Panic In Detroit

by Redconky

Written Pre911 really . . . a terrorist plot may wreak havoc on Detroit's tricentennial celebrations.

Title: Forward to Panic In Detroit (Please read first)
Pen Name: Redconky
Email Address:

I wrote this 40-page fanfic as a cautionary tale. It was originally published in July 2001. Although I wanted to submit this to more sites, I became busy. Then, September 11, 2001 happened.

There are many parallels in my story with the events that impacted our nation on that terrible day. For this reason, I held back on submitting this story to other West Wing sites that feature fanfiction. However, it is a critical part of my series and to leave it out would, in a way, be another very small (emphasis on very) victory for the terrorists. For these reasons, I have decided to request publication of this installment and to ask those who have read the first two parts of the series to give it a chance.

Although fanfiction in the grand scheme of things is nothing of any great significance, I would like to dedicate this installment to those who bravely work to protect us all from any kind of harm and to those who have suffered at the hands of people who refuse to employ reason and instead resort to the most base of human endeavors: violence. Our nation has never been stronger. We will endure.

"Don't ever forget the battles you've fought and won." – President Bartlet to Leo McGarry

Your fellow American,
Redconky

PS I lived within an hour of Detroit most of my life, but I painstakingly attempted to make it a story of general interest and one that people who don't live in the area -- or who hail from the area -- will want to read. Spoilers are all over the place for seasons one and two – too many to numerate. Also, the historical information on terrorists comes from news reports as well as the websites of the CIA, FBI and Department of State. Feedback is always welcome. The two prior stories in this series are "Where There's Smoke . . ." and "A Compass or a Map". This story takes place post-"Two Cathedrals". Finally, thanks to Noriane and Sara, my two wonderful betas who kept me on the straight and narrow. OK, on with the story!

"He looked a lot like Che Guevara, drove a diesel van,
Kept his gun in quiet seclusion, such a humble man,
The only survivor of the National People's Gang,
Panic in Detroit . . ." – David Bowie

"Quite frankly, I don't care how hard it is – we've got to make this happen!" Leo yelled at Josh and Toby. "The environmental summit in Australia has been postponed until later this summer and we've got an opportunity to shore up support in a traditionally Democratic city where our agenda – if we push it through Congress – has a real chance of making a visible difference there by Election Day. Now that the President has decided to run for re-election, we've got to claw and scrape for every vote in light of the fact that we're spending more time in depositions than on the Hill. You guys can sleep in tents if necessary – just set it up!"

Josh and Toby sat silent for a moment, surprised at Leo's fervor on the subject. It wasn't that Leo never got fired up about anything – on the contrary – but before the President made his MS announcement, a trip like this wouldn't have carried so much weight.

"Now go!" Leo shouted.

Josh and Toby hustled out of Leo's office without the usual salutations. They knew they had to handle the logistics within the next eight hours or suffer more of Leo's wrath, which would be coupled with that of the President.

"Ginger!" Toby yelled as he approached his office. She followed on his heels.

"What do you need, Toby?"

"I need you, Bonnie, Donna, and whoever else you can round up to perform nothing short of a miracle. I need you to find hotel rooms, bunk beds, cots at a Girl Scout camp, or whatever the hell else you can find for me, Sam, Josh, CJ and Charlie for the next four days in Detroit."

"Toby, you do realize that Detroit is celebrating its 300th birthday right now?"

"Yes."

"And you do realize that CNN has been talking about how the media can't even get lodging because the area doesn't have enough rooms during normal peak times? I mean, organizers said they're expecting a million people."

"Yes, I am aware of that, which is why I compared it to a miracle. I don't care what it takes – the President is now able to attend the festivities. We need to reach out to the party leadership and the voters there, and he's been invited by Mayor Dennis Archer to stay in the Manoogian Mansion. We have to be there."

"Why weren't all of you invited to stay in the mansion?"

"Although it's the title of the mayor's official residence, calling it a mansion is akin to dubbing a tugboat a luxury cruise liner. It has a grand total of four bedrooms."

"O-K," Ginger said. "I'll get with Bonnie, Donna and the other assistants."

Bonnie was out of sight, so Ginger headed for Josh's bullpen. As Ginger approached Donna's desk, Donna was running to answer her phone.

"Good afternoon, Josh Lyman's office," Donna said.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Moss. This is Nate at the front gate. We have a woman here by the name of Colleen O'Leary who says she's your landlady. She's muttering something about a break-in at your building and needing to get you your new pass card. It's kind of hard to make out what she's saying – she seems kind of shook up."

"Keep her there. I'm on my way."

As Donna hung up the phone, Ginger noted Donna's concerned expression.

"Who was that?"

"Front gate security. Colleen's here."

"What the hell is Colleen doing here?"

"I guess there was a break-in at our building and she needs to give me my new security pass card. That's all I know," Donna said.

"Donna, you've had a lot of bad luck lately – what did you do in your past life?"

"I dunno," Donna said. "But I hope I had fun, because I'm paying for it now. If Josh looks for me, tell him where I'm at."

"Well, hurry back. Toby wants us to find hotel rooms in Detroit ASAP!" Ginger shouted as Donna made her way out.

Donna arrived at the front gate and confirmed Colleen was in fact her landlady.

"How are you? What happened?" Donna now noticed a 2-inch cut across Colleen's forehead.

"I was washing the frosted window of the front entrance door from the inside--"

"Wait," Donna interrupted, "why were you washing the window?"

"The janitor is on vacation. Anyway, that's when I heard something hit the security keypad. I then heard someone running up the stairs and then a brick went through the window. As you can see, some of the flying glass hit me. I saw someone trying to punch out the remaining glass, so I did the only thing I thought I could do: I picked up the bucket full of window cleaner and threw it in the intruder's face. It worked – he ran away screaming."

"Did you call the police?" Donna asked.

"Didn't have to. As soon as the keypad was damaged, the security company was alerted automatically and the police were there inside of five minutes. The security company has already installed the new keypad – you're the last one to get a card. I know you often work late, so I figured I'd better bring it to you."

"Why isn't your cut dressed? Why haven't you seen a doctor?" Donna asked with worry evident in her voice.

"It's not that bad, Donna."

"Colleen, it's still bleeding." Donna grabbed a tissue and handed it to Colleen. After patting the area and seeing the red spots on the tissue, Colleen began to feel ill.

In the meantime, Josh wanted a file yesterday and caught up with Donna after Ginger told him where she had gone.

"What's going on?" When Josh saw an injured Colleen that he understood the reason Donna left the bullpen. "Hey, you ought to get that cleaned up."

"I got cut by some glass. It's a long story, Josh."

"You want to take care of that PDQ. Believe me – I know what I'm talking about," Josh said. "But why are you—"

"I'll explain later, Josh," Donna said. "Just let me clean her up so Ginger and I can find hotel rooms for you guys in Detroit."

"What do you need hotel rooms in Detroit for?" Colleen asked.

"A change in plans now allows the President to accept the mayor's invitation for the 300th birthday festivities. The President and the First Lady will stay in the mayor's residence, but the rest of us are scrambling for rooms," Josh said.

"I'll bet. I was supposed to leave in about two hours for Detroit so I can be at a conference, but now I have to change my flight." Then Colleen raised her eyebrows and a huge smile crossed her face. "What am I thinking? How many of you are going?"

"Five," Donna answered.

"Six," Josh countered.

"Six?" Donna asked in surprised tone as she turned to Josh.

"Yeah – we're going to need an assistant to come along, so I picked you. How fast can you pack?"

"Thanks to you, I'm getting faster all the time. How about a little notice, Josh?"

"How about a little gratitude that I get you out of the office on occasion?" Josh replied.

"Anyway," Colleen piped up. "I can definitely fit all of you in my house."

"You never told me you had a house in Detroit," Donna said.

"Well, it's not in Detroit proper – it's a few miles north of the city limits in the Pointes. It belonged to my grandparents."

"As in, the Grosse Pointes, like the movie Grosse Pointe Blank?"

"As far as I know, we don't have any professional hit-men in residence, but yes, that is where my house is. When do you need it ready?"

"By tomorrow morning. Can you do it? We'd be eternally grateful, Colleen."

"The phone lines were cut, so give me a minute to call from my cell phone."

"I'll get the first aid kit from security while you make the call," Donna said.

"Thanks, Donna." Within a couple of rings, Colleen's call was answered.

"Hello, Thomas? Can the staff prepare all of the rooms in the next 16 hours? We're going to be having some unexpected but very important guests . . . yeah, pull out ALL the stops. It's white glove time."

Once Donna cleaned the cut, Colleen went back to the building to meet the insurance agent and to get ready for what she expected to be an eventful trip. She had no idea how eventful it would be.

After the staff put the final touches on the President's itinerary, Donna headed home to pack and fill Colleen in on all of the arrangements. Colleen and the staff at her Grosse Pointe Farms home were vetted in near-record time. Since Colleen's airline couldn't guarantee she could get a flight to Detroit by the next morning, President Bartlet told Leo to tell Colleen she could join the staff on Air Force One. Leo told Donna, who in turn informed Colleen that night after she was finished packing.

"You mean . . . I'm going to be on . . . I might meet the President? Tomorrow?"

"Yes – on both counts. The President is grateful that you are opening up your home to the staff and this is his way of saying thank you."

"Wow," Colleen said. "What does he do for Christmas presents?"

"How do you feel about animal fables in iambic verse?"

"Really?" Colleen gushed.

Remembering that Colleen is quite the bibliophile, Donna let out a small sigh and rubbed her forehead. "I should have seen that one coming."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Colleen said while jumping from the couch to sift through her oversized briefcase. "This is for you."

Donna looked curiously at Colleen as she handed her the item. "What's this?"

"What it says it is – Georgetown University's Undergraduate Catalog."

"Colleen, I know you've been encouraging me to finish my degree, but at this point--"

"Look, I know you have a very demanding job. At the same time, Georgetown works with a lot of government employees to help them complete their degrees. In light of recent events, a degree is a good insurance policy. I mean, given the worst-case scenario--"

"Don't talk like that!" Donna nearly shouted. "What about a positive attitude? You're the one who's always pushing that! How can you even think about that?"

Colleen's chest heaved from the deep sigh she let out. "How can you not think about that? Donna, I'm not saying things definitely won't work out. I believe in hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I don't want to see you left high and dry. You're too good for that. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

After a few moments, Donna offered Colleen a half-smile. "I appreciate your concern, and I'll take a look at this and think about it. But President Bartlet is a good man. Don't count him out yet."

"I won't. Hey, we probably better get some sleep."

"I'll see you in the morning," Donna said as she left Colleen's apartment with the course catalog in hand.

Donna and Colleen left the next morning for the White House. They departed from there with the other staff members, the President and the First Lady to board Air Force One. Leo rode out with the President to the airport to brief him on some last-minute developments.

"Tall ships, Leo!"

"Yes, sir."

"They're going to have tall ships right on the Detroit River! They're also going to have dozens of concerts. The best part is, everything is free. And you're going to miss it all."

"Someone has to hold down the fort. We've got all of the border patrols on high alert," Leo said.

"Because we've received more than the usual amount of threats from fundamentalist Islamic terrorist groups?" the President asked.

"That's correct. The latest threat came in two hours ago via email sent through the websites of the Department of State and the White House."

"The White House?"

