IX
Isaac pulled up a chair in the quiet little caf and eagerly awaited his waffles. Only a short walk away from the White House, this eating place was a favourite haunt of those politicos who needed more than caffeine to get them moving in the morning.
Isaac himself was fortunate enough to nearly always have a chance at snatching breakfast. His boss's near fanatical fondness for jogging - a passion his assistant definitely didn't share - meant that he was usually out of the office long enough for Isaac to sneak out and grab his beloved morning waffles.
Aside from waffles, one of Isaac's biggest guilty pleasures was people-watching. He rationalised it as a useful job skill; who was having breakfast with who in Washington could be an early indication of a bill on its way down the pan, or a sneak attack in its infancy.
Plus, it was fun.
He sipped his coffee, and looked around for familiar faces. As a personal assistant, he was familiar not just with the movers and the shakers, but the lesser mortals who enabled them to do their moving and shaking. He had a little bet with himself over being able to identify his fellow breakfasters; if he could get more than half, he would treat himself to an extra waffle.
Today, though, his attention was snagged by a particularly memorable face; Bartlet's square-jawed speechwriter, Seaborn. The Communications Deputy was quite startlingly pretty for a man of his age, and Isaac could usually rely on much amusement from watching how oblivious he was to the waitresses fighting over him. The ever-hopeful young women who served here refused to believe that he could really be so wrapped up in scribbling on his little notepad that he didn't notice them.
This particular morning, however, things were different. Not only did Seaborn not have his notepad open and pen flying at ninety miles an hour, but he had a young woman with him; a pleasant-faced young girl with red hair.
Isaac wondered vaguely if the writer had finally got a clue and acquired a girlfriend, but there was something familiar about the girl that was nagging at him. Seaborn covered her hand with his own in a protective way, talking to her with an earnest expression. The girl looked extremely worried about something, face screwed up in barely-contained misery.
I know her. I do. He bludgeoned his brains. Red-haired girl, red-haired girl. Red-haired girl in a fancy dress. Some kind of function? Official function. The White House. A function at the White House, but she wasn't political... somebody's family?
And then, abruptly, it clicked. He didn't know her name, but he knew who she was.
Leo McGarry's daughter.
Leo McGarry's daughter, talking with a senior Bartlet staffer and looking very, very concerned.
Isaac barely noticed the arrival of his much awaited waffles as he scrabbled hurriedly for his cell phone.
Hoynes stormed the West Wing like the forerunner of an invasion party. Isaac skittered along at his side, caught between wanting to be loyal to his boss and wishing he was anywhere but here. The Vice President's annoyance at being kept out of the loop had reached critical mass, and woe betide anybody who didn't get out of his way.
He headed straight for the Oval Office, and accosted the nervous-looking young black man just outside. "Is the President in his office?" he demanded.
"Uh, yes sir," the young man admitted, straightening up and looking very worried. Isaac felt rather sorry for him. What was his name; Charlie something? "B-but he's taking a very important phone call right now."
"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure he can call them back," fumed Hoynes.
The Press Secretary suddenly appeared in the corridor, and Isaac saw the President's body man shoot her a grateful glance. "Mr. Vice President," she said, sounding mildly surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to see the President." He nodded at the young man. "Can you tell him I'm here, please." It was more a command than a request.
"Um... he's on the phone," he repeated awkwardly.
Hoynes looked annoyed. "Well, he should get off the damn phone! This is important." Standing beside him, Isaac tried not to wince too hard.
"He's the President of the United States, sir," CJ nudged gently. "It's possible that what he's talking about in there is important too."
Hoynes glowered at her. "Yes, well, he might be the President, but in case you've forgotten, I happen to be the Vice President. And it would be nice if people could actually remember that fact, and try to keep me informed of the important things - like what the hell is going on with Leo McGarry?"
Isaac saw CJ's eyes widen before she could stop them, but the Press Secretary mask snapped into place double quick. "Sir, I-"
He cut her off impatiently. "Don't give me the official line, CJ, I'm not the press corps. I want the truth!"
A bleary-eyed Josh Lyman arrived, trailed by his and Leo's assistants. "What's going on?" he asked the gathering vaguely.
The Vice President ignored him, looking to the tall, red-headed woman behind him. "Margaret. Where's Leo?"
