"A major national security leak at the Bartlet White House. Senior staffer Toby Ziegler is indicted. He faced years of jail time until he was quietly pardoned in the last hours of the Bartlet administration. Ziegler wasn't authorized to have the information he leaked, so who told him? White House Chief of Staff Claudia Jean Cregg had close ties to Greg Brock, the reporter who broke the story. What was her involvement? Did she feed the story to Ziegler? Why won't she answer these questions? And what does it say about Eric Baker's judgment that, with so many question marks, he would choose to put this woman a heartbeat away from the presidency in times as dangerous as these?
Ainsley tried to look pleased as she sat in the hotel conference room and watched the attack ad, which featured a female narrator intoning the script in an urgent, slightly frightened voice while news footage of the shuttle leak story ran on the screen. The campaign was still in Florida, making a few more appearances before moving on to the next stop in North Carolina.
"I'm Ray Sullivan, and I approved this ad, because nothing is more important to me than this nation's security." The ad concluded.
"Brilliant," Ray smiled confidently. "Usually you put that at the beginning of an attack ad, but in this case it's really just the cherry on top, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah," Ainsley managed a smile.
"You feeling better?" He gave her a concerned look.
"A little." With little confidence in her ability to act as if nothing was wrong, she'd told everyone that she thought she was coming down with the flu. Not only did it provide an explanation for her change in mood, but it also gave her an excuse for spending as much time as possible away from everyone on the campaign, fear of contagion and all. She'd spent most of her time the past day and a half in her hotel room, spending hours on the phone with the FBI as they made preparations for the undercover operation. She'd made a brief appearance with Ray Sullivan at the convention hall last night, but other than that, this meeting represented the first extended period of time she'd spent with the campaign staff. And that was only because she was going to be introducing them to the agent who would be posing as her assistant.
"Hey, Ainsley." She turned as a tall man in his early forties, somewhat good looking with dark blond hair, walked up to her. Although it was her first time meeting him in person, she knew instantly who he was. Here we go, she thought.
"Hi Mark." She got up and gave him a hug. "It's been a long time. And I just realized I probably shouldn't be hugging you. I don't want to give you this awful bug I've come down with, but-"
"For you, I'll risk it," he smiled, taking a seat at the conference table. "So tell me where to start. I'm at your service. Put me to work."
"My calendar," Ainsley handed him a manila folder. "I like my calendar to be color-coded. So much easier to read. Do you think you could take care of that for me?"
"Color-coded calendar. No problem."
Ray glanced between the two of them, confused. "Who's this?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ainsley forced a smile. "This is Mark Brigshaw. He's my new assistant."
"Assistant?" Ray frowned. "New hires have to be approved by our financial people. You know how tight money is on this campaign."
"Oh, yes, I know. Mark's volunteering."
"Full-time?" Ray gave Mark a dubious look.
"Looking to break into politics," Mark responded with a shrug.
"And you don't need a salary?"
"Nope. Won the lottery," he responded lightheartedly, in a manner that was meant to leave Ray wondering whether or not he was serious.
Ray still looked skeptical. "How'd you two meet? I mean, how'd you end up…hiring him?"
"He was an old high school classmate of mine who I got back in touch with," Ainsley repeated the story they'd agreed upon.
"Anyway," Bob Mayer cut in, standing at the other end of the room. "We drop these ads on Thursday. They should be the focus of the Sunday talk shows, and hopefully they'll at least somewhat overshadow the Dem convention next week. And we're going to be working this line of attack into all our campaign events, too. Ainsley, as the vice presidential candidate, that's going to be your role." He looked at her carefully.
"Yes, I know. Happy to do it." She glanced at Ray out of the corner of her eye. He seemed pleased by her acquiescence to the plan. She got up from her seat. "Anyway, I'm going to go back up to my room. I think I need to get some rest."
"Okay," Ray patted her on the arm. "Take care of yourself."
She nodded and left the meeting, heading back up to her room. About ten minutes later, there was a knock at her door.
"You better be sure no one saw you," she teased as Mark walked into the room. "This could look positively seedy…me going up to my room, you surreptitiously following a few minutes later…"
"Well, unless you have a better idea…"
"Not really." She paused. "So listen, David-"
"Call me Mark."
"Right." Even though only just met him, he'd been introduced to her over the phone by his real name, David Johansen, and she was still having some trouble making the switch in her mind.