"Yes. We're working on determining the email's origin."

"What did the threat say?"

"It said release Mohamed, El-Hage, Odeh and Al-'Owhali or the blood of many will be on the hands of the infidels."

"I suppose we're the infidels."

"That's what they're saying."

"Leo, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: we don't capitulate to bullies. Four of their people have been found guilty in a court of law of blowing up two of our embassies and killing 224 people and now they feel they've got the right to rattle the saber. To hell with their indignation – let this be a message to them: America has a zero tolerance policy against terrorists, domestic or foreign. I want to get these guys. And keep me updated. I don't want to see another drop of American blood shed by these extremists."

"Yes, Mr. President."

As the President and First Lady climbed out of the limousine, the President bent his head to speak to Leo once more.

"Anything you want from Detroit?"

"Yeah – a car that doesn't run on gasoline. These prices are ridiculous!"

"I'm the President – not a miracle worker. I'll see what I can do."

"Short of that, how about a nice, big, University of Michigan sweatshirt?" Leo teased the most powerful Notre Dame fan.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," the President replied with a loud note of sarcasm.

Everyone else was on the plane. After the President and First Lady boarded, the President saw CJ and motioned with his hand for her to come over.

"Yes sir?" CJ asked.

"After we have taken off and get the OK to move about the plane, would you have Donna bring Dr. O'Leary to see me? I'd like to thank her personally for offering to put you all up – or to put up with all of you, I'm not sure which," the President said with a smile.

"Certainly, sir," CJ replied while getting back to her seat as the pilot told everyone to fasten their seatbelts.
Donna and Josh looked at Colleen, who was taking deep breaths.

"You OK?" Donna asked.

"Me? Oh, yeah, I'm just on Air Force One, with the President of the United States and most of the senior White House staff. I'm peachy. Aces. Never better."

"You know, Colleen, he's human just like the rest of us. He's really very personable once you get to know him," Josh said.

"I don't think I'll get to know him nearly as well as all of you do. I'll just be grateful if I don't make a fool of myself," Colleen replied.

"You'll be fine," Donna said while patting Colleen's hand.

Colleen nodded slightly and returned to her slow, deep breathing. Josh and Donna gave each other a knowing look and a grin. They had seen people get nervous meeting the President before. It was always a source of amusement for them.

About 20 minutes later, CJ tapped Colleen on the shoulder.

"Dr. O'Leary, the President would like to meet you now. Donna, you should come, too."

"Please, Ms. Cregg, call me Colleen. You're going to be a guest in my home."

"OK then, you can call me CJ."

"Where is he?" Donna asked.

"In his office."

"Thanks, CJ. I'll take Colleen there now," Donna said. They left Josh, who was uncharacteristically sleeping like a baby. Donna knocked on the President's door.

"Come in," the President said.

Donna and Colleen entered the room, where the President and First Lady met them.

"Mr. President, this is Dr. Colleen O'Leary, my landlady and the person who has opened her home to the staff for the next few days."

"Dr. O'Leary, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Zoey told us how she enjoyed your British Literature class and Donna explained how you helped her after the fire at her old building."

"It's a great honor and pleasure to meet you, sir," Colleen said shaking the President's hand while the rest of her body shook slightly.

"And this is the First Lady, Dr. Abigail Bartlet," Donna said.

"It's wonderful to meet you as well, Dr. Bartlet," Colleen said while shaking her hand.

"It's very good to meet you, too. Donna told me about how you got the cut. Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"No ma'am," Colleen replied sheepishly.

"Well, we're going to change that right now. Jed, I'm taking her into the conference room so I can make sure it's not infected. I'll be back when I'm done," the First Lady said with a small grin. The President knew she could never stop being a doctor, even on a trip.

"I'll be waiting," the President replied while Colleen and the First Lady exited the office. The President turned to Donna.

"Any word yet on the man who tried to break in?"

"Nothing yet, sir. The D.C. police are still combing the scene for evidence. Colleen said it was probably a man who has been stalking a tenant, but she didn't tell me who the tenant is. She felt it was important to maintain the victim's privacy."

"That's understandable. Colleen realizes her house will have people in and out, day and night, throughout the duration of your stay, right?"

"She knows. I explained it'll be pretty crazy since it will also serve as our office. She also understands there will be Secret Service people there."

"Good. I just want her to know what she's in for. Since the First Lady felt the need to check her over, make sure I see her again before the trip is over so I can thank her."

"I will, Mr. President. Is there anything else?"

"Try and grab a nap. This is going to be one hell of a trip."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Thank you, Donna."

The First Lady carefully peeled off the dressing, which Colleen had changed that morning after showering. She examined the cut thoroughly, cleaned it and carefully dressed it.

"Well, considering that you and Donna don't have medical training – unless the 'Doctor' part of your title is for M.D. or D.O. – I'd say you're fairing pretty well. You need to keep this covered for the next few days. Change the dressing twice a day, just like I did. If it becomes red or irritated, you need to see a doctor right away," the First Lady said while peeling off her rubber gloves.

"Understood, Dr. Bartlet. And thank you. I'm afraid my title comes from a Ph.D. If you had a literary emergency, then I guess you'd come see me."

"What exactly would a literary emergency consist of?" the First Lady asked.

"Oh, I don't know . . . trying to determine which Shakespearean play a quote comes from?"

Abbey raised her eyebrow and smirked. Colleen shrugged her shoulders. She realized her joke had missed the mark.

"And how is the rest of you?" the First Lady asked, shifting back into doctor mode.

"What do you mean? Only my forehead was cut."

"That's not what I'm talking about. A man tries to break into your building and if you hadn't thought on your feet, who knows what would have happened to you? How is the part of your head behind the cut?"

Colleen sighed. "I'm scared. I mean really scared."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Would doctor-patient privilege apply?"

"Of course."

Colleen looked up at the First Lady. "Well, this isn't the first time . . ."

An hour later, the First Lady entered the President's office.

"You took a long time to examine a cut," the President said.

"I believe in treating the whole patient, not just the injury or ailment," the First Lady replied. "Besides, I thought you liked my bedside manner."

"I like a whole lot more than your bedside manner," the President said with a devilish grin. "But I think it needs a little work."

"Really?" the First Lady shot back with a sly smile. "And what do you suppose we do about that?"

"I can think of a couple of things," the President said taking the First Lady into his arms and giving her a very passionate kiss.

When they landed at Detroit City Airport, the President and First Lady took one limousine with Mayor Dennis Archer, who had waited at the airport for them, to the Manoogian Mansion. Another large limousine was waiting to take them to Colleen's home.

"My God," Sam said. "This place looks like Dresden after the Allies bombed it."

The airport wasn't the neatly scrubbed facility the staff was used to seeing upon landing. The fence around the airport were sagging in a few spots, the pavement was broken in many places with grass sprouting from the cracks, and the buildings in the surrounding neighborhood appeared to be mainly of varying shades of gray.

"I will admit, this part of Detroit isn't exactly what one would call a beauty spot," Colleen said.

"Saying this place isn't a beauty spot is a gross understatement. That's like saying Chernobyl isn't the best place to raise your kids," Sam said.

"Sam," Toby said in his firm but somewhat understated tone of voice, indicating to his junior that such comments might not be a good idea right now.

Colleen's driver and butler, Thomas, who was a very proper Englishman in his mid-30s, drove the 1950s-vintage limousine waiting for the staff.

"Good afternoon, madam," Thomas said while greeting her and making his way to the pile of luggage to be loaded.

"Thomas, how long have you been in my employ?"

"Six years, madam."

"And when did I tell you to call me Colleen?"

"The second day I worked for you."

"Yet you continue to call me 'madam'."

"I don't think it's proper to call one's employer by his or her first name."

"And I think the word 'madam' conjures up visions of whorehouses. So would you please stop calling me 'madam'?"

"I'll try, Dr. O'Leary." With that, Thomas continued to load the limousine. If Colleen had been a cartoon, steam would have been rising from her ears.

When the staff and the Secret Service agents got into the limousine, Thomas headed for Jefferson Avenue. Colleen asked him to stop at the intersection of Jefferson and Alter.

"Why are we stopping?" Josh asked.

"I want you to see something," Colleen said as she climbed out of the limousine. The other passengers followed.

To the north – the beginning of the five communities known as the Grosse Pointes – there were lush green lawns, bustling and shiny storefronts, and in the distance, palatial homes overlooking a very blue Lake St. Clair. To the south, the northern border of Detroit, were dilapidated buildings imparting a ghost town feeling.

"This is the great divide, between the haves and have-nots. If anyone ever doubted the disparity between rich and poor in America, or the cost of self-segregation, all they would have to do is stop here and see this border." Colleen was referring to the race riots in Detroit of 1967, when the vast majority of whites left Detroit and took their families and money to build up the suburbs. The phenomenon is simply known to locals as 'white flight'. A total of 467 people were injured and 2,509 stores had been looted or burned during that violent week. It wounded Colleen to see such a strong disparity in communities. This had motivated her to donate much of her time and money to various charities working towards more equity and equality in the inner cities. But she didn't share that with the staff – she liked to keep her philanthropy private. Only Thomas knew the extent of her generosity.

The staff silently took it all in. It seemed unjustifiable that such vast inequities would stand next to each other. The contrast reminded the staff that what they did had an impact on people. It was sometimes hard to gauge that within the confines of the White House. It took trips like this to give them all a reality check.

When they arrived at Colleen's house, Thomas showed them to their rooms: CJ and Donna would bunk together, leaving Toby, Josh and Sam to duke it out over two rooms.

"I was told there would be four gentlemen," Thomas said.

"Charlie had to stay behind – he had classes he couldn't miss," Toby said. "Well, considering I am the most senior staff member here, I think I should get my own room."

"Well I for one would like to see democracy in action. All those who think we should flip for it say 'aye'," Sam said.

"Aye," Josh and Sam said simultaneously.

"Fine," Toby said with some irritation. "Who's got a quarter?"

"I do," Thomas said.

After a series of flips, it was determined that Toby would, after all, get a room to himself. Thomas showed Josh and Sam to their room.

"Well, gentlemen, what the room lacks in privacy it makes up for in other amenities."

"Such as?" Josh asked.

"A view of Lake St. Clair and a well-stocked refrigerator. Good afternoon," Thomas said while closing the door behind him.

Sam and Josh started to unpack, settling into their temporary digs. "I wonder what Thomas meant by well stocked," Josh said aloud while opening the refrigerator. "Oh, yeah!" Josh shouted.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked while following Josh to the refrigerator. Josh handed him a cold Samuel Adams.

"Donna must have told Colleen. She thinks of everything," Josh said while opening a bottle.

"Yes, she does. You should express your appreciation of her more," Sam replied before taking a sip.

"Hey, I sent her flowers," Josh retorted. "Have you ever done that for your assistant?"

"No, but mine never made sure my room was stocked with my favorite beer."

"I'll do something nice for her on this trip – I promise."

"You better," Sam said with a smile.

Since it was now early evening, CJ decided to grab a shower after she unpacked. Unfortunately, Toby had the same idea. She beat him to the bathroom by about five seconds, edging him out for the door. CJ flashed Toby a victorious grin before entering the bathroom.

"CJ, you're going to use all the hot water!" Toby shouted 10 minutes later while knocking loudly on the bathroom door.

