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‘The partisan rhetoric doesn’t play with me, Martha. You should know that by now.’

‘All right, I’m sorry. But this is important, Conrad.’

Beckers reflected on the image of himself in the brightly-lit mirror in front of him, and gestured for a little more black pencil around one of his sideburns.

‘What does he want to say?’ he asked.

There was a silence. Beckers watched himself shake his head in the mirror.

‘You can’t play that game with me, Martha. If he’s just going to repeat his story that he never banged Lucia Benoni, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar and a traitor, frankly that doesn’t sound like history to me. He’s said it before. So, what gives? What makes it so urgent that the President has to speak to the people tomorrow?’

‘The House Intelligence Committee will be making an announcement about holding hearings,’ Martha said, doing her best, but sounding unconvincing even to herself.

‘I know that,’ Beckers said. ‘I read the papers. And in the usual way, we would expect the President to respond briefly through you and then more fully at a press conference a day or two later. I still don’t get it.’

There was silence again. The assistant had finished her work. Conrad Beckers nodded appreciatively then, on impulse, suddenly gestured to her to leave him alone in the room. He waited until she had closed the door behind her.

‘He’s going to admit it, isn’t he?’ he asked. ‘He wants to tell the people he’s been lying to them.’

Martha hesitated a moment too long.

‘There will be no advance statement, Conrad. But it will be worth your while. And the President will answer any questions you have.’

‘That’s the rule on my show,’ Beckers said. ‘Nothing is off limits. Whether it’s the President or anyone else. That’s the way I work.’

‘Then it’s not a problem, is it?’ Martha said. ‘So, will you do it, or do I have to ask CNN?’

This time it was Beckers who did not reply immediately.

‘He
is
the President of the United States, Conrad.’

Beckers decided. ‘All right. Where and when?’

‘We’d prefer your studio. Any time before lunch.’

‘Let’s say ten-thirty.’

‘Deal,’ Martha said. ‘My people will work with you on publicity, but there must be no advance statement of the subject-matter.’

‘You think no one will figure it out?’

‘All the same…’

‘All right, Martha. All right. We’ll gear up for it, and we’ll shelve the story on interest rates for a day. My producer will kill me.’

‘I think that’s highly unlikely, Conrad,’ Martha said, hanging up.

* * *

Martha looked at her watch. She was due to report to the President in a few minutes’ time. She opened her purse and took out a small mirror and her lipstick. She was about to apply some lipstick when she paused, suddenly shocked by the lines on her face, the tightness around her mouth, the dark shadows around her eyes, the evidence of long hours and not enough sleep. She looked older. ‘It’s this damned job,’ she thought. Angrily, she applied the make-up. She was in the process of replacing the lipstick and the mirror in her purse when there was a timid knock at the door. She looked at her watch again.

‘Come.’

The door opened slowly. The young woman who walked uncertainly in looked pale, and her eyes were red. Martha put down her purse and stood.

‘Agent Samuels? Come in. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?’

Without a word, Linda Samuels almost ran over to Martha Graylor’s desk, sat down in one of the armchairs in front of it, and held her head in her hands. Martha walked quickly around to the front of the desk, sat in the chair next to her, and put an arm around her shoulder. At her touch, Linda began to cry. Martha did not try to interrupt her, but simply let her arm rest gently in place on Linda’s shoulder. After some time, Linda lifted her head, appearing to be embarrassed. She ran the back of a hand across her nose. Martha handed her a tissue from the blue, flower-covered holder on her desk.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Graylor,’ Linda said. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I’m making a fool of myself. I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I’ll go… It’s just that… I didn’t know where else to turn. I just thought… I’m sorry…’ She tried to get up, but Martha pressed down with her arm a little more firmly.

‘Don’t be silly. Stay right where you are. I’m glad you felt able to come to me. Why don’t you tell me about it?’

Linda finished wiping her nose with the tissue, screwed it up into a tight ball and held on to it as tightly as she could. She looked vacantly across the room.

‘I’m in trouble,’ she said quietly.

Martha smiled.

