Chapter Thirteen

Saybrook Institute for Public Policy

The senior staff was having dinner on the patio. Harm was watching a group of staffers chanting.

"Gaudeamus igitur, Iuvenes dum sumus, Post iucundum iuventutem, Post molestam senectutem, Nos habebit humus, Nos habebit humus."

"What was that?" Kenny asked for Joey.

"It's an old camp song."

"What's it mean?"

"'Let us be merry, therefore, while we are young men. After the joys of youth, after the pains of old age, the ground will have us.' It's true," Sam replied.

Joey looked at Sam. "How can I get you on board with me?"

"New Hampshire?"

"Yeah."

"By coming out with me."

"On what?"

"The President's got to spend a little more time in congressional districts we will not win."

"Why would he spend any time in districts...?"

"To build Democratic momentum in the very places we traditionally tank. We're running comically weak candidates in these districts. The Tennessee 7th, Horton Wilde in Orange County. Wilde is in the hospital with his fourth heart attack. Nobody knows when he's going to resume a campaign schedule," Sam said.

"I can't make a pitch about putting resources in the right places and then advocate sending the President to districts where the last Democrat won by railing against Abraham Lincoln."

Harm agreed with her but remained silent. It wasn't his place to say anything, especially as it wasn't his area of expertise.

"You're right, Joey. That's a reasonable point."

"Will you help me?"

"Yeah."

At that moment, Toby and Charlie walked in.

"Hey, where have you been?" C.J. asked.

"He was wondering about the Team Toby meeting. Toby doesn't need to be there, right?"

"I wasn't really wondering," Toby replied.

"Why don't you just do your job as a man and get that nice girl pregnant," Josh said.

"I did."

That answer stunned everybody within hearing distance.

"Wait, what?" Josh asked.

"Andy's pregnant," Toby stated.

"Toby, Andy's pregnant?" C.J. asked to clarify.

"With twins."

Harm was the first to react. "Congratulations to you and Congresswoman Wyatt." He shook Toby's hand.

"Thank you, Commander."

"This is incredible," Sam said.

"Wait, Andy's pregnant with twins. And they're yours?" Josh asked.

"Yeah."

"Both of them?"

"I'm going downstairs," Toby said and walked away.

As Toby left, C.J. hit Josh for asking such a stupid question. Harm had turned away to chuckle. It was nice to not be the only one with the 'foot-in-mouth syndrome'.

The next morning, C.J. and Harm were finishing up their breakfast when Bartlet walked into the room. "Hey," he casually greeted them.

C.J. and Harm immediately rose, and Harm had to fight his instinct to come to attention.

"Good morning, Mr. President," C.J, greeted back.

"Did you have a good day?"

"Yes, sir, we did. We accomplished a lot of things, but we still haven't found the answer we like on the Rooker question," C.J. replied.

"You know what I remember he said to me? He said, 'Mr. President, when I hear black footsteps behind me, I'm scared. When I hear white footsteps, I'm not.'"

"Well, sir, I think we both know people who'd say differently. Either way, one has to respect him for voicing such an unpopular opinion amongst people to whom he's a leader. As an African-American himself, he knew what he'd said would be unpopular. But he stood his ground," Harm said.

"You respect him for that?"

"Yes, sir. I mean no disrespect to you, Mr. President. But there are a lot of politicians who say something, only to take it back later or even deny that they ever said that. Thankfully, that's getting more and more difficult with the internet. Anyway, for someone to stand by his unpopular statement in face of adversity, and in his case, the chance of a lifetime to become the AG shows a lot of personal strength and conviction. I respect that."

Bartlet silently looked at Harm for a few seconds. "You're right. However, it's sad that someone has to pay for these things for such a long time. Too long, don't you think?"

"I absolutely do, sir."

"I'm with Harm, sir. But I don't know why we struggle with it," C.J. said.

"We made a mistake... I corrected it. I'll make more," Bartlet said.

"Yeah," C.J. said.

"I don't mind blowing the knucklehead stuff like Rooker. Not that Rooker is a knucklehead, but..." Bartlet sighed. "If I'm making mistakes there, how do I know I'm not doing it with matters like death and destruction?"

"You don't, Mr. President, because there's no manual. There can't be one, because every situation is different. Sir, we expect the President to face the world in his own way, on his own time," Harm said.

Bartlet nodded.

"Speaking of which. May I ask you a question, Mr. President?"

