At six o'clock, Marianne decided she was going home. She zipped up her garment bag, stuffed her slippers in her secret drawer and locked her desk up securely. Sure, it wasn't the Watergate, but Arthur was an extremely nosey, suspicious, and jealous man. Oh, yeah, sure, you're clandestinely writing speeches for the Alliance, she said to herself with a roll of her eyes.
Lawson was sitting at his desk when she left her office, the light off but the door open for the cleaning lady's rounds at ten. "Burning the fat?" she asked, leaning into his doorway.
"Pondering the enigma of FLAG and FOLAX," he relied, setting down the nail file he'd been using to pry open a can of ready-to-serve soup. Marianne, sensing this was going to be a conversation, hung her bag on his doorknob and entered. "Why. And why again."
"And yet more whys," she finished the line from their sophomore PoliSci instructor and took the can from him. "Isn't your hotplate broken?"
He took the can back. "No. I fixed it."
Marianne brandished the can opener on her key chain and Lawson relented. As she cut the lid open, she asked, "You fixed it? Wow. Where are you hiding your mechanical prowess and why can't you find it when my car is put-putting?"
"Because I don't do cars," he replied, taking a large bowl and a half-empty, half-stale package of crackers from his desk, "and because you need a new transmission. I keep telling you, but you never listen."
Giggling, Marianne poured the soup over his crackers and threw the empty can in the trash across the room. "Three points. When I get a raise, I'll buy a new car."
"Honey, you have to get elected to get a raise. How many times must I repeat that chestnut?" he asked, sliding the bowl onto his hotplate and switching it on.
She shrugged. "It's funny. I like hearing that one."
Standing over the hotplate, he stirred the lumpy soup with a chopstick. "Do you want to talk about your meeting?"
"No," she said. "I don't. I hate him. I hate him. He told me to withhold evidence! He said it would be better that way. He's entirely irresponsible. My father's incontinent Scottie dog would make a better Prime Minister."
Nodding, Lawson encouraged her with a hmmming noise.
"You sound like my ex-therapist. He's more concerned with getting Belleveau, that coward, into the Senate, than he is with averting an international incident. Well, it's already an international incident, but really. I mean, please. I could use a little help from the powers above if I'm going to make this not a problem." She sat in Lawson's rotating desk chair and spun about a few times. That always made the world seem brighter.
"Is that what he told you to do?" Lawson asked, aghast.
Closing her eyes to keep the dizziness, Marianne nodded. "He called before I unplugged my phone...that's why I unplugged my phone, actually. He said to do what I usually do."
"Make it not a problem. That bastard," he murmured.
"Yeah, well, I pay you, and I promised to serve him, so we're stuck," she said, shrugging. Lawson returned from the hotplate with his soup and she vacated the chair. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Eyeing her with concern, he asked, "Will you be okay?"
"Yeah. He's been playing me since I was twenty-two. I don't think I could do my job without him being an idiotic asshole for me to tip-toe around." She took her garment bag and stepped into the hall. "I'll phone you if I do something stupid. Oh, hey, get me a plane ticket to Vancouver for tomorrow afternoon. And a car. I'm going to FLAG."
Lawson nodded disbelievingly. "Close the door. The cleaning lady gives me the creeps. See you tomorrow. Love you."
Marianne signed the same back at him and closed the door securely.
*
No one had left the West Wing yet. Everyone was working on something or other. Donna, for example, was working on a crossword puzzle.
"What's a four-letter word for work?" she called across the hallway at Josh.
He looked up from what he had been working on and narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"
"That's not a synonym for work. Big help you are." Pouting, she turned her chair away from the door.
Josh was still staring at the back of her head in bewilderment when Sam strode down the hall between them, glancing into Josh's office as he did so. A second later, he came back, standing in the doorway. "What are you doing?"
Shaking his head, Josh returned from the lands of thought, and replied, "Trying to remember what I was doing before Donna interrupted me."
"Interrupted you for what?"
"I don't know."
Sam paused, then turned to leave. "Oh, wait--"
"You know, I'm not the one walking down the hall."