"No I'm not!" CJ shouted back. "Colleen's got one of those water-heating systems like they have in Europe – it heats the water on command for as long as you need it. They're more energy efficient."

"Speaking of efficient, why don't you be more efficient and get out of there!"

An audible sigh emanated from the other side of the bathroom door. A few minutes later, a slightly wet CJ exited the steamy room. Having forgotten her bathrobe, all she had on was a normal-sized towel, which, on her lanky frame, exposed more skin than most people had on their entire body.

Okay, Toby, he thought to himself, breathe. Stop staring! It's CJ. Yeah, CJ – the woman with legs seemingly long enough to stretch pole-to-pole. I could undo the damage done to her by the Society of Cartographers for Social Equality. I could turn her world upside down – but in a good way. I could study her topography. Get in a latitudinal position – no! Just, stop. Now.

Meanwhile, a dripping CJ had a better-than-normal view of Toby's shiny head since his eyes were fixated on her legs.

"I'll wait here while you get your camera."

Toby snapped out of his hormone-induced trance. "Excuse me?"

"A picture will last longer, Toby." As she walked away from him back to her room, Toby continued to gaze at her gams.

Even when she's mad she's gorgeous. I have to stop thinking like this. It could never go anywhere. And even if it could, am I ready? His eyes shifted from CJ's legs to his wedding ring, still on his left hand, in spite of the fact he had been divorced for years.

Colleen saw the exchange between CJ and Toby as she was getting ready to talk to Thomas. She noted how Toby looked at CJ.

The light bulb turned on in Colleen's head – CJ! Of course! They have such great banter and they are together constantly. Colleen had to admit that if she was going to lose out to somebody, it would be someone as amazing as CJ.

Well, I guess that's another prospect shot to hell, Colleen thought as she descended the staircase. She was stunned to see what vehicle Thomas had rented for the White House staff.

"You rented an SUV?"

"That was all that was left. The selection consisted of this vehicle. I called every car rental agency in the tri-county area."

"You got a Stupid Ugly Vehicle? What model is this, anyway? A Ford Excessive? Something that gets two gallons to the mile? Are you crazy? This administration is very heavy into conservation and supporting development of alternate energy sources. I can't let them use this!"

"I'm sorry, but I didn't know what else to do. With the celebration and everything, I didn't have any choice," Thomas said, sensing Colleen's frustration.

"No, you didn't have much notice. I'm sorry for coming down on you," Colleen said apologetically. "It's just that if we're going to use a gas-guzzler, it might as well be something with some style. Can you open up the garage and get my tools together? It looks like I'm going to have a long night."

"You mean, you're going to tune up the cars? But you only pull those out for Woodward Dream Cruise!"

"After you get the tools, make sure we've got a lot of convenience food in the house. I have a feeling these folks eat a lot on the run. And make sure the staff keeps the coffee fresh day and night. I'll go upstairs and change into Dad's old mechanic's clothes."

"Certainly," Thomas said.

After Toby showered and changed into a sweatshirt and jeans, he met with CJ, Josh and Sam in the conservatory to discuss the President's itinerary for the next day. Through the glass he saw a light on in the garage. When the meeting ended, Toby decided to investigate. He was shocked to find Colleen under a 1957 Ford Thunderbird convertible.

"Colleen, what are you doing?" Toby asked.

Stunned to hear a voice, Colleen moved out from under the car abruptly. "I'm readying your chariot, my lord."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm tuning up the cars for you guys to use. Public transportation in Detroit sucks."

"Colleen, if the cars need to be worked on, are you sure they'll be safe?"

"Anytime a car has been in storage for more than a couple of months it needs some standard maintenance. Trust me, they'll be perfectly safe to drive. Although you being from New York, you'll probably need someone else to do the driving."

"I know how to drive," Toby said.

"In that case," Colleen said as she threw Toby a set of keys, "when this baby is ready, you can drive her."

"You're not serious."

"Toby, I'm from Detroit – I don't joke about cars. You have no excuse to refuse – you just told me you know how. A car is like a woman Toby: you've got to give her the right kind of attention and take her out often. Unfortunately, I don't get to take these cars out enough."

"What else you got in here?" Toby asked. This led Colleen to give Toby a 20-minute tour of the garage, which housed two other classic cars: a 1968 Ford Mustang convertible and a 1967 GTO convertible. All three were in great condition.

"Why does the garage have doors in the front and the back?"

"There's an amusing story behind that. I'm sure you've noticed by now the back of the house faces Lake St. Clair. Well, back during Prohibition, a lot of people – including my great-grandfather – used to be rumrunners. During the winter, people would drive across the frozen water with cars filled with all kinds of alcohol from Canada. They'd hide the liquor within parts of the car – even inside the doors. Some were really innovative and added a second gas tank, which was really full of contraband liquor. Anyway, when the rumrunners got back stateside they'd need to tear the car apart to get to the liquor, so they added the back door so the smugglers could drive right into the garage. I know that a lot of the houses in the Pointes had hiding places within them since the homeowners hid slaves as part of the Underground Railroad, but I'm not sure if the same hiding places were used to conceal smugglers or alcohol. Hmm, there might be a book in there somewhere . . . ."

"So, you're telling me you're a descendant of an outlaw?"

"Short of Elliott Ness and members of the Women's Christian Temperance Union, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a whole lot of people who didn't at some point violate the Volstead Act," Colleen replied while eyeing Toby's scotch. He put the glass down.

"Hold still a second," Toby said, taking Colleen's face into his hands. Colleen felt her heart race, but it wasn't out of fear.

"What?"

Toby took a clean shop rag and wiped her left cheek with it. "You had grease on your face."

"Oh," Colleen said with a note of disappointment. "Thanks."

Toby thought a minute about Colleen's unsolicited advice on women and thought about CJ.

"Do you know of any quiet, interesting, low-key places someone could go?" Toby asked. "I mean, to take someone out for an evening?"

"Well, I can't vouch for the veracity of this rumor, but legend has it that Jack Kerouac used to drink at this bar in Grosse Pointe Park called Rustic Cabins. It's not a dive, but it's nothing really special. They have pool tables and a decent beer selection. They're still open for another three hours. Give me another 20 minutes and I'll have her ready to go."

"You've done so much already, Colleen. I don't want you to go through any trouble."

"No trouble. Now go, ask CJ out," Colleen said pushing him toward the door. Toby was surprised Colleen figured out who he wanted to ask out. As Colleen tightened a bolt, she laughed to herself.

At first CJ resisted the idea of going out so late, but since she couldn't sleep, she agreed. Colleen drew a map and gave them the security code to get back into the house. With that, Toby and CJ were off.

While CJ and Toby were headed for Kerouac's rumored former stomping grounds, Josh was sprawled on the couch in Colleen's living room, flipping through channels at near-light speed. Donna wandered downstairs and from the hallway saw Josh.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Josh was a little startled by Donna's entrance. "Just trying to unwind, looking for something to watch."

"How do you know what's on when you go through the channels that quick?"

"I'm a guy. We're born hunters. We can detect our prey out of the corners of our eyes. We can pick up the slightest movement."

"So this enables you to figure out what's on while you go through the channels like a sumo wrestler goes through an all-you-can-eat buffet?"

"Yeah."

"I see. Well--"

"Wait!" Josh stopped his channel surfing. The unmistakable guitar licks indicating international intrigue was in the air emanated throughout the living room. "Good. I always thought Sean Connery was the best James Bond."

"Actually, I think Pierce Brosnon is very good."

"What? You can't be serious!"

"He's dashing!"

"He can't fight like Connery, he's not as tough as Connery . . ."

"He's tough." Donna protested. "He's also smart, smooth and witty."

"Important qualities in a spy?"

"In a spy . . . and a man."

"I'm like James Bond."

Donna rolled her eyes. "And what do you, Joshua Lyman, have in common with James Bond?"

"Well, we both have government jobs. We both try to make the world a better and safer place."

Donna sighed. "Josh, you have a very important job, but you're not James Bond."

"I am like James Bond. And you, Donnatella, are my Moneypenny."

Donna squinted her eyes and glared at him. "I'm your Moneypenny?"

Josh paused. "Yeah. I mean, you're always waiting for me when I return from my missions to make the world safe for democracy. Just like Moneypenny waits for Bond."

A low grumble rose from Donna's throat. Oh, great. I'm Moneypenny. Moneypenny never busts the bad guys. Moneypenny never gets to play with any of Q's gadgets. Bond never romances Moneypenny.

"Donna? You OK? You seemed to have zoned out there for a minute."

"I'm fine," Donna said in a tone that failed to veil her irritation. "I'm going to bed."

"Well, good night," Josh said. He sensed that he had offended her, but couldn't figure out exactly how he had done it.

A little later back in D.C., Leo's home phone rang. He looked at his clock: it was 12:12 a.m.

"Hello?" Leo answered in a groggy voice.

"I'm sorry to wake you Leo. It's Fitz. INS has just captured some suspected terrorists with a van full of plastic explosives at the U.S.-Canadian border. We need you in the situation room immediately."

"Where did they arrest them?"

"The U.S. side of the Ambassador Bridge."

"Fitz, that's Detroit."

"I know, Leo."

"The President is in Detroit even as we speak."

"So you understand why we'd like you to come down so you can explain what happened to the President."

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

"We'll be waiting," Fitzwallace said before hanging up.

Just once before the end of this administration, I would like to have a full night of sleep. Go to bed at some decent hour, get up at a normal time, and no phone calls in between, Leo thought as he dragged himself out from under the soft comforter.

When he entered the situation room, Fitzwallace, Dr. Nancy McNally and the rest of the Joint Chiefs of Staff stood up – a knee-jerk reaction since he was so often accompanied by the President.

"Please, sit," Leo said while waving his hands toward the table. "What the hell happened?"

"Leo, INS officers have stepped up inspections of vehicles coming into the U.S. since various terrorist groups have vowed to seek retribution for the recent conviction of Rashed Daoud Al-'Owhali, Khalfen Khamis Mohamed, Wadih El-Hage and Mohamed Sadeek Odeh for the bombings of the embassies in Tanzania and Kenya in 1998. During one of these inspections, INS agents found a van filled with C4, a plastic explosive that is commonly used by terrorists, and $100,000 in cash."

"How much C4 did they have?" Leo asked.

"We estimated it would be enough to bring down a major structure, such as a skyscraper. As you know, the FBI has told Congress that terrorists are now targeting all Americans and that they make no distinction between dignitaries and ordinary citizens," Nancy said. "The FBI also believes that terrorists are willing and able to carry out attacks resulting in large-scale casualties. Given the fact that so many people will be in downtown Detroit for the birthday celebration, and given the fact that Detroit is one point of entry from Canada, a country with less stringent immigration standards than ours, we believe both the celebration and the President may be targets for terrorists."

Leo let out a heavy sigh. "Are these guys talking?"

"Not a word," Fitz replied. "They think they're martyrs in a holy war against the United States. These guys aren't going to give up the members of their terrorist cell easily, if at all. Given the amount explosives and money they had in the van, we should assume they are part of a larger conspiracy."

"Which group of terrorists do we suspect?" Leo asked.

