Conspiracy

107

“The leak did not come from us,” Frey told Rubens. “Less than a dozen people are even aware of that theory.”

“Where do you think it came from?”

“I’m not sure. James Fahey, McSweeney’s ferret-faced right-hand man, thinks someone in the White House leaked it, trying to make points against Vietnam. Personally, I think he said that to keep suspicion off himself. He called my office saying he’d heard rumors a few hours before this came out. They call Fahey Jimmy Fingers because he’s got his fingers in everything,” added Frey. “He’s always playing some angle.”

“I would not necessarily rule Mr. Fahey’s theory out,” said Rubens.

“Who?”

“Without evidence, I would hesitate to accuse anyone,” said Rubens, though he had an obvious candidate: Bing.

“There are some agendas there that this would play into.”

“If I find the person, I’ll break them in two.” Most people grew calmer as they talked; Frey seemed to do the opposite.

“If they leaked this, what else did they leak? And what will they leak tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said Rubens.

After they exchanged some calmer details of the investigation, Rubens hung up and walked to the center of his office. His back was knotted in a dozen places, and he could feel a headache coming on. His yoga teacher had suggested a routine to loosen his spine and help him relax.

Obviously, the leak had come from Bing, thought Rubens as he slipped off his shoes. Bing was the only person who had anything to gain from it. She’d do it cleverly, of course — an aide would have lunch with a reporter, drop a strategic comment, and that would be that. Plausible denial intact.

Rubens was just beginning a tiger pose when his phone rang. He got up slowly, and saw that it was Bing.

“Senator McSweeney was just asked at a press conference about the possibility that the Vietnamese government wants to kill him,” she told Rubens when he picked up.

“Yes, I saw a tape of the press conference,” said Rubens.

“I have been wondering who alerted the media.”

“Was it you?”

Rubens’ back muscles immediately spasmed.

“I can’t even see the logic of asking me that question,” said Rubens, his tone nearly as stiff as his back. “Unless you’re trying to turn suspicion away from yourself.” Bing was silent.

“Is there anything else?” said Rubens finally.

“I’m still waiting for the Vietnam report.”

“There is nothing to report. As I told you the other day, there is no connection between the assassination attempt and the Vietnam government.”

“That’s all you have?” Bing asked.

“Nothing more.”

She hung up. Less than thirty seconds later, Rubens got a call from the White House.

“The President wants to see you,” said Ted Cohen, the chief of staff. “And he wants to see you now. ”

“Yes,” said Rubens. “I suspected he might.”