Entering the office, he replied, "Very funny. I got a note from Leo about Seattle."
"What?" Josh asked, massaging the bridge of his nose.
"The claim is from some anarchists living in a commune in British Columbia. Apparently they're not known for violence, although there was an incident a few years ago. You want to see the note?" Sam said, holding the scrap of paper out.
"No. I'll ask him later. Did he get all that from the FBI?"
Putting the note back in his pocket, Sam shook his head. "From the Communications Director."
"Toby?"
"The Canadian one. Reuter, I think the name is, but Leo's handwriting..."
*
Leo, on the other hand, was once more on the phone with Gordon Lum. "A pipe bomb?"
"Well, three, actually," the Governor qualified.
"Three pipe bombs blew up a van? On a timer?" he asked, adding the number three before 'pipe bomb' on Belleveau's letter, which had become his unofficial Seattle incident note sheet.
Some whispering could be heard on the line. "A remote control device, Mr. McGarry."
While writing 'remote,' Leo realised something. "You can't remotely detonate a pipe bomb in Seattle from Canada, can you?"
After a pause, Lum replied, "No. From the fragments, the technicians said approximately two miles."
"Canada is a hell of a lot farther away then that."
"Yes, it is, Mr. McGarry."
*
To spite Lawson, Marianne arrived at work the next morning with her laptop computer, cellular phone, and a change of clothes. "I'm going to FLAG," she announced to the Communications floor in general as she entered. Everyone nodded and went back to work. "I am!" she insisted.
"Oh, did you really want that ticket?" Lawson asked, on his way from the photocopier room to his office.
"No, Douglas. I didn't. I wanted the exact opposite of having a ticket to Vancouver, and that's why I asked for one. For Pete's sake."
"Well, then, you're not disappointed in me, are you? Everybody's happy." He led her down the hallway and into her office, where she noted that the cleaning lady had not emptied her trashcan.
Marianne brandished her bags as Lawson turned around to face her. "I'm going to FLAG."
"You've got a meeting."
After a second of thought, she replied, "No. I have not got a meeting. I have no meeting today. You're not the only person who reads my datebook, you know."
He nodded and took her bag. "That's what you think."
Trying to snatch it back, Marianne snapped, "It is! Give me my bag! I have a plane to catch!"
"You're not taking this suit," he said, hanging the garment bag behind her door.
"Why?!"
"It's not natural fibres. I picked you up a cotton suit on my way in this morning." He lifted a box from the rack beside her door and opened it, revealing a smart black pinstriped suit with a light blue satin shirt. "It's you."
"They are not going to analyse the content of my clothing material. You left last night?" she asked incredulously.
Lawson ignored the jab. After putting the box on her desk, he wagged a finger. "Now, really, you don't want to go in there facing the possibility unprepared, do you?"
"Do I have a ticket or not?"
Relenting, Lawson shrugged. "It's in the box. So is your car rental validation number. Call me when you get there."
Grabbing the box, she headed out. "I will."
*
The trip and drive were uneventful, although Marianne was having a little trouble adjusting to the three-hour time difference. She was still acclimating to the two-hour difference between Saskatchewan and Ottawa, so going back the other direction an hour didn't help.
As she pulled up to the FLAG driveway, in the middle of nowhere, she checked her watch. Then she swore at herself, remembering the time change. She drove on, for nearly a kilometre, to the five or six houses at the end of the driveway. All around were bare, snow-covered fields. She got out of the car and slammed the door, hoping it didn't freeze shut and praying the thing would turn over when she came back out. Her breath hung before her in a thick cloud as she tucked her chin into the collar of her heavy winter jacket, trudging toward a doorway in what appeared to be the main building. A large sign over the door read "Pax Fiat, Lux Fiat" and "FLAG Forever!"
The door, beside which was a rack filled with frost-covered bicycles, was unlocked. Entering, she stood in a shabby, dark hallway. A minute or two passed and Marianne bcame tempted to think this place was abandoned, when suddenly a grubby man in at least three jackets emerged from a doorway.