Both Bartlet and C.J. looked at Harm.

"I have to warn you though that the topic on my mind at the moment might be something you wouldn't feel comfortable discussing."

Harm looked Bartlet straight in the eyes, making sure he understood that he was completely serious.

C.J. looked at Harm in askance, wondering what her boyfriend was doing or what he wanted to ask the president. He had mentioned nothing to her.

Bartlet looked at Harm for a moment longer, then turned to C.J., just in time to see her surprise and a bit of apprehension.

"C.J., why don't you go in there and tell everybody that we're about to start?"

While he formed it as a question, everybody knew it was an order.

"Sir?"

She really, really didn't want to leave the two men alone.

"Don't worry, C.J. Whatever he'll ask, I won't send your boyfriend TAD to the other end of the world."

"Uh, yes, sir." C.J. said and left.

Her look told Harm that she was very unhappy with him right now.

"Okay, Commander. I've been warned. Fire away."

"I know that I'm not allowed to say anything about what I have learned here. So, you don't have to worry about me telling anybody anything."

"Yeah, yeah, ask your question, Commander."

"Are we going to war in the Middle East?"

Harm's question had bothered Harm for a while now. And after what he had heard and seen yesterday, he had thought about that all night, especially what it would mean for him professionally and for him and C.J. personally.

Bartlet looked straight at Harm, wondering whether he should respect the man for his audacity or not.

"We're already at war in the Middle East, in a manner of speaking," the President tried to deflect, but Harm was used to it.

"I don't mean the War on Terror, sir. Do you foresee a conflict with Qumar on the horizon?"

That stopped Bartlet in his tracks. It was a topic that gave him sleepless nights, more than usual. He was dreading said questions, as he didn't know how to answer them. Even after the events from the day before. He knew it was a question that was on the mind of his people in the situation room, too. But nobody had wanted to ask aloud.

"Why would you ask that, Commander?"

"A few months ago, Qumari Defense Minister Abdul Shareef died in a plane crash and the Qumari's are accusing Israel of assassinating Shareef. I'm sure you know the details better than I do. Now, I haven't spoken to C.J. about it, so I don't know what she knows or if there is anything to know at all. All I'm saying is my theory is based on observation and experience. The fact is, Shareef died when he returned home from a 'goodwill' visit to the United States. Furthermore, a midsize cargo ship was seized in the San Francisco Bay a few weeks ago, and they found two of its crew to have Qumari citizenship – "

"They all held multiple passports," Bartlet broke in, looking around. He narrowed his eyes. "All right, keep your damn voice down, Commander."

Bartlet knew he should end this conversation immediately, but something made him hesitate. He remembered that C.J. had told him that the Commander was rather knowledgeable about foreign relations. He was curious what the younger man had to say on the topic.

"If you know about the ship, then you probably know what it was carrying."

Harm shrugged. "Not specifically, but I'll assume it wasn't a shipment of teddy bears."

Bartlet snorted.

"And since I'm not the cynical type, I'm more than willing to believe that Shareef's death—if in fact, he didn't die in an unfortunate plane crash—was only ordered because he was found to be part of some kind of plot. That such an act eliminated whatever threat existed within the Qumari government. Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Bartlet looked straight at Harm. "You can never really eliminate threats in this game, Commander. You can only reduce them. If such an act were to be undertaken by the U.S. government," the President replied with the utmost caution and his most official voice, "it would only be in response to a heinous act against the citizens of this country."

Harm looked at Bartlet for a moment. "Of that, I have absolutely no doubt, Mr. President. But if that's the case, then why stay quiet about it? Why let them go after Israel? Why not come out with an accusation against the Qumaris if they tried to attack us?"

"Leaving aside Section 18 of the U.S. Code, you mean? Because 'they' is a tough concept to nail down, Commander. We don't know who in their regime is with us and who isn't. If we go public with the rationale behind the assassination—and don't you dare take this as confirmation that we had anything to do with it—tempers will start to flare, and pretty soon, we really will be in a declared war with another country," Bartlet explained.

"Or five other countries," Harm agreed grimly. "All right, I appreciate the honesty, Mr. President, and as I said before, I will not speak about this conversation to any soul, even C.J."

"When why ask me?"

Harm sighed. "It's a self-serving curiosity, Mr. President. You've read my jacket; I tend to end up in war zones regularly. I just like to know what I'm getting into. And these days I rarely know what I'm getting into until I'm already knee-deep in it."