"It could be Usama Bin Laden's group Al-Qaeda, Hizballah, Hamas, even Saddam Hussein's people. Around Christmastime the FBI discovered a plot in the Detroit area to buy Sony PlayStation2 game consoles since the games contain many of the same parts used in guidance weapons systems," Nancy said. "The FBI was able to arrest suspects before they were able to purchase any of the systems. The Detroit area has the second-largest Arab population outside of the Middle East, which would make it easy for terrorists to find a place to hide."

"Alright," Leo said. "I'm going to wake up the President and fill him in. I want updates every hour or as frequently as new developments come in. I need to fill in the senior staff. Have we put all INS border patrols on full alert?"

"Yes," Fitz said.

"Good. I also need as much info as you have now to forward to Ron Butterfield and the Secret Service agents protecting the other members of the First Family and the Vice-President," Leo said.

"We'll do, Leo," Nancy said.

Leo nodded and left the situation room. He called the President at the Manoogian Mansion. A Secret Service agent woke the President so he could take the call being transferred to his room.

"Hello?" a sleepy President Bartlet answered.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Mr. President, but we have a serious situation developing where you are," Leo said before telling the President the details which made him sit straight up in bed.

At the same time, Toby and CJ were at Rustic Cabins arguing over the rules of Eight Ball.

"You have to call the pocket before your cue touches the cue ball!" Toby protested.

"Some people play that way," CJ retorted. "But it's not necessary."

"It's necessary if you're going to play the game as it was meant to be played. It's obvious you haven't played much: your form is all wrong."

"My form is fine, thank you very much," CJ said with her right hand on her hip and her eyebrows raised.

"You're holding the cue wrong. Let me show you." With that, Toby came up to CJ from behind and wrapped his arms around hers so he could place them on the cue.

"Now bend down over the table like you're going to take a shot." CJ sighed and complied with Toby's request.

"I see two problems. First of all, you need to bend all the way down so you're hugging the table."

"Hugging the table?"

"Who sunk all but two balls in while you've had only one?"

"What's the other thing?"

"You're still holding your cue wrong." Toby then gently placed his hands on top of CJ's and used a softer voice. "You need to get a firm grip with the hand that's on the back of the stick. Your other hand should be on the table, with the index finger wrapped around the cue. It should be fairly tight, but loose enough to let the cue slide through – like this," he said while demonstrating. Since CJ is slightly taller than Toby, his head was closer to the ends of her hair rather than her ear. He deeply inhaled the scent of her just-washed hair, becoming slightly intoxicated by more than his scotch.

CJ caught a whiff of Toby's cologne and was a bit affected herself. She was enjoying the feeling of Toby wrapped around her, even though she could feel her face becoming flushed. The moment was broken when she felt something vibrating at Toby's waist, which made her body jerk a bit. Toby grumbled and extricated himself to check the message on his pager. He dialed the number on his cell phone.

"Hi Leo."

"Hey Toby. Where are you? You weren't at the house with the others."

"CJ and I were shooting a little pool. What's happening?"

"Two suspected fundamentalist Islamic terrorists were just caught at the Detroit-Windsor border with a van full of C4 and $100,000 cash. I need all of you to get together immediately and get on this. I want you to talk to INS, the local FBI branch, anybody and everybody who might have an idea who these guys are and what they were planning to do. We suspect they were planning to do something at the city's 300th birthday celebration. I want all of you to be ready to fill me in at noon."

"Do you want anybody to come back to D.C.?"

"Why? The situation is there. Just do some legwork and I'll work it from this end. The President and I agree on this."

"Leo, is the President returning to D.C.?"

"Absolutely not."

"But Leo, the President would be safer—"

"Toby, if the President returns to D.C. it will look like we're afraid of these people and they'll win."

"Leo, we are afraid of these people. We've seen them at work before. Shouldn't the President be protected?"

"The President is protected: by the Secret Service. Toby, the President needs to be able to mingle with the public. It's important for him to get out of the Oval Office and see what is going on around the country firsthand. Furthermore, he wouldn't do it even if I urged him to do so."

"I just feel like he's a moving target."

"When isn't he a moving target? Toby, let's concentrate on finding out their plan so we can prevent them from executing it. Fill CJ in and get to work."

"Thanks. Goodnight, Leo."

"I've had better, but thanks for the thought. Goodnight Toby."

After Toby shut his cell phone, CJ gave him a puzzled look.

"What the hell was that all about?"

"No rest for the wicked. Let's go," Toby said while placing CJ's cue back on the wall.

When Toby and CJ arrived back at the house, Josh and Sam were waiting up for them. They divided up their duties: Toby would deal with INS, Josh would talk to the FBI, Sam would continue to work on the President's speeches (which included one for the Detroit Economic Club that would probably infuriate anyone tied to the Big Three automakers) but would help Toby and Josh as needed, and CJ would try to keep the wolves – also known as the press – at bay. Toby and Josh started calling people immediately.

However, Toby found he wasn't getting anywhere with INS calling on the telephone. He was transferred from one hack to another, then finally put on hold. He needed to be able to get into someone's face. In order to do that, he needed to know how to get to the INS facility at the border. With his cell phone in hand and still on hold, he woke Colleen.

"Thomas, what could be so damned important you need to wake me now?" Colleen growled as she turned towards the person shaking her shoulder.

"It's not Thomas. It's Toby. I need you to show me how to get to the Immigration and Naturalization Service station at the Detroit-Windsor border."

"OK, I'll draw you a map first thing in the morning, Toby," Colleen said, turning back towards her pillow.

"It can't wait, Colleen. I need you to get dressed and take me there now."

"What is it, a matter of national security?" she replied flippantly.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Now please, get dressed!"

Colleen turned back towards Toby. In the bit of light that shone in from the half-open door, she studied Toby's stone-like face.

"I'm sorry. Give me two minutes," she said as she jumped out of bed.

At this time in the morning, the streets and freeways were nearly deserted. Colleen knew where all the speed traps were, so she went as fast as she could in between them. As she whizzed through downtown, she thought how she'd normally play tour guide pointing out the fact that Detroit has the most pre-World War II buildings still standing of any major US city and the parts of downtown which demonstrate there is such a thing as urban renewal, but this was not the time. They pulled up to the front of the INS station at the border. Colleen followed Toby, who marched in with his still-on-hold cell phone in one hand and flashing his White House ID in the other – all before he reached the counter.

"You see this?" Toby said, waving his phone. "This is me still on hold. You see this?" he said while shoving his ID in an officer's face. "This is why you shouldn't put me on hold! I work for the President of the United States, which, by the way, I remind you that you do as well. The difference is, I'm a little higher on the food chain than you which means I'll be happy to eat you and your badge for lunch if I don't start getting some cooperation!"

The young INS officer swallowed hard and said nervously, "I'll get the commanding officer."

"You do that," Toby said icily. The rookie walked backwards several paces, than nearly ran towards a back office. He returned with a broad-shouldered, white-haired, near-retirement-age man in a perfectly pressed uniform.

"I'm Leibler, the commanding officer. Who are you and what business do you have coming in here and acting like you own the place? Do you know who you're dealing with?"

"I'm Toby Ziegler, the Communications Director for the President of the United States, as in, the Commander-in-Chief. I'm here because you people didn't give me the information I needed over the phone so I can brief the President on the two people you have in custody that you can't get to talk. Now, I'd like to say more but I'm not going to because I don't know who might be listening in this somewhat public place and I need to get to the bottom of this so I can advise the President in about eight hours. Now, are you going to help me, or do I have to make a call to Washington and wake up someone who could send you to clean out your locker within nanoseconds for failing to work with me?"

Leibler straightened his back and tightened his tie. He gave Toby a brief but hard look.

"Follow me to my office," Leibler said in a low voice. Toby followed while Colleen sat in the lobby. She took out her journal and a pen, which she always carried with her.

I guess it's true, Colleen wrote as she watched Toby stomp off. Theater IS making a comeback downtown.

Leibler told Toby that neither suspect had spoken in spite of the fact that the INS had grilled them for hours on end. Toby asked if any plans had been found in the vehicle or on the suspects. Leibler said no. Then Toby recalled a conversation he and Colleen had earlier that night.

"Someone told me that during Prohibition, rumrunners used to hide liquor in parts of the cars."

"That's true," Leibler said.

"Has anyone thought to take apart the van?"

"We didn't think that would be necessary. We figured they'd break down and talk eventually."

"Not necessary?" Toby said loudly. "Look at the situation. In a couple of days, we might have as many as a million people down here, many of whom will not able to recognize a suspicious situation, or, God forbid, not able to get to safety if something goes down, and you think this is a time to kick back and see what happens? We've got a threat, made to all Americans, but it looks like this is ground zero! We don't know precisely where, or precisely when, but it's going to be a time and a place where it's going to make the maximum impact. We cannot afford to pull any punches. That means I want you to reduce that van to scrap metal! Take it apart and see what you can find!"

"Alright. I'll have to wake up all of our forensic people."

"Do it!" Toby yelled, all of his patience now gone. Leibler began dialing furiously while Toby stared at him.

As Colleen drove Toby home and felt the warm pre-dawn summer breeze, she wanted to ask him what was happening, but knew she wouldn't get anywhere. So she said a silent prayer, hoping that whatever was going on, it would end without anyone being hurt.

When the morning news programs came on, CJ was watching four programs at once.

"A high-level source at the State Department confirms that the department has received emailed threats to seek retribution for the conviction of four men found guilty of the nearly-simultaneous bombings in Kenya and Tanzania in August 1998. The men were all members of Usama Bin Laden's group Al-Qaeda. The threats have not contained specific information as to where or when an attack may occur," Chuck Roberts of CNN Headline News read from a teleprompter.

"Guys!" CJ yelled. "It's out of the box!"

Josh, Sam and Toby practically ran into the living room. Within five minutes of each other, the other networks reported the same information using slightly different arrangements of the same words.

Hearing CJ's panic-laden call, Thomas came into the living room.

"Madam, I couldn't help but hear you. Is there anything I can do?"

"Actually, I need to get copies of as many major newspapers as you can. I need to find out if this story was leaked to the print media as well. I also need to start recording any radio broadcasts about this. Can you help us out?"

"Most certainly. I'll start recording the news radio programs on the three stereos and go into town to get papers."

"Thank you, Thomas."

Colleen wandered into the living room, appearing as if she was drunk.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Sam asked, looking at her swaying slightly as she walked.

"I'm hypoglycemic – I haven't had breakfast yet. What's going on?"

"The story is out about recent threats from terrorists who are trying to blackmail us into releasing the four men convicted of bombing the embassies in Kenya and Tanzania," Josh said.

"How are they trying to blackmail us? With money?" After a few moments, Colleen figured it out.

"Oh my God. There's something else going on, isn't there?" Colleen asked while turning to Toby. "That's why you had me drive to the INS border patrol station. What the hell are they going to do?"

"Colleen, we really can't get into details," CJ said. "I hate to ask you to do this in your own house, but we need to ask you and the staff to stay out of the living room. We're going to have to make this our base of operations."

"I don't understand what is happening, but I'm getting the feeling this is quite serious. Please do whatever you need to do. If you need anything, just yell out the door and someone will come," Colleen said softly.

CJ patted Colleen on the back. "Thanks. We'll let you know."

Colleen exited the living room and closed the doors behind her. "Josh, get Donna. It's going to be a long day." Josh assigned Donna the task of gathering news reports and government reports about terrorism, a task in which she completely immersed herself. One item she found was quite disturbing.