"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly. His breath trailed out in a thin wisp.
After clearing her throat, she replied assertively, not showing her fear. "I hope so. I'm Marianne Reuter, Communications Director for the Prime Minister's Office. I'd like to speak to someone who's a member of FLAG, the Front of Liberated Anglo Growers."
The man nodded, shuffling his feet in their thick, heavy boots. "I'm Josiah. I'm a member of the council that runs our commune. I'll talk to you. It's just my wife and me here right now. Everyone else is at a protest in Prince George. I guess you could say I'm holding the fort," he said with a grin, his teeth surprisingly white. "This way to the conference room." He led her down a hallway, the walls of which were plastered with musical posters and protest banners, to a cozily-appointed yet professional room in the back of the building.
"Nice," Marianne commented.
Josiah smiled at her and gestured to a seat. "My wife decorated herself. We try to allow our members to develop their individual talents. She's great with a fabric swatch." He returned to the door and called, "Louise!"
A moment later, a slim woman with long red hair came into the room. She smiled openly at Marianne. "Hi. I thought I heard somebody outside, but I thought it was just Josiah coming from the grow shed."
"Hello."
Sliding Louise's chair out for her, Josiah introduced them. "This is Ms. Reuter from the Prime Minister's Office."
Louise nodded. "What do you need to talk to us about?" she asked, taking Josiah's hand as he sat beside her.
"Well," Marianne began, pulling the folder Arthur had given her from her attache, "There was a bombing in Seattle yesterday. I assume you've heard?"
Louise and Josiah gasped. "What happened? Was anybody hurt? We hadn't, we don't have television, radio, or phone out here."
"Oh. A FOLAX Utilities van was blown up outside Seattle City Hall. Six people were killed," she replied, beginning to be confused.
Josiah covered his eyes and she heard him whispering. Louise patted his back and said to Marianne, "Just a short prayer for the dead. He's an Enlightist. Normally, our members don't practise anything, but, well, we were a package deal and everyone just loves him now."
Remembering the test for council membership, Marianne imagined they would. When Josiah uncovered his eyes, she continued, sliding the folder across the table at them. "That's about everything relevant to the situation, and an ambassadorial resignation."
Minutes passed as Louise and Josiah pored over the documents, not cringing away from the photos as Marianne had. They came to the e-mail and stopped, looking up at her with eyes filled with horror.
Josiah jumped up, slapping the papers on the table. "We didn't do it!" he shouted at her.
Surprised, Marianne said, "I never said you did."
Shaking her head, face closed against her, Louise countered, "This paper is a lie. We don't use violence."
"Anymore," Marianne added. There was silence for a moment, Josiah standing with his back almost to the table, Louise with her thin arms crossed over her chest.
"That was a mistake. They put our names on an act none of us would have condoned. We never used violence, just them," Josiah insisted, putting his hands on the clapboard wall. "We didn't blow anybody up. It wasn't us."
Marianne took off her clear-lensed glasses and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "We're trying to figure out where the sending account is located. Until then, FLAG is considered by many the prime suspect."
Louise slammed a fist on the table. "This isn't fair! Fucking government. This is why we don't vote, goddammit. I wish we could phone Joanie and the others in Prince George."
Her hand fell away from her face and she slowly put her glasses back on, thinking very quickly. "You don't have a phone."
"No. I told you that!" Josiah fumed, coming away from the wall.
"You don't have a phone line. Or a cable line, since you don't have a television either." She grabbed a piece of paper from the folder and the pen from her suit pocket and started writing.
"No. What?" Louise asked, leaning forward.
"You don't have electricity, and that's why it's so bloody cold in here," Marianne continued. "You don't even have a computer, do you?"
Grinning now, Josiah clapped his hands. "No!" Louise jumped up and twirled around.
"So you couldn't have sent the e-mail, could you?"
Hugging each other fiercely, Louise and Josiah shouted, "No!"
*
"What?"
The agent cleared his throat. "We found the detonation device, Mr. McGarry. In a hotel in Seattle, within viewing range of the explosion."
