Blowback

SEVENTY-SIX

Damn it, Chuck,” said Jack Rutledge, who hadn’t slept in two days. He punched the remote and turned off his television. “We’ve got a major terrorist crisis on our hands. I don’t have time for this Mickey Mouse stuff. I thought we agreed you were going to take care of this.”

“We’ve been trying, Mr. President.”

“So why the hell do I keep seeing Helen Carmichael in front of TV cameras?”

“She’s a senator. They constantly court the media. That’s what they do.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Chuck. I thought you were going to talk to her.”

“I did,” said Anderson. “And the DNC chairman.”

“And?”

“Carmichael fought it tooth and nail. Just like we expected her to do and—”

“The DNC chairman promised he’d get to the bottom of it and clean it all up, right?”

“Right,” replied the chief of staff, “but—”

“Russ Mercer doesn’t take orders from our side of the aisle.”

“No, sir, he doesn’t.”

“What about Carmichael’s source within the CIA? Are we any closer to figuring out who the hell it is?”

“A federal judge approved a warrant and we have the man we believe to be the leak under surveillance. Gary Lawlor is coordinating the investigation with the FBI and hopes to have something for us very soon.”

“He’d better,” said Rutledge. “From what I hear, Carmichael is ready to go public with Harvath’s name and service photo any day now. What about the subpoenas she served us?”

“Nothing to worry about. I’ve met with the White House counsel, and we’re going to ignore them.”

“We are?” said Rutledge. “What kind of liability does that open us up to?”

“It’s just an opening salvo. She knows she can’t compel us to appear. But word is Carmichael has had the Capitol police warm up a couple of the jail cells they have up on the Hill.”

The president didn’t look pleased.

“Don’t worry,” said Anderson. “It’s a media stunt. It makes for good television, but that’s all.”

“I beg to differ with you,” said the president. “It makes for terrible television.”

“As far as this administration is concerned, you’re right, but she’s grandstanding. She knows that no sitting president would respond to her subpoena. It’s all smoke. The only way she’ll be able to move this forward is to get enough consensus to appoint a special prosecutor.”

Rutledge pushed his chair away from his desk and looked back out the window. “Do you want to remind me again why I agreed to run for a second term?”

“Because the people want you,” said Anderson, “and because Carmichael couldn’t stick anything to you even if she had a roll of duct tape.”

“I wish I could be as confident about this as you are.”

“Trust me. We’re going to come out on top of this.”

“Any word from USAMRIID?” asked Rutledge, changing the subject back to the one that he had been obsessing over ever since it broke.

“No. Nothing new. The civilians who were exposed to the illness are still in quarantine and the CDC is working with the people at Fort Detrick, trying to come up with some answers.”

“What’s your gut tell you, Chuck? Are we going to come out on top of this one as well?”

“I don’t know, Mr. President.”

“I don’t know either,” replied Rutledge, “and it scares the hell out of me. We don’t have much time left.”