Note: The first three chapters have been completely re-written.

4. Weapons of Mass Destruction

MacKenzie sighed loudly as she struggled over her notes from the Genoa interview she did with Jerry Dantana after tonight's show. Monday's were always a challenge, but today was worse than usual.

First, Charlie and Jerry were breathing down her throat about Genoa—a story still quite inconceivable despite tonight's new information. She had spent 26 months in multiple warzones. Never had she seen or heard even a hint concerning the existence, let alone the use, of chemical weapons by the U.S. military.

Next, she received a call from the Romney campaign about Jim giving away an interview with the candidate to another reporter. She pulled him from the New Hampshire, of course, nonetheless, she would catch hell for his choice. One more thing she did not need.

And finally, there was Will…. She had no clue where to begin with him. It was just messed up. She momentarily took off her reading glasses and rubbed her temples.

It was late. She was tired. And her thoughts were becoming a jumbled mess. However, it was also quiet which made it an ideal time to review these interview notes before she left for the night. Besides, who knew what tomorrow might look like, or what news might break. She turned her focus back to her notes.

She remained focused until she received a text from her mother which read: "Have you booked your ticket for Christmas yet? Planes do fill up early for holiday travel." Mac sighed. She should get that ticket. Last year she remained in New York for a myriad of reasons. This year no excuses would be tolerated, particularly as the entire family would be there. Emotionally she would have to suck it up and deal with the reality that her life looked very different the last time she was in England for the holidays.

December 27, 2006

"You've been unusually quiet the past hour or so," MacKenzie said as they walked along the South Bank of the Thames towards Westminster. As a Christmas gift to Will, her father had arranged a special tour of the Tower of London, including the Crown Jewels and the Ceremony of the Keys. Walking along the river at night was one of her favorite things to do in London. Luckily, the temperature was unseasonably mild—and dry.

"I'm taking in the history of this place. Mac, we just drank a pint at a pub that has been in continuous use since the early 1700s. And the Tower? Oh, that dates back to 1066 A.D. And we have?"

"That's why they call it the New World, Billy. Would it help if I start calling you 'William, the Conqueror?'"

"Smart ass." He playfully hit her backside and then grabbed her hand. "I like this city. It's been a great day."

"The day is far from over," she informed him.

"Oh?"

"I want a kiss at the top of the London Eye, and then I want you to make slow love to me in that ridiculous suite you booked for us tonight. We've been inundated with my family since we arrived 72 hours ago. We have precious little time together as it is, considering we work in different cities for different networks and the news waits for no man. And I intend to take full advantage of every minute we have alone together."

"Can't we just skip the Eye and go straight to the second part of your plan?"

"No," she insisted. "The views are spectacular."

"No more spectacular than you naked in my bed."

"Smart ass."

She got her kiss at the top of the Eye overlooking Big Ben and later Will got his fill of her naked in his bed. Since the change in time zones was still wreaking havoc with their body clocks—and there were no pesky parents, siblings, or little people lurking about—afterward they ordered room service and then sat curled up together on the living room sofa talking, dressed only in hotel robes.

"You seemed surprised by your brother's big announcement this morning," Will said to her.

"A little," she agreed. "He and Sheila have been dating on and off for years. Of course, their frequent separations due to his military assignments have made things harder. Lately though, he's been tight-lipped about the relationship, so I probably should have guessed it was coming."

"Do you like her?"

"Of course, I do. I'm the one who introduced them. We were in the same college at Cambridge."

"And yet, you're competitors."

She playfully hit him. "I don't get competitive. That's just idiotic."

"And I'm not from Nebraska."

"He's my only brother. Whatever makes him happy, makes me happy. And I really do like her."

"Okay." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "That's some rock she's now sporting on her finger."

She shrugged. "It's mostly gem stones from my grandmother."

"And?"

She shrugged again. "It's not really my style."

"What would be your style?"

"I don't know," she deflected.

"C'mon, MacKenzie," he insisted. "With this kind of stuff, you are a complete girly-girl with this kind of stuff and your attention to detail is mind-blowing. It's impossible that you haven't been thinking about engagement rings since you were ten—maybe even five."

"That's just offensive."

He gave her that tender, indulgent look that always got to her, so she answered the question. "I like simple diamonds…."

He laughed.

"What's wrong with diamonds?"

"Absolutely nothing. I'm a big fan," he teased, "particularly baseball diamonds."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"And what would you have done with these 'simple diamonds?'"

"Are we really doing this?" she questioned.

"We'll call it practice."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Seriously."

"Okay," she relented. "I saw a ring in an old Grace Kelly movie as a kid. It had a brilliant round center diamond and then smaller ones embedded in the band."