"Josh, did you know Iran has a line-item in its budget to sponsor terrorism? It's listed under funding the Islamic revolution."

"No," Josh said.

"Doesn't that frighten you?"

"Yes. That's why we're trying to gather this information – to prevent a catastrophe."

Donna didn't try to continue the usual banter in light of the gravity of the situation.

When noon rolled around, they gathered around a speakerphone for a three-way conference call with the President and Leo.

"INS has people tearing apart the van and forensics experts from the FBI are analyzing each part to look for plans, names of contacts, anything they can use to figure out what they were up to," Toby said.

"Good. What else?" the President asked.

Josh spoke up. "The FBI is trying to find the last owner of the van and checking on the registration. They're hoping it was a private sale between acquaintances. They're also running their photographs and fingerprints through their computer to see if they're in the system."

"Alright. Anything else I should know?"

"Sir, an Arab-owned grocery was firebombed about two hours ago in Dearborn, which is the main suburb where Arab-Americans and Arab immigrants live. Local police are investigating, but the FBI is working along with them since they think it was related to the terrorists' threats. They believe it was a pre-emptive strike by people outside of the neighborhood," Sam said.

"Wonderful," the Leo said without concealing his sarcasm. "If we don't get this thing under control, we could have race riots like they had in LA."

"Or like the week of race riots Detroit had in 1967," Sam added.

"Sam, this city still hasn't recovered from those riots. Before Leo called last night, Mayor Archer and I spent a long time talking about this very subject. The city is just beginning to come back – we don't need something like this to happen again," the President said.

"Do you want me to work something about it the speech you're giving at the Detroit Economic Club tomorrow morning?" Sam asked.

"Yes. CJ, you have anything?"

"Mr. President, the grocery story might inspire others to harass other Arab-Americans and Arabs in the area. I'll work with Sam so we come up with some kind of statement for the press to separate the terrorists from the people in these neighborhoods."

"Sounds like a plan. Keep me updated," the President said.

"Thank you, Mr. President," the four senior staffers said almost in unison.

Right after hanging up from that call, the phone immediately rang. It was Bonnie. She told Sam a man named Syed Iqbal from the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office was trying to reach him. He wanted to talk about the terrorist threats and the grocery store firebombing. Sam took his number and called him immediately.

"Hello, this is Sam Seaborne. I understand Mr. Iqbal is trying to reach me. Is he available?"

"Just a moment, please," a woman said. A few minutes passed.

"Hello, this is Syed Iqbal."

"Hi, this is Sam Seaborne. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Seaborne, it's urgent that I talk to you. My people are in danger. We need your help. Is there some way I can meet you?"

"Tell me where to go and I'll be there within the hour."

"Can you come to Dearborn? There's a restaurant in my neighborhood where I think we can talk freely."

"Give me directions from Grosse Pointe Farms."

Syed told him how to get to La Shish on Michigan Avenue. Sam stopped to fill in CJ.

"OK. Get back here as soon as you can. The president needs to review the speech tonight," CJ reminded him.

"I know," Sam said. "But I think this will help us crystallize our position."

Colleen had left the keys to the cars on a table in the hallway. Sam grabbed the ones labeled for the GTO. The only nice thing about this errand was being able to drive in the sunshine with the top down. It would have been even nicer if he hadn't needed to slow down for a construction zone on I-94.

As Sam pulled up in front of the restaurant, he felt somewhat out of place. Working for the White House put him in a variety of situations. But in his wildest dreams, he never thought he'd be in a situation where, without leaving the country, he would wind up in a place where he didn't know the primary language that was being spoken or the local customs. He took a deep breath to overcome his initial trepidation about being in unfamiliar territory and entered the restaurant. He was seated immediately at Syed's table. After shaking hands and exchanging greetings, the two men got down to the business at hand.

"Mr. Seaborne, it is imperative that the President and the people working to prevent this attack make the distinction between these extremists and my people."

"To a casual observer who doesn't know the various factions of Islam or who doesn't have much contact with Arabs or Arab-Americans, it appears the terrorists are your people."

"That is exactly the kind of attitude I am battling. Mr. Seaborne, there are Christians who believe that AIDS is God's punishment against homosexuals. Do all Christians believe that?"

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and let out a small snort. "Of course not!"

"So why is it that all Muslims are painted with the same broad brush? I cannot tell you how these people justify murder. All I know is that many sins have been committed in the name of religion: the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the fighting in Northern Ireland, the strife between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Growing up, I was taught by my elders that Islam condemns all forms of prejudices that cause one to stand by one's own people in an unjust cause over and against truth and justice. What is more unjust than the murders of innocent people? I am an assistant prosecuting attorney for Wayne County. I believe in this country. I believe in its legal system. I believe in the idea of 'presumed innocent,' and yet that standard isn't being applied to the people surrounding us here, in this restaurant, or in this neighborhood. I know Jaffer and Aminah Ibrahim, the owners of that firebombed grocery store. They are good people. They put in long hours and are honest. When people fall on hard times, they help them feed their families. They do not brag about this fact, but people know of their charity. Jaffer and Aminah have never harmed anyone. They do not deserve what happened to them."

"I agree with everything you've just said, but what precisely do you want from us?" Sam asked.

Syed sighed and continued. "What I am trying to say is this: the President is the single-most influential living man in this country – possibly even the world. It is vital that he realizes the power he has right now, being in this place, to prevent more violence against my neighbors. He can speak to the people and urge them to see the difference between us and them. I don't want anyone to be harmed either in this neighborhood, or in this country. Those who are plotting to harm innocent people because their peers were found guilty of mass murder need to be stopped, found and put away. I want the same for the people who destroyed a business important to my neighborhood and scaring an old couple half to death. Simply put, Mr. Seaborne, I want justice and I want peace. The two must always walk hand-in-hand."

Sam was touched by Syed's eloquence. "Mr. Iqbal, I will communicate your sentiments to the President and the rest of the senior staff."

"Here is my card," Syed said, standing up with Sam. "It has every way you can contact me. If you need anything, call me. Not just today, but anytime."

Sam smiled and gave him his card. "Thanks. The door opens both ways." The men once again shook hands.

"I think, Mr. Seaborne, a flower may bloom from the scorched ground we have been forced to tread." Sam nodded and made his way out of the restaurant. He felt inspiration flowing through him – the muse was present and he knew he needed to get to his laptop post-haste.

When Sam returned to the house, he was shocked by the squad cars in the driveway. Colleen was in the foyer, surrounded by uniformed and plain-clothes police officers, and in tears.

"What the hell's going on?" Sam asked anyone who was listening.

"Dr. O'Leary received another threat," Thomas said softly.

"What do you mean, another threat?"

"It is not for me to divulge everything. Let's suffice it to say that an evil man your justice system failed to put away haunts Dr. O'Leary and makes her life a constant game of Russian Roulette," Thomas said with obvious contempt. "She doesn't deserve this."

"There's a lot of that going around today," Sam said, looking at the terrified woman.

A few minutes later, the police finished their questioning and bagged a bloodied arrow that had hit the front door with a note attached. The unknown archer was able to shoot the arrow from outside of the front gate and ran away before anyone could see who had done it. Toby entered the room just in time to see the piece of evidence. The police then walked out of the house.

"What's all the commotion?" Toby asked Sam.

"Thomas was vague – something about a threat to Colleen. And that it wasn't the first time."

Toby felt the cerebral gears turning. "I think I know what's up, but let me talk to her for a few minutes. Got what you need for the speech?"

"Definitely. There will be no writer's block today."

"Then what are you standing here for? Go!" Toby practically ordered his protégé. Sam entered the living room, which was jokingly being called by the staff the Detroit branch of the West Wing.

"Hey," Toby said.

"Hey," Colleen said, drying her face.

"I think we need to have a talk," Toby said. "Where can we go?"

"I don't think anyone's in the conservatory at the moment. Follow me."

Once they were seated at a table, he turned to Colleen.

"You can't be alone."

Colleen rolled her shoulders and shifted in her seat.

"What do you mean?" she asked while avoiding his eyes.

"The damaged security keypad, the shattered window of the front door of your apartment building, the bloody arrow I just saw taken out of here. Those things happened because someone was trying to get to you. You're the one who's being stalked."

Colleen breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. She bit her lips, thinking, reaching for something to say while she stared into the coffee cup she was holding with both hands.

"Colleen?" Toby said while lowering his head in an attempt to lock his gaze with hers. Her hands were still on her cup. She was trying to conceal the fact they were trembling. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him.

Toby knew he hit the nail on the head. Her lack of a response told him more than any words she could have spoken. Colleen didn't lie, but this time she couldn't immediately bring herself to speak the truth, either.
Colleen changed her focus to the windows on her left.

"I . . . it started . . . it's . . . complicated," she said softly.

"So what you told Donna, about not wanting to live in a house all alone, was because you want to insulate yourself from this guy. You thought there was strength in numbers."

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't want to live alone because, well, I didn't want to be a hermit, but I also thought he'd be less likely to come after me."

"What's the story, Colleen?"

She put her hand on her forehead to hold it up while she looked down at the table. She then ran her hand through her auburn tresses and leaned back into the antique leather wingback chair. She crossed her arms across her body, with each hand grasping just above her elbows, seemingly to brace herself. She couldn't look at him, but the words began to come out.

"When I was just out of college – before I came into money – I was working for a small local newspaper chain as a reporter. Grandma and Grandpa were still alive. It was late. I had covered a neighborhood association meeting in Northwest Detroit – the residents were complaining about a lack of foot patrol by the local precinct and the numerous streetlamps that hadn't worked in ages. I got a little turned around and couldn't figure out where I had parked. It was a very dark street. As I neared an alley, I heard intermittent noises, like someone struggling. I kept walking toward the alley, not knowing why but feeling compelled to draw closer. I poked my head around the corner and saw this man viciously beating this woman. He had been at it awhile. She was falling to the ground, but I didn't know if it was exhaustion or if he had broken her legs. He just kept hitting her all over her upper torso. He'd take swings at her chest, then her face, then he twist her arms."

She took a moment to wipe the tears starting to trickle down her cheeks and continued.

"I doubled-back to a nearby pay phone and called 911. I whispered into the phone, told the police the intersection, but stayed out of sight. It was all I could do to make the call. I went back to just before the alley, but my legs were unable to move any further. I had told the police to hurry. I had told them I didn't think she was going to make it. Her cries became fewer and farther between. Then she fell silent and collapsed completely onto the ground. Even though she appeared to be dead, he kept at her. He picked her up and continued his savagery. I was crying. I felt like a coward. I pulled a small flashlight from my pocket when I saw the police cruiser coming around the corner silently. The patrolmen quietly came up to where I was and asked where he was. I shined my flashlight on him to show them. He dropped her and ran. The police pursued him, but they lost him. Even though they got him later after I picked him out of a mug book, he got off due to a lack of physical evidence. He had a really slick lawyer. The lawyer said I should have stopped it. I was petrified. I wanted to be able to stop him, but I couldn't make my body follow the commands I gave."

Colleen still couldn't face him. Her intentions of offering her home to the senior staff had been good. She hadn't imagined this scenario – of him being able to find her so soon after he tried to break into her building in DC.

"If I had any idea that this would happen, that I might put any of you in harm's way, I wouldn't have opened my home like this." Finally turning to Toby, with tears flowing freely from her eyes, she said with her voice cracking, "You have to believe me."