Bartlet thought about that and asked a question he wouldn't normally ask a member of the armed services. "Is it hard to follow whatever orders you're given without getting the reasons behind them?"

Harm thought for a moment before replying, "I usually get to see the reasons eventually."

"That's only because you're an officer, Commander."

"Yes, sir."

"Anyway, let's go back before C.J. sends a search and rescue party."

They walked down the stairs to the debate area. "And Commander?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Stay up in my face, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Bartlet and Harm walked into the room and made their way to the podium. C.J. looked at both men nervously, trying to get a picture of their mood. But she couldn't tell whether or not something was wrong.

Bartlet turned to his staff and asked, "Am I going to lose New Hampshire?"

There was a moment of silence before Josh replied, "Yes, sir."

Bartlet sighed. "All right. When we're done tonight, we should talk about moving money to Ohio."

"Yes, sir, and maybe making a stop in Orange County. You know, our candidate in the 47th is such a dynamo that he's in the hospital with his fourth heart attack," Sam said.

"Not anymore," Bartlet said. "He's dead."

"Okay."

"I swear to God, the winner of this debate is going to be the next President. Anybody want to be on the losing team?" Bartlet asked rhetorically.

"No, sir," a chorus of voices replied.

"Then let's pump it up. Let's go, Claudia Jean."

"Good evening, and welcome to the Presidential debate between President Josiah Bartlet and Governor Robert Ritchie being brought to you from the University of California, San Diego. The format agreed to by both candidates is as follows: A candidate will have 90 seconds to respond, followed by a 60 second questioning by his opponent, followed by a 60-second summation. By virtue of a coin toss, Mr. President, the first question goes to you."

The Press Room

"All right, everyone. Thank you very much. Carol's passing out the playbooks. Senator, we've put you on criminal justice, and Martin, we've moved you to welfare, if that's okay," C.J. said.

"Sure," Martin replied.

"There's also some third-party validator information in there, as well as the name of the reporters you'll be handcuffed to. If it's not your thing, don't wing it. Call somebody over," Toby told the group.

"Surrogate plan leaves at 9:00 this evening. We'll see you tomorrow for pre-game," C.J. said.

"C.J., could I see you for a moment? And I need Congresswoman Wyatt for just a moment," Toby said.

The three of them went to the hallway.

"Bennett's going to spin for Ritchie," Toby told C.J.

"I could have told you that was going to happen! Hang on, no, wait, I did!"

"I find competitiveness so feminine in tall women."

"On defense?"

"Yeah, on defense! What the hell...?" Toby exclaimed.

"Don't hackle around with me right now, Phyllis! I got a North Carolina Democrat shilling for Ritchie on defense. I've gotta get a guy. I need a Republican."

"This is why I'm talking to you. You're going to use Albie Duncan."

"He'll do it?" C.J. asked, surprised.

"Yes."

"Duncan?"

"Yes."

"He will?"

"Yes."

"Look at me. He's not a little bit crazy?"

"Albie Duncan?"

"Yeah."

"No, no, no," Toby said, but thought for a moment. "Maybe a little bit."

"Toby..."

"He's going to be great. You'll see to it."

"I'm crazy about the roundness of your head," C.J. sniped and walked away.

Air Force One Sitting area

C.J. approached Albie Duncan, the former Undersecretary of State. "Mr. Secretary."

"Ah, Ms. Cregg."

"Thanks so much for helping us out."

"Yes."

"Have you ever seen the Moscow Circus?"

"No."

"Then I have no point of reference to describe what a post-debate spin room is like."

Albie chuckled. "I like you. You're the one I like."

"Thank you very much. What happens is you'll be taken into the room and a volunteer will walk in behind you are holding up a large sign with your name on it and the press will surround you."

"Is that dignified?"

"Absolutely not. Don't even hope. They're going to want you to talk about why a Republican is spinning for the President. Nobody's expecting you to say a thing - not a thing - that would embarrass the party to which you've been a loyal and active member your entire life. He'll be attacked during the debate on China. He'll have to defend his trade goals versus human rights violations."

"Trade is essential for human rights. Instead of isolating them, we make them live by the same global trading rules as everyone else and gain 1.2 billion consumers for our products and strengthen the forces of reform."

"That's it. It's that simple."