"You have to get used to calling me Mark. Anyone from the campaign hears you calling me anything else, it could blow the whole cover."
"I know." She paused. "Anyway, Mark, I was going to ask what exactly the plan is. I mean, do we know yet? How is all this going to work?"
"Well, I have this for you." He pulled out a tiny black device with a small clip attached to it. "Wireless recording device. Very discreet and very sensitive. You can wear it under your clothes and no one will ever know it's there. I'll be wearing one, too."
"That's not it, is it?" Ainsley demanded. "I mean, we have to do more than just loiter around the campaign, hoping to catch another incriminating conversation. I don't exactly know what the odds of that happening would be, but…" she paused, thinking. "We'll need more of a strategy than that, won't we?"
"Yes," he nodded.
"And do we have one?"
"I have the beginnings of one."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You really didn't have to come over just to keep me company," Josh remarked to Charlie. With both Sam and Donna in Ohio with the Baker campaign, Charlie had come over to Josh's apartment. They had ordered a pizza and were watching television, though Josh had been more than a little distracted most of the evening. Rabbi Kline's offer had been kicking around in his head since the previous night. It sounded like a great opportunity: a worthy cause, something productive to put his energy into. Two months ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about doing it. But something inside him was resisting the idea, and he couldn't put into words exactly what it was.
"You really think I'd come here out of obligation?" Charlie responded to Josh's comment.
"Well, I mean, I figure Zoey's probably somewhat more appealing company than yours truly."
"I'm with her almost every day. She can get along without me for an evening." He paused. "Besides, she's mad at me."
Josh glanced at him. "What for?"
He shrugged. "Beats me. We kinda had an argument the other day. Over nothing, really. Nothing and everything, I guess."
"Is the FBI still worried about…"
"Actually, no. They told me the other day they no longer think I'm a target. I mean, they're still advising caution, given the fact that, well, it's West Virginia White Pride, but they're not as worried as they were."
"That's a relief," Josh commented, though inwardly the wheels in his head were spinning. Security had been heightened at the Baker campaign, while Charlie had been given a tentative all-clear. Obviously there had been some kind of break in the investigation. He just wished he knew what it was.
Charlie nodded. "Yeah, it is, but still…all this has taken a toll on her, you know? I think she thought once her dad left office, she could go back to living a normal life. I mean, usually adult kids of former Presidents don't even have Secret Service, but she's had to keep her detail for obvious reasons." He was quiet for a moment. "And I know it's been hard for her to really feel safe since…you know. So this just makes it worse."
Josh nodded. "Well, you guys will work it out. You always do."
They turned their attention to the television, where Dateline was just beginning.
"Today, we have a segment for you that is sure to generate discussion and, perhaps, controversy," the anchor began. "Sandra Kelsey, wife of Tom Kelsey, the former employee of the Secret Service who has confessed to involvement in the assassination of President-Elect Matthew Santos, is here in the studio with us. Who is she? What did she know about her husband's criminal activity, and what does she think of it now? What about the couple's two children, ages five and nine?"
"I don't believe this," Josh muttered, his eyes not moving from the television. "They're giving this woman a forum to spout her…what's wrong with them? This is exactly what these people want: publicity and exposure, and they're getting it." Anger began to build in his voice. Two children, five and nine. The same ages as the Santos children, Josh couldn't help but think.
"I think there's a game on," Charlie suggested with a shrug, reaching for the remote.
"No," Josh said flatly. As disgusted as he was, somehow he couldn't bring himself to turn away from the television.
"Mrs. Kelsey," the interviewer began, "Did you know your husband had participated in the assassination of the President-Elect before he was arrested for the crime?"
"Of course not," she answered calmly.
"Why do you say 'of course not'?"
"Tom would never have told me such a thing. He protects me. If he'd told me what he was going to do, and the police found out I knew about it, I might have been in trouble, too. He wouldn't have wanted that. He needs me to take care of the children."
"Did you know he was a member of West Virginia White Pride?"
"You say 'member' like it's some kind of club, that hands out little wallet cards or something. Card-carrying member and all that…"
"Cards aside, did you know he had ties to West Virginia White Pride?"
"Yes. We both do."
"And the ideology of that organization is…"
"You know very well what it is."
"Why don't you tell us?"
"It's an ideology that will not allow a brown border jumper like that Santos creature to usurp the presidency of the United States, I can tell you that much."