"Thank you." Leo pressed the cut-off button on his phone, then dialled Marianne's office.
"Marianne Reuter's office, Lawson Douglas speaking. How may I help you?" Lawson was re-organising Marianne's desk for her, the phone tucked between his chin and his shoulder.
"Can I speak to Ms. Reuter, please?"
Brushing the dust from a Loverboy album, Lawson replied, "I'm afraid she's out of the office, Mr. McGarry."
Not questioning how Lawson knew his voice already, Leo said, "Does she have a cellular?"
"Yes, sir, just a moment and I'll give you the number." He rummaged in his pocket for the laminated card with all of Marianne's numbers on it. The phone beeped. "Excuse me, Mr. McGarry, the other line is ringing. I'll put you on hold."
"No, actually--" but Leo was on hold. He listened to the muzak rendition of the Canadian national anthem silently, fuming.
"Marianne Reuter's office, Lawson Douglas spea--"
"Lawson! It's me. They didn't do it." Marianne was out of breath, running down the boarding tunnel for her plane.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm late for my flight," she replied, shifting her shoulder bag and laptop in mid-stride. "They didn't do it."
"Late? You've only been late twice in your life: your meeting yesterday and your polka-dot when you were nineteen." Lawson leaned back in Marianne's chair and put his feet on her desk, admiring the leopard-print fuzzy slippers he'd found in a hidden drawer.
"I really regret getting drunk and telling you that," Marianne rasped, rounding another corner. Why are these damn things so long? she moaned inwardly.
"It was election night. You thought your career was over. I don't blame you. It was funny."
"They didn't do it, Lawson. FLAG is innocent."
"You're kidding?" Lawson drawled, not bothering to sound surprised.
"You knew that already, damn you. I want some answers when I get back," Marianne growled, stopping at the door to the plane. A flight attendant gestured for her to get off the phone before she got on the plane. She nodded, leaning over to catch her breath.
"A secretary never reveals his secrets," Lawson replied. "Leo McGarry is on hold. What should I tell him?"
Handing over her boarding pass, Marianne replied, "That not all of us can fly Air Force One and I'll call him in three hours."
Lawson was sitting at his desk when she left her office, the light off but the door open for the cleaning lady's rounds at ten. "Burning the fat?" she asked, leaning into his doorway.
"Pondering the enigma of FLAG and FOLAX," he relied, setting down the nail file he'd been using to pry open a can of ready-to-serve soup. Marianne, sensing this was going to be a conversation, hung her bag on his doorknob and entered. "Why. And why again."
"And yet more whys," she finished the line from their sophomore PoliSci instructor and took the can from him. "Isn't your hotplate broken?"
He took the can back. "No. I fixed it."
Marianne brandished the can opener on her key chain and Lawson relented. As she cut the lid open, she asked, "You fixed it? Wow. Where are you hiding your mechanical prowess and why can't you find it when my car is put-putting?"
"Because I don't do cars," he replied, taking a large bowl and a half-empty, half-stale package of crackers from his desk, "and because you need a new transmission. I keep telling you, but you never listen."
Giggling, Marianne poured the soup over his crackers and threw the empty can in the trash across the room. "Three points. When I get a raise, I'll buy a new car."
"Honey, you have to get elected to get a raise. How many times must I repeat that chestnut?" he asked, sliding the bowl onto his hotplate and switching it on.
She shrugged. "It's funny. I like hearing that one."
Standing over the hotplate, he stirred the lumpy soup with a chopstick. "Do you want to talk about your meeting?"
"No," she said. "I don't. I hate him. I hate him. He told me to withhold evidence! He said it would be better that way. He's entirely irresponsible. My father's incontinent Scottie dog would make a better Prime Minister."
Nodding, Lawson encouraged her with a hmmming noise.
"You sound like my ex-therapist. He's more concerned with getting Belleveau, that coward, into the Senate, than he is with averting an international incident. Well, it's already an international incident, but really. I mean, please. I could use a little help from the powers above if I'm going to make this not a problem." She sat in Lawson's rotating desk chair and spun about a few times. That always made the world seem brighter.