"No, it's not simple. It's incredibly complicated. "

"Sure," C.J. said, not wanting to get into an argument.

"McGarry's boy over there is coming up with greeting cards."

"Josh?"

"He's sitting with me, trying to boil down foreign policy into a ten-word statement."

"And believe me, he hates it."

"I've been at the State Department for 30 years and there's no right answer for these questions and diplomacy needs all the words it can get its hands on. Plus, he's from Connecticut."

"Yeah, but the thing is Ritchie's good at it and we just need to show we have that club in our bag. That's all."

"What kind of shot do you get with that club?"

"According to the best people who've analyzed specific polling data, there may be a million undecided out there who'd come to Bartlet if he displayed one or two qualities that were more like Ritchie. And we chose this. So, for 90 seconds tonight, the mountain will come to Mohammed and we'll pretend the whole thing never happened."

"Yeah, it's incredibly complicated."

"Yes."

"The answer I just gave you on trade?"

"It was perfect."

"You know there's a decent chance I'm full of crap, right?" Albie asked.

"Sure."

"'Free trade is essential for human rights'... The end of that sentence is, 'we hope because nothing else has worked.'"

"Okay, but I wouldn't say that tonight."

"The President knows Chinese political prisoners are going to be sewing soccer balls with their teeth whether we sell them cheeseburgers or not, so let's sell them cheeseburgers."

"Nor would I say that," C.J. said, wondering what they got themselves into.

"Let me tell you something, young lady, 3700 years ago in the Chang dynasty when a king died, his slaves were beheaded - the lucky ones. The unlucky ones were buried alive. Political repression? This is progress." Albie told C.J.

"Still, I think the first answer's our winner. So, can I find an attractive aide and have her bring you some Schweppes Bitter Lemon?"

"No, I'm too steamed... yes, yes, okay."

"Good, C.J.," said and walked away. "Carol?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to work."

"Yeah."

C.J. walked to Josh and Toby, who stood in a corner.

"So, is he crazy?" Toby asked.

"Um, yes."

"What do you think?" Toby asked Josh.

"Well, if we lose because of a ten-word answer, then I'm quitting show business," Josh replied and walked off.

"What do you think?" Toby asked C.J.

"I think it depends on who shows up. If it's Uncle Fluffy, we've got problems. If it's the President, in his last campaign, his last debate, for the last job he'll ever have... If the President shows up, I think it'll be a sight to see, I mean a sight to see. What do you think?"

"I think you're going to enjoy yourself tonight."

Albie Duncan was walking around Air Force One when he saw Harm sitting in a corner, working on some files. He looked familiar, but didn't know why. Oh, he knew he had seen him earlier this year when he was awarded the Silver Star, but that's not why he looked familiar. He walked up to Harm. "Excuse me, Commander?"

Harm looked up. He recognized Albie from earlier when C.J, had introduced them shortly. "Yes, Mr. Secretary."

"It's Albie. I apologize for interrupting your work, but you look familiar, but I don't know why. I know it sounds stupid, but it's bothering me."

"It doesn't sound stupid, sir. I don't think that we've ever met before, sir."

"I know that I've seen you during the medal ceremony in the White House, but that's not it. It has something to do with work, my former work."

"What did you do?"

"I worked at the State Department and at the end of my career I was the resident expert on China."

Hearing that, Harm winced a little bit, not much, but enough that Albie noticed.

"You have a problem with China, Commander?"

"No, sir."

Albie looked at him for a few seconds. Then he got it. "I remember now," he exclaimed happily. He looked around to check whether somebody was within hearing range.

"Years ago, I worked on a diplomatic mission when one of our sailors was captured in Hong Kong," Albie said.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir. But if something like that happened, I'm sure it would be classified, and everybody involved would be forbidden to talk about it."

"I'm sure that's true, Commander."

Harm looked straight at Albie. "I also think that if something like that happened, said sailor would be deeply thankful for anybody who was involved in getting him free."

"Well, anybody involved in such a task would probably say that he or she was just doing their job."

"I'm sure."

"All right, I don't want to interrupt your work. Maybe we can talk a little more later today."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Albie nodded and walked away, happy that he could figure out how he knew the younger man. He remembered being asked to open an unofficial channel of communication with the Chinese government when he heard about the abduction. He also remembered that it had horrified him when he later learned what the man had gone through. Looking at the man, he was glad to see that he seemed to have recovered and done well for him since then.