"Do you think it will simply go away?" Horton asked Coal.
"It might. For obvious reasons, we hope so."
"I think you're optimistic, Mr. Coal. We don't normally sit back and wait for the press to do our investigating."
Coal grinned and almost laughed at this one. He smiled at the President, who shot him a quick look, and Horton started a slow burn.
"What's wrong with waiting a week?" asked the President.
"Nothing," shot Coal.
Just that quick the decision was made to wait a week, and Horton knew it. "Things could blow up in a week," he said without conviction.
"Wait a week," the President ordered. "We'll meet here next Friday, and go from there. I'm not saying no, Richard, just wait seven days."
Horton shrugged. This was more than he expected. He'd covered his rear. He would go straight to his office and dictate a lengthy memo detailing everything he could remember about this meeting, and his neck would be protected.
Coal stepped forward and handed him a sheet of paper.
"What's this?"
"More names. Do you know them?"
It was the bird-watcher list - four judges who were much too liberal for comfort, but Plan B called for radical environmentalists on the Court.
Horton blinked several times and studied it hard. "You must be kidding."
"Check 'em out," said the President.
"These guys are off-the-wall liberals," Horton mumbled.
"Yes, but they worship the sun and moon, and trees and birds," Coal explained helpfully.
Horton caught on, and suddenly smiled. "I see. Pelican lovers."
"They're almost extinct, you know," the President said.
Coal headed for the door. "I wish they'd been wiped out ten years ago."
She hadn't called by nine when Gray arrived at his desk in the newsroom. He'd read the Times and there was nothing in it. He spread the New Orleans paper over the clutter and skimmed it. Nothing. They had reported all they knew. Callahan, Verheek, Darby, and a thousand unanswered questions. He had to assume the Times and maybe the Times-Picayune in New Orleans had seen the brief or heard about it, and thus knew of Mattiece. And he had to assume they were clawing like cats to verify it. But he had Darby, and they would find Garcia, and if Mattiece could be verified, they would do it.
At the moment, there was no alternative plan. If Garcia was gone or refused to help, they would be forced to explore the dark and murky world of Victor Mattiece. Darby would not last long at that, and he didn't blame her. He was uncertain how long he would last.
Smith Keen appeared with a cup of coffee and sat on the desk. "If the Times had it, would they hold off until tomorrow?"
Gray shook his head. "No. If they had more than the Times-Picayune, it would've run today."
"Krauthammer wants to run what we've got. He thinks we can name Mattiece."
"I don't follow."
"He's leaning on Feldman. His angle is that we can run the whole story about Callahan and Verheek getting killed over this brief, which happens to name Mattiece who happens to be a friend of the President's, without directly accusing Mattiece. He says we can be extremely cautious and make sure the story says Mattiece is named in the brief, but not named by us. And since the brief is causing all this death, then it has been verified to some extent."
"He wants to hide behind the brief."
"Exactly."
"But it's all speculation until it's confirmed. Krauthammer's losing it. Assume for a second that Mr. Mattiece is in no way involved with this. Completely innocent. We run the story with his name in it, and then what? We look like fools, and we get sued for the next ten years. I'm not writing the story."
"He wants someone else to write it."
"If this paper runs a pelican story not written by me, the girl is gone, okay? I thought I explained that yesterday."
"You did. And Feldman heard you. He's on your side, Gray, and I am too. But if this thing's true, it'll blow up in a matter of days. We all believe that. You know how Krauthammer hates the Times, and he's afraid those bastards'll run it."
"They can't run it, Smith. They may have a few more facts than the Times-Picayune, but they can't name Mattiece. Look, we'll verify before anyone. And when it's nailed down, I'll write the story with everyone's name along with that cute little picture of Mattiece and his friend in the White House, and the fat lady will sing."
"We? You said it again. You said, 'We'll verify it.'"
"My source and I, okay?" Gray opened a drawer and found the photo of Darby and the Diet Coke. He handed it to Keen, who admired it.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. I think she's on her way here from New York."
"Don't get her killed."
"We're being very cautious." Gray looked over both shoulders and leaned closer. "In fact, Smith, I think I'm being followed. I just wanted you to know."
"Who might they be?"
"It came from a source at the White House. I'm not using my phones."
"I'd better tell Feldman."
"Okay. I don't think it's dangerous, yet."
"He needs to know." Keen jumped to his feet and disappeared.
She called within minutes. "I'm here," she said. "I don't know how many I've brought with me, but I'm here, and alive, for the moment."
"Where are you?"
"Tabard Inn on N Street. I saw an old friend on Sixth Avenue yesterday. Remember Stump, who was grievously wounded on Bourbon Street? Did I tell you that story?"
"Yes."
"Well, he's walking again. A slight limp, but he was wandering around Manhattan yesterday. I don't think he saw me."
"Are you serious! That's scary, Darby."
"It's worse than scary. I left six trails when I left last night, and if I see him in this city, limping along a sidewalk somewhere, I intend to surrender. I'll walk up to him and turn myself in."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say as little as possible, because these people have radar. I'll play private eye for three days, and I'm out of here. If I live to see Wednesday morning, I'm on a plane to Aruba or Trinidad or some place with a beach. When I die, I want to be on a beach."
"When do we meet?"
"I'm thinking about that. I want you to do two things."
"I'm listening."
"Where do you park your car?"
"Close to my apartment."
"Leave it there, and go rent another one. Nothing fancy, just a generic Ford or something. Pretend someone's watching you through a rifle scope. Go to the Marbury Hotel in Georgetown and get a room for three nights. They'll take cash - I've already checked. Do it under another name."
Grantham took notes and shook his head.
"Can you sneak out of your apartment after dark?" she asked.
"I think so."
"Do it, and take a cab to the Marbury. Have them deliver the rental car to you there. Take two cabs to the Tabard Inn, and walk into the restaurant at exactly nine tonight."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Bring clothes. Plan to be away from your apartment for at least three days. And plan to stay away from the office."
"Really, Darby, I think the office is safe."
"I'm not in the mood to argue. If you're going to be difficult, Gray, I'll simply disappear. I'm convinced I'll live longer the sooner I get out of the country."