Toby looked into Colleen's eyes. "I believe you," he said in a soft voice. Before he realized what he was doing, he took Colleen's right hand and squeezed it. He continued to hold it as they were silent for a minute.

"He's like some mad, insatiable dog. I can't throw him off my scent. I have done everything I could think of to remove myself from this man's reach. I left my hometown. I've had my number unlisted since the trial."

Her voice began to increase in anger and volume.

"I converted a dilapidated warehouse so it would be a less obvious place to live. I had a state-of-the-art security system installed to keep him out! I'm not the one who beat the woman to death, but I'm the one who's the prisoner!" Colleen shouted. She then collapsed onto the table and sobbed uncontrollably.

Toby was overwhelmed. He hadn't known Colleen all that long, or for that matter, all that well. This was a woman who always seemed to him as having all the answers; who was, up until now, the embodiment of grace regardless of the pressure level.

At first, he didn't know what he could do to pull her out of the depths of despair. He just knew he couldn't let her go on crying. He got out of his chair and put his right hand on her cheek to have her face him. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. He pulled her head onto his shoulder and held her for half a minute. Colleen held onto Toby as if her life depended on it. He reached behind Colleen to grab some tissues and pulled away from her slightly to dab her face. Colleen was taken aback by gesture. She gently pulled the tissues away from him and pulled back into the depths of the chair. She was ashamed she had lost it in front of someone she hardly knew. She didn't like anyone to see her lose control – ever. It was a byproduct of that horrible night.

Toby resumed his seat, sensing she wanted space.

"Thank you," Colleen said softly.

"You can't run and hide anymore."

"I don't see what choice I have."

"You have to fight. If you want your life back, it's the only choice you have. If you keep running away, he'll keep running after you. If you stay put and fight, maybe we can catch him. Maybe we can lock him up for good."

As Colleen finished drying her eyes and face, she let Toby's words sink in. He gently put his right hand under her chin so she would look into his eyes.

"You can do this. We'll help you. You're going to speak at the education symposium tomorrow at Wayne State University, right?"

"Yes."

"You're listed as a speaker?"

"Yes."

"I'm willing to bet he's going to try to go after you there. If we alert the campus police, Detroit police, and the Michigan State Police, we might be able to catch him in the act."

Colleen bit her lip and thought for a few moments.

"I'm scared, Toby."

"I'll be there."

"Don't you have more important things to do? I'm not a national priority, you know."

"Josh is handling the updates on the investigation now. The President is speaking at the Detroit Economic Club and CJ will handle that. I was going to do a walking tour of some of the neighborhoods with some people from the mayor's office, but I can change the time. What time in the morning are you speaking?"

"10:30."

"What time do you finish?"

"Around noon."

"OK. Then you need to get some rest. I'll make some calls to the local authorities."

There was a knock at the door, which then creaked from being opened slowly. Toby and Colleen both turned to see who it was.

"How are you doing?" Donna asked Colleen while she rubbed her neck with her hand. She and CJ had heard Colleen crying from the living room. Donna had been worried about Colleen since the break-in of their building.

"I think I'm going to be all right," Colleen said as she turned to face Donna and CJ. "Perhaps for the first time in a long time. I'm going to get him – or should I say, I'm going to get him with a lot of help," she said while turning back to Toby.

Looking at the three women before him, it hit him like a bolt from the blue. Toby finally realized why the Violence Against Women's Act was so important to Abbey: it was for women like the one Colleen saw die in an alley. It was also for women like Colleen, who lived in abject fear, always analyzing the shadows for the monster who might be hiding there.

CJ looked over at Toby, who returned a look as if to say 'I'll explain later.' Donna then gave Colleen a look of determination and said, "Good." Donna bent down and gave her landlady-turned-friend a hug. After several seconds, Colleen let go.

"Toby, the President wants to see us all together to discuss the terrorist situation and his itinerary for the rest of the trip," CJ said.

"Are we going there or is he coming here?" Toby asked.

"Neither. He's in one of those moods again where he wants to take over a restaurant."

Toby sighed. "Well, does he have anything specific in mind?"

"He wants to go to a diner."

"A what?"

"A diner. Look, the man has unpredictable tastes. He has equal passions for making chili and enjoying the handiwork of a French chef. Which brings me to my point – Colleen, do you know of an authentic diner we could monopolize for the evening?"

"Well, I know of one. Let me call and see what I can do," Colleen said.

"OK, but just wait until I get one of the Secret Service agents here to talk to the owner," CJ said.

"In the meantime, I need to talk to some cops," Toby said while leaving the room. He flipped his phone open and called information.

"Yes, I need the numbers for a few law enforcement agencies . . ."

While Toby was trying to come up with a plan to catch Colleen's stalker, CJ and Donna were compiling all of the most recent information on the terrorist situation. About an hour and a half later, they arrived at RJ's Coffee Shop – a little hole-in-the-wall joint that barely fit the staff, the Secret Service agents and the employees.

Toby told the President that the two men INS still had in custody still wouldn't talk. Josh added that tearing apart the van had produced a possible lead: the van's computer contained an extra microchip that might contain information about a potential attack. The FBI was in the process of analyzing the data. CJ had held a press conference at the McNamara Federal Office Building earlier that afternoon to explain that the FBI was investigating the threats, but she deflected any questions regarding the rumor two men who had entered from Canada were in INS custody. Sam talked about his conversation with Syed Iqbal, and gave the President his draft of the speech for the Detroit Economic Club. The President said he would look it over now.

While the staff was engaged in serious discussion, the First Lady and Donna watched Colleen in the kitchen. She knew the two owners and they allowed her to cook with them when she was in town. Colleen loved to make desserts. She was whipping up a truckload of comfort food – tapioca pudding, oatmeal-raisin cookies, apple pie, cream puffs for hot fudge sundaes, triple-chocolate cookies, and pecan pie. The cook was preparing the staff's orders – hamburgers, patty melts, grilled cheese sandwiches, fresh mashed potatoes, French fries and other traditional diner fare. The rule for the evening was if it was horrible for you, it would be served. The sole waiter was busy making and serving enough coffee to placate the caffeine-craving customers.

After the President dismissed the staff, they broke up into several tables.

Josh, Sam and Toby commiserated over milk shakes and burgers.

"By the way, Sam, you did a great job on that speech. You tied a lot of seemingly unrelated ideas together into a neat package. I don't think the President's going to change it."

"Really?"

"Really."

Sam was nearly speechless himself. It was a very rare day when Toby didn't shred what he thought were his final drafts, and an even rarer day when Toby gave such high praise.

"Thanks," Sam said. "Hey Toby – what's up with you and Colleen?"

Toby gave Sam a quizzical look. "I don't believe anything is up with me and Colleen."

"Oh, c'mon, Toby," Josh chimed in. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with her. What gives?"

Toby finished chewing some of his burger and cleared his throat. "First of all, I think you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Look, Toby, we didn't mean to pry," Sam piped up. "We were just, you know, a little curious."

"Well, I fail to see the distinction between the two, but she reminds me of someone. When I was a teenager back in Brooklyn, there was this girl, about eight years younger than me, who used to follow me around the neighborhood. She'd follow me to pick-up games, to my friends' houses, all over the place. She was full of questions and was always bugging me. She grew on me," Toby said with a smile.

"Kind of like a fungus?" Josh asked.

"Not all fungus is bad," Toby argued. "I was thinking she's kind of like a younger sister."

Josh thought about his sister Joanie for a minute, and took another bite of his burger. His eyes teared up a bit and he wiped them with a napkin.

"Damn onions," Josh muttered to himself.

"Don't eat too many French fries," Donna said while walking by and tossing Josh a plastic bottle. He caught it before it hit him in the face.

"Donna, you're not my mother!" Josh protested. "Antacid tablets? What for?"

"You're going to be cranky when you get an upset stomach, so I thought I'd try a preventative measure. Of course, the real preventative measure would have been ordering something with veggies in it," Donna said, sitting at the next table with her back to Sam.

"On second thought, she's worse than my mother," Josh muttered in a low tone.

Donna turned around and shot Josh a disapproving glance. "I heard that." After she turned back to her table to face CJ and Colleen, Josh looked to his two compadres for support. Sam shrugged his shoulders and Toby only raised his eyebrows.

"Excuse me," CJ said as she got up to go to the ladies' room.

After CJ was in the bathroom, Donna semi-whispered to Colleen, "It's so obvious that Toby and CJ have – I mean, I don't know what you call it – but they just click. I don't know why they don't get together."

"Yeah, I know another couple like that," Colleen said looking at both Donna and over her shoulder at Josh. "You know, there's a lovely walk and park along the riverfront on the Windsor side. I must admit Detroit looks better from there than it does from the U.S. side. Very romantic. You should get Josh to take you there."

Donna squinted her eyes and crossed her arms. "Why would you suggest Josh take me to a romantic spot?"

"I think you and Josh are . . . predestined."

"Predestined?"

"Fated."

"I thought you didn't believe in fate."

"Well," Colleen replied, "except for love and death."

"Who said anything about LOVE?" Donna questioned in an anxious tone loud enough to turn Sam's head, who was still sitting with his back to Donna and across from Toby. He quickly turned back around, realizing he had embarrassed Donna. Colleen shot Donna a look of incredulity.

"Donna, get a grip. You and Josh also have a . . . thing."

"A thing? You hold a doctorate in British Literature from Oxford and the best you can come up with is a thing?"

"OK, how about simpatico? A vibe? More chemistry than Dow and DuPont put together on a peak production day? Do I need to put in on a billboard? Hire a skywriter? Employ semaphore? Donna, you and Josh have got it goin' on."

"Hey," Donna protested. "There's nothing going on between me and Josh."

"There may not be anything going on in the horizontal Lambada sense," Colleen said. "But you two are like cookies and milk. A hot summer day and sno-cones. Red beans and rice—"

"Would you stop with the food metaphors? I couldn't choke down another bite!"

"Did I miss anything?" CJ asked as she sat back down at the table.

"We were just talking about how some things just naturally belong together – like Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes."

"Colleen!" Donna exclaimed.

"Hey, that reminds me – I still need my pie and ice cream!" CJ said in a fairly loud tone. Sure enough, the waiter arrived right then and delivered them.

"I don't know who thought of bringing those things together," Colleen said with a sly smile, "but it sure wouldn't seem right for them to be separate. I mean, they might be all right by themselves, but together, the combination is much better than either one alone. Wouldn't you agree, Donna?"

Donna raised an eyebrow and looked suspiciously at Colleen. "Your grilled cheese is getting cold."

"I can think of worse things to allow to get cold," Colleen said as she took a bite.

"Yeah, I definitely missed something," CJ said, looking at the two women.

After everyone had their fill, the owners who are also brothers – simply known to Colleen as Dave and Mark – posed for a picture with the President. People were piling into their cars or the President's limousine, when the President saw Colleen arguing with the two owners.

"Take it," Colleen said emphatically.

"That's not necessary, Colleen. Believe me, it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. We never dreamed we'd cook for the President," Dave said.

"We took over the place and pretty much cleaned out your cooler and pantry. Really, take it," Colleen said.

"If anybody's going to pay a bill around here, it's going to be me," the President said as he strolled up to the three. He felt around in the pockets of his jeans, but couldn't find anything. "Damn! Going on three years and I still forget I don't carry a wallet. Listen, fellas, just send the bill to me and I'll make sure to overnight the balance to you."