"You say usurp. He was duly elected-"
"He wasn't a citizen. He was an illegal alien."
"He was born in San Antonio, Texas."
"So he claimed."
"You have evidence to the contrary?"
"Come on. None of those Mexicans are here legally, everyone knows that. I mean, he said – in that debate, he even admitted he had members of his family who were illegals. If he was such an American, why didn't he turn them in to immigration? My husband did what he had to do to save this country. He's a hero."
"You really believe he's a hero for carrying out an assassination?"
"Absolutely. Keeping that socialist, communist, baby-killing, Mexican border jumper from moving into the Oval Office? Every American owes him a debt of gratitude. He's a patriot."
"These views – your attitude toward minorities – is that what you and your husband teach your children?"
"That's exactly what we teach them. And I want to know why your network is censoring their voices. Your producers wouldn't let me bring them here for the interview and let them speak their minds."
"We felt it would be exploitive, given their age-"
"Bull hockey!" she snapped. "You have children their age and younger on this show all the time. You're discriminating against them because they hold views that aren't politically correct in this pathetic excuse for polite society we have in our country now. But these are them right here." She reached into a handbag and pulled out an 8x10 photo of two young children. "Tom, Jr. and Rebecca. Look at them. They are the future of this movement. They are going to help lead this nation out of the cesspool it's currently mired in."
Josh stared numbly at the photo. They looked so innocent. The girl, obviously the younger of the two, had straight blond hair clipped back in pink barrettes, and a sweet, charming smile. The boy had brown hair that was barely visible underneath a backward baseball cap. They looked for all the world like two average young schoolchildren.
They are the future of this movement, their mother's words echoed in Josh's mind. The worst part was that he knew she was probably right. He imagined those two children, in fifteen or twenty years' time, attending white supremacist meetings and plotting acts of violence. The thought made him ill.
He must have looked as stricken as he felt, because Charlie glanced over at him. "You okay?"
Josh's face didn't move as he stared at Sandra Kelsey. "Sub-human pieces of crap."
"That's for sure," Charlie agreed, though without the level of intensity that Josh had in his voice.
"I mean, how do people get like that?" Josh demanded. "How do they get to hate so much that they're willing to kill people, willing to brag about killing them, just because of the color of their skin or where their ancestors are from?"
"I don't know," Charlie paused for a moment before continuing. "I once worked at a country club that wouldn't have had me as a member because of my race. Just about the most humiliating experience of my life, but it paid well, and we really needed the money. I've been pulled over for no reason I could see other than the fact that I'm black. I work for the President of the United States, but when I go to a nice restaurant wearing a suit, I sometimes get mistaken for a waiter or a valet. So yeah, I've seen plenty of racism. But still, until I started dating Zoey…" he paused. "The Secret Service showed me a few of the death threats. They usually don't like to do that, because they want us to be able to sleep at night, but I guess they didn't think I was taking the situation seriously enough. I'd never seen anything like it. Not in modern times, definitely not directed at me. I guess somehow I'd wanted to think that kind of blatant, blinding-hatred brand of racism was mostly a thing of the past in this country, but it's not. I don't know if it ever will be."
Josh looked back at the television, where Sandra Kelsey was still engaged in an impassioned defense of her twisted worldview. "Do you think some people are just born that way?" he finally asked, his voice low and flat. "Born evil, born wanting to hate, wanting to kill, even?" It was a notion he'd never even entertained before, and it was diametrically at odds with almost everything else he believed; but all of a sudden, given the state of the world, it seemed like an almost unavoidable conclusion.
"No," Charlie looked at him in surprise. "Do you?"
"I don't know."
"Those kids…" Charlie gestured to the photo of the Kelsey children, which their mother was still holding up for the television audience, "If they grow up to be active racists, it won't be because they were born that way. It'll be because of what they were taught growing up."
"They can reject what they're taught. Part of becoming an adult is learning to think for yourself. If those kids don't do that, if they grow up to be just like their parents, it'll be their own damn fault."
"I know. You're right. And I don't know how people get to be like that," Charlie answered. "The assassins who shot Santos and Vinick, the shooters at Rosslyn – I wish I knew, but I don't." He paused. "But they weren't born wanting to do that. A wise man once told us that, remember?"
Josh didn't nod, although he remembered that speech of President Bartlet's well. He wasn't sure what he thought, but he was now sure of one thing: he couldn't do the speech.