"And it needs to be bigger than your sisters' and Sheila's, right?"

She grabbed his hand and hauled him off the sofa. "Shut it and take me back to bed. Obviously, your old, addled brain is interfering with your ability to think clearly."

"Yes, your Highness." He kissed her hard on the mouth before she could argue about being more American than he was. Then he got another helping of her naked in his bed.

MacKenzie chuckled wistfully at the memory. She must have been still caught up in the past because she failed to hear Will come into the room.

"Why are you here?" he asked her. "It's after midnight."

"Why are you? Did I miss an alert?" She looked at her phone to make sure it wasn't on silent.

"No," he said. "I'm here because you're here."

"What?"

He sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. "I talked to Shelly Wexler like you asked."

"You didn't get word that we found the guy?"

"I got it." He shrugged. "It was something that needed to be done."

Again, she took off her glasses. "For the record, without her source, I never would have asked you. It was a good interview."

"I could have been easier on her."

"Yeah," she agreed with a slight nod of the head. "She's drowning. But she's a good kid, trying to do a big thing."

"She's not that much younger than you are."

"Five years makes a huge difference, Will." MacKenzie leaned back in her chair and thought about everything she had experienced the past five years, lessons learned and re-learned… mistakes made and how she continually worked to make amends for them. Instinctively her hand drifted down to her abdominal scar. "How did the weekend go?" she asked after a moment.

"It was fine."

She raised a brow at him.

"Okay, it was stressful," he acknowledged. "But you were right. I enjoyed it. Young Will was a champ during his Holy Communion."

"Oh, Will!"

"And Matt and I took most of the kids to the Cornhuskers game Saturday night."

"I suppose you bought all of them new Nebraska jerseys?"

"Is that a real question?"

"And your Dad?"

"He came, too. We kept a polite distance. It is what it is, MacKenzie," he insisted.

"It doesn't have to be."

"Leave it. It's not something you can fix."

"Okay." She expected him to leave so she put her glasses on yet again, picked up a pen, and returned to her notes. But he stayed. After a long couple of minutes of silence between them, she looked up at him. "What, Billy?"

"Were you really just producing at Northwestern?"

"Northwestern?"

"Yes, Northwestern. Need I remind you?"

She put down her pen. "I remember. But why are…." She was about to ask him why he was only getting around to asking her about it now and then she remembered mid-sentence that he had been in New Haven this afternoon. "Did you lose it again? Do we need to send you back to St. Lucia-without Erin Andrews?"

"No. Today I was simply high," he threw back.

"I can't help you there."

"Answer the question, Mac. You owe me that," he demanded.

"Of course, I was producing. You were falling all over yourself trying not to say anything. 'I consider myself a New York Jets fan,'" she mimicked before adding, "You needed the push… and I couldn't help myself."

"I see," he replied.

MacKenzie studied him. Was disappointment what she read in his eyes, or was it something else entirely? What did he expect from her? "Not the answer you wanted? What do you want?" she asked.

"I just thought…"

"What?" she pressed.

"Charlie told me that he didn't send you there and, you know, never mind." He sighed and began to leave.

"Will," she said, and he turned around. "I didn't go there looking to produce."

"You didn't?" He sat back down.

She shook her head. "I had to see you, even if it was only at a distance. Could we work together again? How would it feel to be in the same room with you? Could I handle it? Because the entire time I was away you were never not on my mind." Hearing herself, she paused with a smirk before continuing, "Yeah, I know. That's a double negative."

He smiled.

"You were good that night, Billy. Maybe a little over dramatic. But hey, it's a good look on you. You took a stand—the audience be damned."

"Yeah, that turned out well," he groused. "Who knew talking heads could also be You Tube sensations?"

She chuckled because that fact actually still bothered him. "I am sorry Jenna got stuck in the middle."

"You made it up to her," he pointed out.

"It fixed itself."

"I know more than you think."

"Do you?" She paused but then decided to press forward with something that had been bothering her, especially after tonight's walk down memory lane. "Then answer a question for me."

"Okay."

"A serious question."

"And?"

"Why wouldn't you listen to me that night when I tried to explain what happened with Brian? You had bought a ring, Will, but you wouldn't hear me out at all."

He leaned forward. "You lied, Mac. What else was there to hear? And the ring… I bought that in April, not four and a half years ago."

"What?" She couldn't be hearing him correctly.

"I knew you would learn about the offer in L.A. and that you would come after me all fired up, so I got the ring for cover. I remembered what you liked from before and I used that to my advantage."

"You bought a ring worth more money than I care to contemplate to use as a sword against me?"