"Is that what he told you to do?" Lawson asked, aghast.
Closing her eyes to keep the dizziness, Marianne nodded. "He called before I unplugged my phone...that's why I unplugged my phone, actually. He said to do what I usually do."
"Make it not a problem. That bastard," he murmured.
"Yeah, well, I pay you, and I promised to serve him, so we're stuck," she said, shrugging. Lawson returned from the hotplate with his soup and she vacated the chair. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Eyeing her with concern, he asked, "Will you be okay?"
"Yeah. He's been playing me since I was twenty-two. I don't think I could do my job without him being an idiotic asshole for me to tip-toe around." She took her garment bag and stepped into the hall. "I'll phone you if I do something stupid. Oh, hey, get me a plane ticket to Vancouver for tomorrow afternoon. And a car. I'm going to FLAG."
Lawson nodded disbelievingly. "Close the door. The cleaning lady gives me the creeps. See you tomorrow. Love you."
Marianne signed the same back at him and closed the door securely.
*
No one had left the West Wing yet. Everyone was working on something or other. Donna, for example, was working on a crossword puzzle.
"What's a four-letter word for work?" she called across the hallway at Josh.
He looked up from what he had been working on and narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"
"That's not a synonym for work. Big help you are." Pouting, she turned her chair away from the door.
Josh was still staring at the back of her head in bewilderment when Sam strode down the hall between them, glancing into Josh's office as he did so. A second later, he came back, standing in the doorway. "What are you doing?"
Shaking his head, Josh returned from the lands of thought, and replied, "Trying to remember what I was doing before Donna interrupted me."
"Interrupted you for what?"
"I don't know."
Sam paused, then turned to leave. "Oh, wait--"
"You know, I'm not the one walking down the hall."
Entering the office, he replied, "Very funny. I got a note from Leo about Seattle."
"What?" Josh asked, massaging the bridge of his nose.
"The claim is from some anarchists living in a commune in British Columbia. Apparently they're not known for violence, although there was an incident a few years ago. You want to see the note?" Sam said, holding the scrap of paper out.
"No. I'll ask him later. Did he get all that from the FBI?"
Putting the note back in his pocket, Sam shook his head. "From the Communications Director."
"Toby?"
"The Canadian one. Reuter, I think the name is, but Leo's handwriting..."
*
Leo, on the other hand, was once more on the phone with Gordon Lum. "A pipe bomb?"
"Well, three, actually," the Governor qualified.
"Three pipe bombs blew up a van? On a timer?" he asked, adding the number three before 'pipe bomb' on Belleveau's letter, which had become his unofficial Seattle incident note sheet.
Some whispering could be heard on the line. "A remote control device, Mr. McGarry."
While writing 'remote,' Leo realised something. "You can't remotely detonate a pipe bomb in Seattle from Canada, can you?"
After a pause, Lum replied, "No. From the fragments, the technicians said approximately two miles."
"Canada is a hell of a lot farther away then that."
"Yes, it is, Mr. McGarry."
*
To spite Lawson, Marianne arrived at work the next morning with her laptop computer, cellular phone, and a change of clothes. "I'm going to FLAG," she announced to the Communications floor in general as she entered. Everyone nodded and went back to work. "I am!" she insisted.
"Oh, did you really want that ticket?" Lawson asked, on his way from the photocopier room to his office.
"No, Douglas. I didn't. I wanted the exact opposite of having a ticket to Vancouver, and that's why I asked for one. For Pete's sake."
"Well, then, you're not disappointed in me, are you? Everybody's happy." He led her down the hallway and into her office, where she noted that the cleaning lady had not emptied her trashcan.
Marianne brandished her bags as Lawson turned around to face her. "I'm going to FLAG."
"You've got a meeting."
After a second of thought, she replied, "No. I have not got a meeting. I have no meeting today. You're not the only person who reads my datebook, you know."
