfully, he continued to the press secretary’s office. When he entered he saw that there was no one at the outer reception desk: Briggs’s private secretary had evidently gone to lunch. The door to the inner office stood ajar, and Justice crossed to it and knocked and then pushed it inward.

Briggs was seated at his desk, and he had apparently been studying a sheaf of papers spread out in front of him; but now he blinked at Justice, swept the papers together hastily, put them into a manila folder and his hand on top of the folder as if guarding it. His expression, Justice saw with some surprise, was like that of a child caught at some sort of mischief.

“I’m sorry if I’m intruding, Mr. Briggs,” Justice said. “But the President asked me to stop by.”

“The President asked you-?”

“Yes sir. He’s busy and he couldn’t come himself. He’s planning to go to California this weekend and he’d like you to cancel the press luncheon scheduled for next Monday. He’d also like you to prepare a media release saying that he intends to remain at The Hollows for from three to five days for private policy discussions with members of his staff.”

Briggs seemed nervously flustered, uneasy; he ran a hand through his hair, ran his tongue over his lips, and reached for a cigarette from the pack in front of him. Though they were approximately the same age, he appeared very young to Justice-had seemed that way from the first moment they’d met. Maybe because there was a certain obvious immaturity in the man.

“I don’t understand,” Briggs said. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Joke, sir?” Justice felt himself frowning. “Of course not. Why would you think it’s a joke?”

Briggs cleared his throat. “Well, it’s just that going to The Hollows again while the press is still in an uproar over the Israel remarks… well, I’m not sure it’s such a wise decision.”

Justice said, “It’s the President’s decision, Mr. Briggs. If you’d like to call him later on…”

“No,” Briggs said, “no, that won’t be necessary. All right, I… I’ll take care of the cancellation and the release.” He got up jerkily, like a man struggling out of water, crushed his unlighted cigarette in the heavy White House ashtray on his desk, and caught up the folder and tucked it under his arm. And went out past Justice, leaving the door open, hurrying.

Justice stood for a moment, confused and bothered by the press secretary’s curious behavior. What was in those papers he had been studying? Did they have something to do with the presence earlier of the attorney general and Senator Kineen? Was he up to something, and had he been guiltily worried that Justice would realize it and inform the President?

He hurried back to the Oval Office.