‘You mean, because of the code red? No, absolutely not. In fact…,’ she took Linda’s hand confidentially, ‘look, I’m not really supposed to tell you this, so keep it to yourself, but if it will make you feel better, I happen to know that there’s a commendation in your future. The President was pretty impressed, Agent Samuels. So were we all. We felt the President would have been well protected if it had been a real emergency. I promise you, you are not in any trouble. Quite the reverse.’

Linda shook her head vigorously.

‘No, that’s not what I mean,’ she replied with a deep sigh.

Martha raised her eyebrows

‘What, then? Boyfriend trouble? My God, have you ever come to the wrong person for that.’

Linda managed a weak smile, and turned to look Martha full in the face. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper.

‘You know about the hearings they’re going to have in the House?’

‘The House Intelligence Committee? Yes,’ Martha said. ‘I wish I didn’t, but I do.’

‘I got a call yesterday from someone at the Committee Chairman’s office. An aide of some kind. He said I was going to be subpoenaed as a witness. He said I was to pull together any written notes or records, and be ready to produce them. They want to interview me next week.’

Martha looked up sharply.

‘You? Why would they want to talk to you?’

Linda wound the screwed-up tissue around her little finger as tightly as she could.

‘I was with the President when he was in Chicago. I was on the Detail…’

Martha sat back in her chair for a moment, then stood and walked away towards the window of her office.

‘I see,’ she said eventually.

‘I don’t know very much, really,’ Linda continued. ‘I saw the Benoni woman arrive, and I saw her leave. In between… well, I was standing right outside the door, and I couldn’t help but hear…’

Linda allowed her voice to trail away.

Martha Graylor seemed lost in thought for some time.

‘We’ll have to get you some legal representation,’ she said decisively. ‘I’ll set up a meeting for you with a lawyer from the White House Counsel’s office.’

‘It won’t do any good, Miss Graylor, will it?’ Linda asked. ‘They can order me to testify, can’t they? There’s no privilege. It was decided during the Clinton impeachment. They told us about it during our orientation when we joined the Detail.’

Martha turned back towards her, and nodded.

‘Yes, you’re right. You will have to testify. But the legal people can give you some good tips on how much you have to say, how to deal with the questions, how to act during your testimony. They’re the professionals. They can help you a lot.’

Linda suddenly stood and leaned on the desk.

‘I should tell the truth, shouldn’t I?’

Martha’s eyes opened wide.

‘Yes, of course…,’ she began automatically. She took a step back, and placed a hand over her mouth. She saw Linda close her eyes. A terrible thought came to her. She walked back to the desk and stood right next to Linda.

‘Someone’s got to you, haven’t they?’

Linda shook her head desperately. Martha put her hands on Linda’s arms and pulled her around to face her.

‘Agent Samuels, you need to tell me what’s going on. This is too big to fool around with. Who’s been talking to you, and what did they say?’

Linda raised her head and looked straight into Martha’s eyes. Her look was enough to confirm Martha’s worst fears.

‘The President?’

Linda swallowed hard.

‘He called down to the Detail office yesterday, just before I went off duty. He said he wanted to see me for a moment. I assumed it was just about something that was to happen today. But when I got to the Oval Office, he was alone. He asked me if I’d heard anything from the House Committee, and…’

‘Wait a minute,’ Martha interrupted. ‘Not too fast. This is important. I want you to be absolutely precise. Did you tell the President that you’d been contacted by the Committee, or did the President ask you? How did the subject come up?’

‘He asked me directly, Ma’am. I didn’t volunteer anything, believe me. He asked me, had I heard from them. It was as though he knew it was going to happen, but he didn’t know when. So, I told him the truth, I said I had, that I had received word they wanted me to testify.’

Linda hesitated.

‘Go on,’ Martha said gently.

‘Well, that’s when he said he expected me to be loyal, to stand by him.’

Martha collapsed into the armchair. Aghast, she stared at Linda, her mouth open.