He nodded and took her bag. "That's what you think."
Trying to snatch it back, Marianne snapped, "It is! Give me my bag! I have a plane to catch!"
"You're not taking this suit," he said, hanging the garment bag behind her door.
"Why?!"
"It's not natural fibres. I picked you up a cotton suit on my way in this morning." He lifted a box from the rack beside her door and opened it, revealing a smart black pinstriped suit with a light blue satin shirt. "It's you."
"They are not going to analyse the content of my clothing material. You left last night?" she asked incredulously.
Lawson ignored the jab. After putting the box on her desk, he wagged a finger. "Now, really, you don't want to go in there facing the possibility unprepared, do you?"
"Do I have a ticket or not?"
Relenting, Lawson shrugged. "It's in the box. So is your car rental validation number. Call me when you get there."
Grabbing the box, she headed out. "I will."
*
The trip and drive were uneventful, although Marianne was having a little trouble adjusting to the three-hour time difference. She was still acclimating to the two-hour difference between Saskatchewan and Ottawa, so going back the other direction an hour didn't help.
As she pulled up to the FLAG driveway, in the middle of nowhere, she checked her watch. Then she swore at herself, remembering the time change. She drove on, for nearly a kilometre, to the five or six houses at the end of the driveway. All around were bare, snow-covered fields. She got out of the car and slammed the door, hoping it didn't freeze shut and praying the thing would turn over when she came back out. Her breath hung before her in a thick cloud as she tucked her chin into the collar of her heavy winter jacket, trudging toward a doorway in what appeared to be the main building. A large sign over the door read "Pax Fiat, Lux Fiat" and "FLAG Forever!"
The door, beside which was a rack filled with frost-covered bicycles, was unlocked. Entering, she stood in a shabby, dark hallway. A minute or two passed and Marianne bcame tempted to think this place was abandoned, when suddenly a grubby man in at least three jackets emerged from a doorway.
"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly. His breath trailed out in a thin wisp.
After clearing her throat, she replied assertively, not showing her fear. "I hope so. I'm Marianne Reuter, Communications Director for the Prime Minister's Office. I'd like to speak to someone who's a member of FLAG, the Front of Liberated Anglo Growers."
The man nodded, shuffling his feet in their thick, heavy boots. "I'm Josiah. I'm a member of the council that runs our commune. I'll talk to you. It's just my wife and me here right now. Everyone else is at a protest in Prince George. I guess you could say I'm holding the fort," he said with a grin, his teeth surprisingly white. "This way to the conference room." He led her down a hallway, the walls of which were plastered with musical posters and protest banners, to a cozily-appointed yet professional room in the back of the building.
"Nice," Marianne commented.
Josiah smiled at her and gestured to a seat. "My wife decorated herself. We try to allow our members to develop their individual talents. She's great with a fabric swatch." He returned to the door and called, "Louise!"
A moment later, a slim woman with long red hair came into the room. She smiled openly at Marianne. "Hi. I thought I heard somebody outside, but I thought it was just Josiah coming from the grow shed."
"Hello."
Sliding Louise's chair out for her, Josiah introduced them. "This is Ms. Reuter from the Prime Minister's Office."
Louise nodded. "What do you need to talk to us about?" she asked, taking Josiah's hand as he sat beside her.
"Well," Marianne began, pulling the folder Arthur had given her from her attache, "There was a bombing in Seattle yesterday. I assume you've heard?"
Louise and Josiah gasped. "What happened? Was anybody hurt? We hadn't, we don't have television, radio, or phone out here."
"Oh. A FOLAX Utilities van was blown up outside Seattle City Hall. Six people were killed," she replied, beginning to be confused.
Josiah covered his eyes and she heard him whispering. Louise patted his back and said to Marianne, "Just a short prayer for the dead. He's an Enlightist. Normally, our members don't practise anything, but, well, we were a package deal and everyone just loves him now."
Remembering the test for council membership, Marianne imagined they would. When Josiah uncovered his eyes, she continued, sliding the folder across the table at them. "That's about everything relevant to the situation, and an ambassadorial resignation."