"That won't be necessary. It was a pleasure to serve the President," Mark piped up.

"It won't be necessary because I'm paying," Colleen said. "I told your staff that dinner was on me."

"Colleen, you've been a wonderful hostess. I can't let you do this," the President said.

"Sure you can. Do you know why?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"You're a father and grandfather. Let me do something that I can tell my yet-unborn children and grandchildren about," Colleen said.

"So this is about bragging rights," the President quipped.

"And doing something, however small, for my country."

"So we're still talking about bragging rights."

"I don't care how you want to look at it, but please allow me to do this for you, your wife and your staff."

"Guys, never argue with a woman – you won't win," the President said turning to the brothers who own the place.

"We're both married," Mark said.

"Then you should have learned by now!" the President said with a smile while patting them on the back. They once again shook hands and he left with Secret Service agents following close behind. Colleen stuffed a fistful of cash into Dave's hand and then hugged them both.

"If nothing else, think of it as payback for all the free coffee you gave me when I was a poor, struggling, low-level newspaper reporter," Colleen said before turning to leave.

Dave and Mark counted the money after Colleen entered her car. "Wow," Mark said. "A thousand dollars."

"That," Dave said, "is a very classy lady."

It was Josh's turn to drive the GTO. Toby laid down in the back seat with his eyes closed while Sam tried to find a radio station to his liking. He came upon a Marvin Gaye classic.

Father, father, father,
We don't need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some love in here today
Picket lines
And picket signs
Don't punish me
With brutality
Talk to me
So you can see
Oh, what's goin' on . . .

"How long ago did he record that?" Josh asked.

"Mid-to-late sixties, I think," Sam replied.

"And we still have problems," Josh said sullenly.

"Some aren't as bad, others are worse, others are new."

"Do you ever get frustrated? I mean, do you feel like we're just continuing to fight the same battles the administrations before us did?"

Sam thought for a minute. "Sure I do. But then I remember something."

"What's that?"

"We have to keep fighting. They haven't been won yet."

After everyone arrived back at the house, Donna found that she couldn't sleep. She got up to open the window facing the lake, hoping the night air might make her drowsy. She looked down and saw Josh lying on the bank. Deciding it would be better to talk to someone else who couldn't sleep, she made her way down towards the lake.

"Hey," Donna said.

"Hey yourself." Josh stared at Donna's ensemble.

"I've been looking for those boxers! And that's my favorite T-shirt from Harvard!"

"I was just borrowing them." Donna had used them when she crashed at Josh's once during his recovery. It's the closest I can get to you, Donna thought.

"You have a habit of doing that," Josh said, thinking of the red dress she wore on her date when the President flew to Portland.

"I can take them off."

OK, what do I do with THAT? Josh thought.

"It's OK. The boxers look better on you anyway."

"So I can keep them?"

"Just the boxers. I still want the T-shirt back."

"OK."

Donna sat down and noticed the book lying on Josh's stomach, but she couldn't read the title in the dark.

"What's that?"

"This?" Josh asked holding the book up. "It's a collection of American poetry. From the looks of Colleen's library, I think as long as she and the President are still alive, we won't have to worry about E-books putting printers and bookbinders out of work."

"I didn't think you were a poetry aficionado."

"Well, there's part of a poem I can't seem to get out of my head and I don't know why. I was hoping if I could find it, I could figure out why it's been on my mind lately."

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost."

Donna began to recite it from memory:
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth . . ."

"How did you know that?" Josh asked.

"I read it to you quite often while you were recovering. The last thing I did every night was read to you." Josh found himself deeply touched by her revelation.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember. What else did you read to me?"

"It's hard to remember everything. I read a lot of poetry – both Brownings, Sandberg, Whitman. You always got a little smile on your face when I read Robert Frost," Donna said with a smile of her own forming with the memory. "Actually, I read that poem more often than the others. That was the one you seemed to like the most. Besides the small smile you'd get on your face, you seemed to breathe a little easier while I read it and after. I took that to mean that you liked it."

Josh looked deeply into Donna's eyes, took her left hand, and gave it a quick, gentle squeeze. "I did," he said, remembering. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome." Sensing this could lead to something Donna wanted but wasn't ready for, she let go of Josh's hand.

"You do a lot for me, Donna."

"I'm your assistant. Isn't that what you pay me for?"

"Well, yeah, but it's . . ."

"What? What are you trying to say?" Josh felt the need to stand up. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his shuffling feet.

"What am I trying to say? Damned SAT verbal score. Everyone expects you to be eloquent for life—"

"Josh--"

"Alright, here I go." He let out a small breath and began.

"While you were in the bathroom earlier today, I was looking for some notes in your pile and I happened to see a Georgetown University course catalog."

"So?"

"Well, I thought that since the heat is being turned up on us, you might be thinking this would be a good time to abandon ship and a perfectly valid excuse would be to go back to school."

Donna was hurt by Josh's suggestion that she would leave the West Wing at this point.

"Josh, how could you say such a thing? I mean, after all we've been through? I mean, the shooting and Mrs. Landingham and, well, everything? How could you question my loyalty?"

"I'm not saying you haven't been loyal!"

"No, you're just saying you think I'm about to cut and run!"

"Donna, all I'm saying is, we're about to travel down a very bumpy road with no end in sight. Given the fact that you gambled everything in your life on the President winning and you don't really have anything to fall back on, I'd completely understand if you were thinking about getting out while the getting's good. I've got degrees from Harvard and Yale. The rest of the senior staff has multiple degrees from prestigious institutions and resumes that can get them through many, many doors."

Donna looked away from him at the lake. "Are you saying you think I should go?" she asked in a hushed tone.

Josh ran his hands over his face, realizing he missed his intended target by a mile. "God, no Donna, I don't want you to go. I'm saying I'd understand if you're panicking right now. But if you decide to stay and ride this out, it would mean a lot to me – I mean, to all of us. You've always come through for me – er, us. Whatever happens at the end of all this, I'll come through for you, too. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want us to travel in different directions now that we've reached this fork in the road."

Donna turned her gaze towards Josh. "You know, I was just looking at it to figure out if I can do it part-time. I mean, Charlie is doing that and Colleen's been talking to me about it lately and I just thought it was worth considering. I never thought about leaving. Not for a second."

After a pregnant pause, Josh apologized.

"I'm sorry, Donna. I didn't mean to say I think you are less than loyal. I guess I was selfish and didn't want to think about . . ." Josh couldn't finish the sentence. Although they stared at each other, neither one said a word for about 15 seconds. It was then their silence was shattered by the shriek of Josh's cell phone. Stunned by the shrill sound, Josh jerked his head abruptly, then dutifully answered it.

"Yeah," Josh answered tersely.

"Mr. Lyman, this is FBI Director Jasper. The good news is, we've revealed the material on the microchip."

"And the bad news?"

"Although we translated it from Arabic, we can't make heads or tails of it. It appears to be in some kind of code."

"Mr. Jasper, it is of the utmost importance that you figure out what is on that microchip. All of our hopes to prevent a disaster are hinging on that tiny piece of silicone. It's our sole lead."

"I know. I've got every cryptographer I can find on it."

"Good. Please call me, no matter what time, when you have new information."

"I will Mr. Lyman."

Josh closed his cell phone. He knew Donna would ask, so he filled her in.

"Even though they translated what was on it from Arabic to English, it doesn't make sense because it was in code in Arabic. They're trying to decipher it."

Donna hung her head in despair. Josh briefly rubbed her upper back.

"Hey, you're the designated optimist. You need to help me out here. Put on a brave front. At least for my benefit," Josh chided her.

"You know, I take back what I said before," Donna said in an attempt to shift gears.

"What's that?"

"You are a little like James Bond."

"And you," Josh said, "are a lot more than merely Moneypenny."

She smiled as he put his right arm around her back. As they walked toward the house, they both thought of the last part of Frost's poem . . .

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Early the next morning, the staff was running on all cylinders. CJ and Sam were heading out to meet the President at the Detroit Economic Club for his speech. Toby was meeting members of the mayor's staff to hear their pitch on possibly expanding the city's Empowerment Zones, which are dictated by the federal government and are designed to give tax breaks to businesses which open within their borders. Josh and Donna were staying behind to keep tabs on the FBI's and the INS's hunt for clues to the terrorist plot. Colleen was getting ready to be a member of a panel discussion on the future of public education. As she walked towards the front door, Toby caught her.

"You remember everything we talked about?"

"Yes."

"Remember the signal?"

"Definitely. When I think he's near, I'll signal you."

"Alright. I talked to Lt. Kosowski of the Michigan State Police an hour ago, and he assured me that Wayne State Police and Detroit Police are providing undercover officers in and around the building. He knows about the signal. If you're in danger, try to move towards the southwest exit. We probably won't be there right at the beginning, but we'll be there at the end."

"OK," Colleen said as she gave Toby a hesitant half-smile.

With that, she headed towards the GTO.

Please God, don't let that bastard kill another woman, Toby thought as he watched her pull away.

The breakfast served at the Detroit Economic Club was nice enough, but the staff was still recovering from their late-night greasy-spoon gluttony. Mayor Archer gave the President a very warm introduction, which allowed him to take the podium amid thunderous applause.

"Thank you, thank you everyone. Before I begin, I would like to take a moment to thank Mayor Dennis Archer for his warm hospitality over the last couple of days, but, more importantly, for the work he has done as mayor of Detroit. He has worked to bring old businesses back and new businesses into the city, which is an important place to start to put the city on the road to recovery."

The audience applauded again.

"At one time, people said, 'What is good for General Motors is good for America.' There can be no doubt that this city has played a vital role in the building of America. It was the higher wages on the assembly lines that attracted people from not only other parts of the country, but from around the world. During World War II, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt visited the plants here that made so many of the tanks, planes and artillery that made America the Arsenal of Democracy. In short, the people of Detroit have done much to make our nation great."

An even louder round of applause followed.

"But, despite the fact that it has done great things – partially due to the variety of ideas from the people of almost every ethnic background imaginable, this city and its suburbs have struggled long and hard with a weakness that has plagued America almost since its inception – the disease known as racism. The latest example of this being the firebombed grocery store of an Arab-American couple in Dearborn after news reports of threats from fundamentalist Islamic terrorists to pay us back for finding four other fundamentalist Islamic terrorists guilty of the embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania. Now I ask you this question: how is putting a mom-and-pop store out of business going to prevent a terrorist attack? It's simple: it isn't."

The President took a sip of water and continued.

"This is not a time to act out of fear. Acting strictly out of fear rarely bears good fruit. This is also not a time for us to divide into factions. Whether your family has been here for five generations or you just became a citizen five minutes ago, you are an American. Racism is born out of fear and ignorance. The people who are here – like Jaffer and Aminah Ibrahim – are here are because they want the same things that all of the immigrants before them wanted: a better life for themselves and for their children. They wanted to be able to have a home where the roof didn't leak and there was food on the table. They wanted a place where they could pray without retribution and carry on traditions without reprisals. They wanted a system of justice based on logic and mercy. Simply put, they wanted freedom. How can we, as a nation, say we stand for freedom when even one of our citizens is afraid of persecution because of his skin color, or her religion? Failure to respect others for these and similar reasons is intolerance, a disease that threatens the health of the body of people who make up America. But I believe that the best way to rid ourselves of such a disease is to treat it wherever it is visible. Imagine if we stopped labeling one another and saw each other as people instead of members of a socioeconomic class. If we can start within our communities, I believe the cure can spread as fast as the disease to the rest of the nation. If we as a nation can overcome our differences, then perhaps, there is hope for a more peaceful world."