"Um-" Margaret looked flustered. From his occasional encounters with her, Isaac had gathered that Margaret always looked flustered - but, under the flapping, slightly eccentric surface, she was one of the most efficient workers he had met in the White House. She guarded her boss's appointment book with a fist of iron - even, as he had seen when he was an amused witness to a semi-public scolding - against the man himself. McGarry would have to be a brave man indeed to risk the wrath of Margaret by scheduling his own appointments.
With all that in mind, then, Margaret should be able to reel off her boss's current whereabouts more easily than he could with his own. So her stuttered uncertainty was all the more suspicious.
I was right, Isaac realised. He wasn't sure what about yet, but he had been right. There was something going on here.
Perhaps by professional instinct, CJ moved to defuse the situation. "Mr. Vice President," she urged. "If you'd like to-"
"I'd like," he cut her off pointedly, "to get an answer to my question." He looked from her to Margaret to Josh, and none of them met his eyes.
A nervous feeling of Isaac's was going to force him to break the silence, when the quiet click of a door did it for him. They all swivelled round to face the President as he stood in the Oval Office doorway. Isaac, the closest, couldn't help stepping back a pace. He had seen the President fairly close to explosion during some of his more violent disagreements with Hoynes, but none of that compared to the fiery light in his eyes right now.
"Perhaps," he suggested icily, "you'd like to take this inside?"
Hoynes went on the attack as soon as the Oval Office door closed behind them. "Okay, I've had just about enough of this. I don't know what the hell you're trying to pull, but I'd appreciate it if you'd credit me with a little intelligence, and, I don't know, maybe give me some respect?"
Josh and CJ looked awkward, but the President just regarded him coolly. Isaac hovered, wondering what he was doing in this office. He should have stayed outside - except, if he had, he knew he would only have been desperately trying to think of a way to eavesdrop on one of the most secure offices in the civilised world. No doubt Charlie, Margaret and Josh's assistant were doing so outside right now.
"I know Leo McGarry," Hoynes continued. "The man's never taken a sick day in his life! And you people are running around like headless chickens here. It doesn't take a whole lot of investigating to figure out there's something going on."
"Investigating?" Isaac closed his eyes and gulped as Bartlet picked up on the word. Please, sir, you're my boss and my friend and I'd walk into fire for you, but please don't bring my name into it in front of the President. "You're checking up on my staff now? Looking for what?" There was a world of steel and venom underlying his cultured tones.
Hoynes had slipped his impassive face into place. "If we're gonna do this, I suggest we do this in private. Sir."
"I think perhaps we should," agreed Bartlet curtly. He tilted his head towards the three spectators, and they almost fled for the door.
If it hadn't been for the way his knees were shaking, Isaac might have taken the time to be amused at the guilty way Margaret and her blonde friend scuttled out of the way. Josh and CJ exchanged worried glances.
"Ouch," said Josh, wincing.
"Ouch," agreed CJ fervently.
"You go find us a new Vice President, I'll find somebody to mop up the blood," suggested Josh. As the two of them disappeared into the depths of the West Wing, Isaac wished he could believe that joke was wholly rhetorical.
Josh's assistant chased after him, and Charlie appeared to have - sensibly - found something to do that didn't involve being anywhere near ground zero. Margaret, however, appeared to be at a loose end. He gave her a cautious smile.
"What's happening in there?" she asked worriedly. Isaac couldn't help wincing in anticipation.
"I don't know, but if we hear shouting I'd suggest we call for the Secret Service."
Margaret rewarded him with a weak grin, and sat down on the edge of a nearby desk, looking a bit shaken. He came and sat down beside her.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
"I've been better," she admitted. "It's possible I've also been worse. But not often." She looked at him pointedly. "I can't tell you where Leo is," she warned.
"I know," he agreed mildly. He knew what it was to be an assistant. No matter where, no matter when, no matter what, you didn't sell out your boss.
"Oh. Okay." She smiled tentatively again, and Isaac fought off a sudden urge to give her a comforting hug. He barely knew her, but he knew the place she was in right now. He had been with Hoynes through the dark times of his alcohol abuse, and he knew the pain of the point when your influence ended and you could do nothing but wait in fear.
Instead, he lightly patted her arm, and said "Um... can I get you a coffee or anything?"
Margaret looked startled, then surprisingly grateful. "Please," she agreed. Leaving behind for the moment the room where the country's most powerful men might be tearing each other apart, the two assistants went in search of caffeine.