CHAPTER II
Josh sat across from Congressman Hackle basked with boredom. The unimportant republican representative had been droning on for at least fifteen minutes about the pros and cons of his alma mater. He didn't catch the name of the school the congressman attended. He could not of cared less.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, congressman, but I have a busy schedule today and I was really hoping you could get to the point."
Josh knew he sounded like a prick, but he didn't care. He could be checking on the potato chip bids on E-bay right about now. Anything would be more fun than this.
"Well, Josh, I'm sorry if you don't find my company worth your while. But I'll get to the point. I've gathered enough support, and I'm going to introduce a tax cut plan to the house next week."
He just couldn't keep it in, Josh snorted in amusement. There was no way this junior congressman from Wyoming would even be listened to, even with a republican majority. He just wasn't that powerful.
"It won't even come to a vote," replied the confident deputy chief of staff.
"Why?" chortled back Hackle, "Because I'm not powerful? Because I'm not popular? Let me ask you a question, Mr. Lyman. Since when did the United States House of Representatives become the Middle School student council?"
"I had a very fair and productive middle school student council. I was the secretary." Not until after he said it did Josh realize how stupid he had just sounded.
"I see. Well, Mr. Lyman, you can take this meeting with a grain of salt if you want to, but I will get a vote on a tax cut. The American people have waited six years too long, and the economy suffers for it."
What a conservative idiot, Josh thought. "The economy suffers, congressman, because it suffered nine years ago, and nine years before that. It's a vicious cycle. I would have thought the republicans in congress would have noticed it by now."
"I'm sorry, is this a Bartlet state of the union where we get grilled like preschoolers over the workings on the economy? Well congratulations Mr. President. I hear that Nobel prizes are very popular these days, they even give them out to terrorists for failing to bring peace to the Middle East!"
Josh sat in shocked silence. "Are you calling the president a terrorist?"
Hackle looked surprised. "Why of course not! You know I was talking about Arafat."
"Really. All I know is that on paper that quote looks a lot like your calling the president a terrorist." Josh couldn't believe his own ears. Of course this guy wasn't talking about the president. But he couldn't resist the temptation to take it further. "I'm gonna recommend that you keep that tax cut plan off the table, or I'm pretty sure the Cheyenne Times is gonna learn that your constituents elected a much bigger jackass than originally sold to them."
Hackle stared deep into Josh's unwavering eyes. "Josh, what school did I go to? Where was my Alma Mater?"
Now Josh was embarrassed, but only slightly. "I have since forgotten your Alma Mater to save brain space for facts about people. I'm sure the Washington Zoo would be interested, however. I hear they love making information packets about new species of primates." Josh twitched slightly. He knew he went to far. He could see the headline now: Deputy Chief of Staff to President Bartlet calls Congressman a Monkey. Josh giggled despite himself.
"Oh, so now we're laughing at our own cruel jokes, are we? This isn't over, Mr. Lyman. Just wait until you trip on my banana peel." With that the congressman stood up and left the room. Josh waited until he had shut the door, and then burst out laughing. He had to call Sam with that one.
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"Leo, should I be worried? It seems that the FBI doesn't think there are enough metal detectors surrounding this place." The President glanced over at his friend with a playful smirk.
"All I know is if they wanted to kill you they would have done so by now. God knows I've had to restrain myself"
Bartlet smiled. "You know Abby threatened me the other day. Maybe the FBI was talking about one of you two knuckleheads."
Suddenly Charlie opened the door that is the president's last line of defense in case something terrible truly did occur. "Mr. President, your eldest granddaughter is here to see you."
Jed Bartlet's face erupted in smile. He hadn't seen Anne in months, and his single most favorite thing to do was to visit with his grandchildren. "Bring her in, Charlie."
Anne walked into the Oval Office. She was five foot eight inches. She was seventeen years old. She was chewing gum. And she was wearing black from her head to her toenails. "What's up Grandpa?"
"Annie! It's been so long! Is your mother here?" Jed's eyes twinkled. He was concerned about the wardrobe, however. The president wasn't quite up with gothic school fashion. He put it in the back of his mind to talk with Abby this evening.
"Na, she dropped me off. I just wanted to see you. Is grandma here?"
"No, she's at a meeting down the street. So what have you been up too?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Yep. Nothing."
The president looked over at Leo, who was smiling. Leo was having a blast at this Grandfather goth-granddaughter conversation. "Is there anything you want to do while you're here?"
Anne looked at her grandfather with a mixture of love and sadness. "Yeah, actually, I've always wanted to meet CJ Cregg."
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CJ sat at her computer. Suddenly she let out a shriek. "Carol! Carol come here quick!"Carol ran into CJ's little cluttered office, now stripped of its fishbowl, Gail being dead for over a month now. "What is it, CJ?"
"Someone bid thirty bucks on the potato chip, and I don't know your password."
"No problem. I'll need to use your computer though, mine's been acting up lately. How much do you want to bid?"
"Lets do fifty," CJ said, never being much of a miser, "I think we can win it with fifty."
"And what a prize that would be. Alright move over and I'll make the bid."
CJ got up. "Uh, Carol, you just make the bid. I have to go to the little girls' room."
"No problem," Carol retorted as CJ left her office, leaving her computer unguarded. "No problem at all." Carol wasn't lying. Her computer was acting up, and she hadn't been able to check her email all morning. As a lonesome bead of sweat collected on her brow, she checked her messages. She had one and only one. Carol opened this solitary letter and read with excitement. The message consisted of six words:
Do it this afternoon. No exceptions.