Minutes passed as Louise and Josiah pored over the documents, not cringing away from the photos as Marianne had. They came to the e-mail and stopped, looking up at her with eyes filled with horror.
Josiah jumped up, slapping the papers on the table. "We didn't do it!" he shouted at her.
Surprised, Marianne said, "I never said you did."
Shaking her head, face closed against her, Louise countered, "This paper is a lie. We don't use violence."
"Anymore," Marianne added. There was silence for a moment, Josiah standing with his back almost to the table, Louise with her thin arms crossed over her chest.
"That was a mistake. They put our names on an act none of us would have condoned. We never used violence, just them," Josiah insisted, putting his hands on the clapboard wall. "We didn't blow anybody up. It wasn't us."
Marianne took off her clear-lensed glasses and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "We're trying to figure out where the sending account is located. Until then, FLAG is considered by many the prime suspect."
Louise slammed a fist on the table. "This isn't fair! Fucking government. This is why we don't vote, goddammit. I wish we could phone Joanie and the others in Prince George."
Her hand fell away from her face and she slowly put her glasses back on, thinking very quickly. "You don't have a phone."
"No. I told you that!" Josiah fumed, coming away from the wall.
"You don't have a phone line. Or a cable line, since you don't have a television either." She grabbed a piece of paper from the folder and the pen from her suit pocket and started writing.
"No. What?" Louise asked, leaning forward.
"You don't have electricity, and that's why it's so bloody cold in here," Marianne continued. "You don't even have a computer, do you?"
Grinning now, Josiah clapped his hands. "No!" Louise jumped up and twirled around.
"So you couldn't have sent the e-mail, could you?"
Hugging each other fiercely, Louise and Josiah shouted, "No!"
*
"What?"
The agent cleared his throat. "We found the detonation device, Mr. McGarry. In a hotel in Seattle, within viewing range of the explosion."
"Thank you." Leo pressed the cut-off button on his phone, then dialled Marianne's office.
"Marianne Reuter's office, Lawson Douglas speaking. How may I help you?" Lawson was re-organising Marianne's desk for her, the phone tucked between his chin and his shoulder.
"Can I speak to Ms. Reuter, please?"
Brushing the dust from a Loverboy album, Lawson replied, "I'm afraid she's out of the office, Mr. McGarry."
Not questioning how Lawson knew his voice already, Leo said, "Does she have a cellular?"
"Yes, sir, just a moment and I'll give you the number." He rummaged in his pocket for the laminated card with all of Marianne's numbers on it. The phone beeped. "Excuse me, Mr. McGarry, the other line is ringing. I'll put you on hold."
"No, actually--" but Leo was on hold. He listened to the muzak rendition of the Canadian national anthem silently, fuming.
"Marianne Reuter's office, Lawson Douglas spea--"
"Lawson! It's me. They didn't do it." Marianne was out of breath, running down the boarding tunnel for her plane.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm late for my flight," she replied, shifting her shoulder bag and laptop in mid-stride. "They didn't do it."
"Late? You've only been late twice in your life: your meeting yesterday and your polka-dot when you were nineteen." Lawson leaned back in Marianne's chair and put his feet on her desk, admiring the leopard-print fuzzy slippers he'd found in a hidden drawer.
"I really regret getting drunk and telling you that," Marianne rasped, rounding another corner. Why are these damn things so long? she moaned inwardly.
"It was election night. You thought your career was over. I don't blame you. It was funny."
"They didn't do it, Lawson. FLAG is innocent."
"You're kidding?" Lawson drawled, not bothering to sound surprised.
"You knew that already, damn you. I want some answers when I get back," Marianne growled, stopping at the door to the plane. A flight attendant gestured for her to get off the phone before she got on the plane. She nodded, leaning over to catch her breath.
"A secretary never reveals his secrets," Lawson replied. "Leo McGarry is on hold. What should I tell him?"
Handing over her boarding pass, Marianne replied, "That not all of us can fly Air Force One and I'll call him in three hours."