‘Lord have mercy,’ she whispered. ‘Are you sure that’s what he…’

‘Yes, Ma’am, quite sure,’ Linda interrupted bitterly. ‘He didn’t put it in so many words, but I knew exactly what he meant. He was asking me to lie for him.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘I honestly don’t remember, Miss Graylor. I was shocked. As far as I remember, I made some excuse, and got out of there as soon as I could. But since then… well, I’ve had all night and all day to think about it, and…’

‘You’re right to be shocked,’ Martha said, as calmly as she could. ‘Look, I’m sure the President didn’t mean anything by it. You must understand, he is under a great deal of stress, and…’

Linda shook her head decisively.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Graylor, but he meant every word. I know he did.’

She stood, turned and walked away a step or two towards the door. ‘In any case, he’s right. I should be loyal to him.’

Martha Graylor was not sure she had heard correctly. ‘Excuse me? What did you say?’

‘I should be loyal to him,’ Linda repeated, less certainly.

‘I don’t believe this,’ Martha said after some time. ‘Agent Samuels, for God’s sake. He has no right… Think about what you’re saying…’

‘No,’ Linda said. ‘No. I’m not talking about committing perjury. I know that would be wrong. I wouldn’t do that.’

‘What, then?’ Martha asked.

‘Just not testifying, refusing to cooperate with them.’

‘But you said it yourself, you have no choice. There’s no privilege. They can make you.’

‘They can put me in jail,’ Linda replied, a determined edge creeping into her voice. ‘But that’s all they can do. They can’t make me testify.’

Martha walked over to Linda, put both arms around her, brought her back gently to the armchair, and sat her down. She knelt on the floor in front of her.

‘Linda, listen to me. If you do that, your career will be over. You will spend a long time in jail, because there is no way these people will give up. Believe me, I know them. They will not just give up.’

‘I know that.’

‘And you would still do it?’

‘It’s my duty.’

Shaking her head, Martha climbed slowly to her feet. She glanced at her watch. She was about to be late for her meeting with the President.

‘Would you at least talk it over with someone else, someone who knows a lot more about this than I do? I feel the President had no right to do this to you. I feel you’re being led astray. But I have a feeling you need to hear it from someone other than me? Will you do that?’

‘Yes, Miss Graylor, of course. I didn’t mean to imply…’

‘That’s all right.’

Martha walked quickly back around her desk, picked up the phone and dialed an internal extension.

‘Vice President’s Office,’ a female voice said.

‘Julie, is the Vice President there? I really need her.’

‘Just a moment, Miss Graylor,’ the secretary replied. There was a short silence. ‘You’re in luck. She was just about to leave. Putting you through.’

‘Martha?’ Ellen Trevathan said brightly. ‘What’s up?’

‘Ellen,’ Martha said, ‘I really need you over here for a couple of minutes. Can you come?’

There was the briefest of pauses, as the Vice President weighed the edge in Martha’s voice.

‘I’m on my way,’ Ellen said.

M
ARY
S
ULLIVAN
AND
Irene had been waiting impatiently in
The Washington Post
’s conference room for over an hour by the time Harold Philby was finally able to extricate himself from a production meeting to join them. While waiting, they had assembled a small mountain of paper. Irene was seated at the table, thumbing through a file, trying to make sure she had mastered her brief before having to confront the Editor, a prospect which made her even more nervous than submitting her work to Mary Sullivan. Harold Philby was a legend and, despite the prospect of an A-plus, she was worrying that her internship might be about to spiral out of control. Mary was pacing up and down in front of the window, apparently distracted, clutching a cup of coffee. Philby grinned at the sight, as he entered and took his seat.

‘Sorry to keep you, Mary,’ he said. ‘Those damned production meetings can be like old-time revival meetings. Sometimes you think they’ll never end.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Philby,’ Irene stammered, standing awkwardly as her chair stubbornly resisted her efforts to push it backwards away from the table. ‘I don’t know whether you remember me, but I’m…’

‘Irene,’ Philby replied. ‘You’re our intern from George Washington. Of course I remember. I may be getting older, but reports of my senility have been greatly exaggerated. Isn’t that so, Mary?’

‘If you say so, Harold,’ Mary smiled thinly, joining him at the table. She gestured to Irene to sit also.

‘Well, thank you for that vote of confidence,’ Philby replied, taking a spectacle case from an inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Let me see if I can force my mind to concentrate for a few minutes.’

He waved the spectacle case in Mary’s direction. ‘You were right, by the way, or rather your source was.’