"Yes—my agent's assistant did it. But we took it back after. And I get now that…"

She interrupted him. "For six months, you've let me believe that ring was real. You've used my guilt, and twisted something that is sacred to me and used it as a prop that…." She stood up mid-sentence, pointed to the door, and commanded, 'Leave, Will."

He stood, too, and tried to come around the desk. "MacKenzie, I…"

"No." She cut him off and again she pointed to the door. "Leave now. Your sword found its mark. But don't ever talk to me about lying again. You've lost that right."

"Fine. Just remember, I wasn't the one sleeping around."

"So, five and a half years later, make it official. Brand me with that infamous 'Scarlet Letter' all because I was young, stupid, and for a time confused."

Yet, again, without being aware of it, her hand traced down the edge of her scar. "Do you know the most ironic thing of all, Billy? It's that once I could see my past clearly, I figured it out: You are the only man I ever loved and the only one I wanted to be with for life. I tried every day for all those months after—and even now—to be a woman worthy of you. But that means nothing."

"And we both know who is to blame."

"I guess we do. So, okay then…." She shrugged and sat back down at her desk. "Good night," she added as an afterthought as she pivoted and pretended to check something on her computer, holding her breath until she heard the door shut.

Once she knew he was out of earshot, she spat out a string of expletives that would have impressed any sailor. Eventually she ran out of steam and other emotions took over. She buried her head in her hands and lost the battle to keep tears from flowing down her cheeks.

She allowed herself a few minutes, and then she dried her eyes, blew her nose, and purchased her airline ticket for England for the holidays. Afterwards, she once again refocused on her work. And then the call from Africa came.

xxxxxxxxx

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

At 10:30 a.m. Will again entered her office. "Why did I just now hear from Charlie about what happened to Maggie and Gary at that orphanage?"

She looked up from the newspaper in front of her. "You know now. I've been busy getting answers."

"So, that's all there is to it?" He questioned, hands on his hips.

She returned his stare and his tone of voice. "What else would there be, Will?"

"You haven't been home?" His tone was softer as he took a seat in a desk chair.

She took off her reading glasses and acknowledged, "No."

"Are they okay?"

"Physically, they are fine."

"Mac," he warned.

"They're shaken. I'd be more worried if they weren't. And yes, there will be scars, probably lots of them." She thought of her own.

"Mac?"

She continued, "Look, I don't know the extent of it yet. They are being interviewed by local and U.S. authorities and they'll be back here on Thursday morning."

"Why would local law enforcement be interviewing them still? Attacks in that area are common place."

"Apparently the attackers were after Gary's camera."

"You should have called me last night."

"I handled it. What could you have done?"

"I'm a lawyer for heaven's sake."

"In the United States, not Uganda. And give me a little credit, I contacted the State Department immediately. They have protection."

"Fine," he conceded. "But that doesn't explain why you failed to tell me about the call you got last night from the Romney campaign."

"Lack of courage," she admitted sheepishly. "And before you yell at me, I already yelled at Jim last night and again this morning. He's been pulled and will be back first thing tomorrow."

"Somehow you think that I'm only the managing editor of this news division on paper. Don't do that," he said pointedly.

"As if I need reminding of that, considering you can fire me every seven days." She recognized too late that was a thought better left unspoken at the moment. Before he could explode, she added, "You're right. At the very least, I should have called you first thing this morning."

"You should have called me when the call came in. I wasn't asleep."

She nodded.

"After the pitch meeting, you are going home for a few hours. Don can handle anything that comes up. You look like hell."

"Thank you."

"I mean it, MacKenzie. You need a break," he insisted. "And one more thing, I want an entire block tonight devoted to the NBA lockout and the cancellation of the pre-season that was announced this morning."

"What?"

"Pro-basketball, Mac."

"What?"

"It's a big deal and it has a national economic impact. Sloan agrees, and we can work her into the segment."

"What is it with the two of you and bouncing balls?" she complained.

"What is it with you and shoes?"

"Those are fighting words, Billy."

He smiled but then turned serious. "MacKenzie, about last night…"

"Not today," she pleaded.

"Okay," he agreed. "Let's fill in everyone about Gary and Maggie and do the pitch meeting where you will lose badly on the NBA segment. Then you are going home."

She nodded and followed him out of the room.

But despite a few hours of sleep, Mac was relieved when the show came down that night (although she reluctantly had to admit that Will and the others put together a truly interesting segment on the NBA while she was at home during the afternoon).

She was about to leave for the night when Sloan walked into her office and said, "Are you ready to go?"

"Where are we going?"

"To see The Help. We've rescheduled three times already."

Mac studied her colleague and friend and then conceded with more enthusiasm than she felt, "Let's do it. After the past 24 hours, I need a diversion."