The usually subdued crowd of the Detroit Economic Club rose to its feet, giving the President a standing ovation. They were expecting a lecture on reducing emissions and making cars that run on more environmentally friendly fuels. That part would soon follow, but for now, the President owned the room. Photojournalists were snapping pictures like mad and reporters were furiously taking notes. Sam was enjoying the music generated when a speech hits the right note. After the President was finished, Toby grabbed Sam.

"Are you ready to go, or did you want to stay?"

"I'll go with you. Always leave them wanting more," Sam said with a little too much pride.

"I'm glad we're driving a convertible. Otherwise, your head might not fit in the car," Toby said dryly. Although they were late, Toby and Sam walked into the jammed auditorium at just the right time.

"Dr. O'Leary, I've noticed you've been unusually quiet." Toby noted the speaker in the center of the table – a man by the name of Dr. Arnold Lovett, according to the card in front of him.

"That's because I'm busy trying to unplug my ears." Colleen ran her right pinky quickly around each ear.

"From what?"

"All the crap that's been coming out of your mouths and flying around here."

"Dr. O'Leary!" Dr. Lovett shouted in a disapproving tone.

"You want my opinion, Dr. Lovett? OK, you asked for it!" After a brief pause, Colleen began.

"For all the innovations our nation has produced, for all the non-conventional people that have come from here, gone out into the world, and introduced new ideas which changed it forever, we have devolved into an educational system which, for the most part, punishes those who don't march in lock-step with the majority." Colleen drew a quick breath, then continued.

"I don't buy the arguments that children of certain ethnicities, non-traditional families, or less-than-desirable economic status are destined to lag behind their peers who seem to have every advantage. As a college professor, I see many students who defy the prophecies of such naysayers constantly. It isn't a question of lack of talent – it's a question of lack of opportunity to develop and showcase talent."

Sensing she was on a roll, Colleen took a small sip of water and started in again.

"When older children of hard-working parents are forced to miss classes so they can get their younger siblings to their schools, there is a grave danger of perpetuating the poverty cycle. This is but one example of how we, as a society, are piling on responsibilities prematurely – in essence testing the not-yet-fully-strengthened mettle of our youth. Education is the key that unlocks the door of opportunity. The problem is that, unlike the private sector, the current educational system doesn't change to meet the needs of its customers. What is so wrong with night school? What is wrong with creating a full curriculum for those who want to go to trade school instead of a four-year college? We can't continue to put students into a few molds and simply shrug our shoulders when they can't fit into them, which result in one form or another of failure. We are always telling our children to think out of the box. How can they learn to do this in a system that stifles originality?"

"Sing it sister," Sam whispered. Toby turned to Sam and placed his index finger over his own lips.

"America is a land of pioneers: from Thomas Edison to Bill Gates, from Susan B. Anthony to Martin Luther King, Jr., and even two people who have at one point or another made Detroit home – Henry Ford and Rosa Parks. These are people who bucked the system. Will there be such groundbreakers if we don't create an educational system that is more conducive to developing the talents of each child? Dr. Lovett, I may not have offered any ideas as to how to achieve a more individualized educational system, but I believe we cannot devise solutions until we clearly label the problems. In my opinion, stripping children of their individuality and failing to help them realize their full potential by not meeting their educational needs is the largest crisis we face in public education today."

Colleen received a rousing standing ovation. All the rhetoric that had been tossed about during the previous 87 minutes was dissipated by Colleen's scorching 3-minute indictment of the status quo.

Toby and Sam were blown away. Right there, under their noses, both literally and figuratively, was someone who was able to crystallize one of the main problems in American public education.

"That was great oratory," Sam said.

"That was great oratory because she knew what the hell she was talking about," Toby said.

After a couple of minutes of applause, the audience members settled back into their seats.

"Well, on that note," Dr. Lovett said in a highly-irritated tone, "we will end this symposium on the Challenges of American Public Education in the 21st Century. Good afternoon."

Colleen stepped down from the table where the panelists had been seated on the stage. Many people were rushing to shake her hand and get a few words with her.

"OK," Toby said. "We need to keep our eye on her. The undercover cops believe he will attack her here."

"Here?" Sam questioned. "In a crowd?"

"There's not always safety in numbers," Toby said. "Remember the Kennedys? Oswald? Reagan?"

"Point taken," Sam said.

Colleen tried to make her way to Toby and Sam, but she was caught in the flow like a salmon swimming upstream. Then she felt something sharp against her back. She knew it was him.

"Keep smiling, sweetheart," the foreboding voice whispered from behind. "It's the last chance you'll get."

"You think you're going to get away with this, you crazy son-of-a-bitch? In this crowd? If we're gonna talk last chances, I think you're the one who should be worried."

Colleen's eyes anxiously scanned the crowd. When she caught Toby's eyes, she gave him the signal they had agreed upon – she tucked a clump of hair behind her left ear.

"Sam, give me your phone."

"What is it?"

"Sam, give me the damn phone – NOW!"

Sam handed over his phone and he dialed Detective Lieutenant Kosowski.

"Kosowski."

"Lieutenant, this is Toby Ziegler. He's got Dr. O'Leary right now. I think he's the one in the black trench coat. He looks like he's pressing something against her back. They're heading for the main exit."

"Thanks, Mr. Ziegler. We're on it."

"Let's follow them," Toby told Sam as he closed Sam's phone.

Soon Colleen and her predator were outside. Little did he know that the Wayne State Police, Detroit Police and Michigan State Police had positioned sharpshooters on the roofs of the surrounding buildings.

"Drop the knife. Do it now," Kosowski told the stalker through a bullhorn. "You're surrounded."

Students and faculty who had been walking in the area scattered – like marbles turned loose onto blacktop – into the nearby buildings. Toby and Sam were stopped by police from leaving the auditorium as soon as Kosowski spoke, but they were within earshot of the scene. Colleen and her stalker stood alone on the mall.

"You're not taking me, but I'm taking the bitch out – got it?" He raised the blade to her throat. Colleen shivered.

"It's over. There's no escape. It's your choice – cuffs or the coroner's."

"Not before I do what I came here to—"

A series of shots cut Colleen's stalker's sentence short. As his lifeless body fell to the ground, Colleen fell with him since his arm was still around her throat. When they hit the ground, she pushed his arm away, rolled over, and got to her feet. Colleen stared from above as the blood poured out of his head.

As her whole body trembled, Colleen realized she had lost the power of speech, but was still unable to make a single sound. She was also unable to either walk or turn away. The horror of that dark night, and other close calls, had returned and finally ended.

"Let's go, ma'am. It's over now," Kosowski said softly while positioning himself between Colleen and the corpse. She looked up into the officer's face. He offered his hand, but Colleen fell into him.

Colleen came to and realized she was lying on a bench. Kosowski, Toby and Sam were standing over her. She tried to get up by herself, but felt dizzy and laid down again.

"You want to sit up?" Toby asked.

"Yeah," Colleen said. "What happened?"

As Kosowski recounted the events, Colleen felt her stomach turning.

"Excuse me," Colleen said while turning away from the three men.

"Why?" Sam asked. Colleen covered her mouth with her left hand and motioned with her arm for Toby and Kosowski to move out of the way. Her breakfast decided to make a repeat appearance.

"Oh . . . that," Sam said with a grimace while averting his eyes and taking a few steps away from her. Kosowski fetched Colleen some paper towels and a glass of water. Colleen wiped off her face, gurgled and spat out some water, and repeated this process a few times.

"We're going to get an ambulance for you," Toby said.

"Like hell you are," Colleen replied. "There are people who need that ambulance a lot more than me. Let's just walk to the car and go home." As she tried to get up and walk, she almost hit the pavement before Sam caught her.

"We'll help you," Toby said while getting Colleen from the other side. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for all your help."

"No problem," Kosowski said. "I'll come by in an hour to get her statement."

"OK," Colleen said. "Thank you." She then looked at Sam and Toby. "Well, a handsome man on each arm. This is the way it ought to be," Colleen quipped in an attempt to add levity to the situation.

"Let's go," Toby said. The two carried her back to their car.

While Sam drove back to the house, Toby's phone rang.

"Toby Ziegler."

"Toby, it's Josh. They figured it out."

"Really? Give me the details."

"Not on a cell phone. Just hurry back to the house."

"OK."

"What is it?" Sam asked as Toby closed his phone.

"The cryptographers cracked the code."

"And?" Sam asked anxiously.

"He didn't want to elaborate on an insecure line. He'll tell us when we get back to the house."

"Then I guess I'd better step on it."

"Not too much, my lead-footed friend. We don't want to get into an accident – or a ticket."

Colleen pointed out shortcuts so that Sam could get them back to the house. Colleen went to lay down in her room while the senior staff and the President gathered in the living room to hear Josh's update.

"About 45 minutes ago, two critical developments occurred. First of all, someone listening to the President's televised address was moved by his speech enough to phone in an anonymous tip about suspicious activity at a home in Dearborn where people have been in and out for two weeks. The caller said he had heard what sounded like small explosions – possibly tests of bombs. Police are there now. Secondly, the cryptographers deciphered the message on the microchip. The plan was to plant a series of remote-controlled bombs throughout the Renaissance Center and Hart Plaza, which is right next to it. This is the heart of where the 300th birthday celebration is taking place, particularly since Stevie Wonder's free concert is there tonight. Right now, bomb squads from throughout southeastern Michigan are going through the area and all of the other venues with a fine-toothed comb."

"So the bombings were set to start--" the President asked.

"In about eight hours," Josh finished.

The President drew a breath. "My God. When I think of how close we came, it scares the hell out of me. So what do we do now?"

"We wait for a report from the law enforcement agencies who will decide whether or not it's safe to continue with the festival schedule," Josh said.

Luckily, the police found no evidence of bombs and the concert went on as planned. As the President, First Lady, the staff and Colleen danced in the area reserved for the mayor and other VIPs, Toby pulled Sam aside.

"Hey, I just had a thought," Toby shouted to be heard over Stevie Wonder belting out As.

"What's that?" Sam shouted back.

"With the re-election campaign, we're going to need at least another body in the speech writing and communications department. Somebody who has a way with words and doesn't have to worry about earning money on a 9-to-5 job so we don't have to fork over money we don't have yet. What I'm saying is, if we're the Batman and Robin of speechwriting, how would you feel about adding on a Batgirl?"

"I assumed CJ was Batgirl."

"Actually, I think of CJ more as Catwoman – look, the point I'm trying to make here is, how would you feel about adding Colleen to the re-election effort?"

Sam thought for a minute. "I'll admit we'll need the help. I think the more important thing is, how would Colleen feel?"

"Only one way to find out," Toby shouted into Sam's ear. The two men came up to Colleen from behind. Sam tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey, Colleen," Toby shouted. "I need to ask you a question."

"OK, go ahead," Colleen yelled back even though she was right next to him.

"Have you ever worked on a political campaign?"