XI
Josh shifted uncomfortably in place. The President had been hustled off the Situation Room before Ron Butterfield could bring back his report, and now the Secret Service man was meeting with Josh and Hoynes instead. Josh wondered if the Vice President shared his uncomfortable impression that they were two sub-standard deputies trying to step into shoes that were too big for them.
Knowing Hoynes, possibly not.
Butterfield's perpetually miserable face was impossible to read. He could be about to tell them that Leo had been found brutally murdered, or that he was alive and well and grumbling about the sub-standard job Josh had been doing in his place. Nothing in his face offered the slightest little hint either way, and Josh's nerves quivered uneasily in his stomach.
The news that a clue had finally been found had been like a caffeine injection to his veins. However, at the same time, a superstitious dread had settled over him. This is where I find out. This is where I find out Leo's gone. Just like dad. Just like Joanie. Just like everybody... He shook himself out of it with an effort.
"Did you find the neighbour?" he asked. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded as arrogantly brisk as ever. Sam might mock his poker face, but there were some things he could keep inside so well no one ever saw them. Except Donna. Donna seemed to have some kind of inexplicable psychic link that told her exactly when he was in desperate need of reassurance. He couldn't decide whether he should be relieved or disturbed by that.
Butterfield nodded.
"And they've been showing her pictures?"
"Yes."
Only the knowledge that the Secret Service man was no doubt well enough trained to pin him against the wall without raising a sweat dissuaded Josh from leaping across the table and strangling him. "And?" he demanded.
"Ms. Bannerman hasn't been able to identify the man yet." Josh let out all his breath in a furious rush, and even Hoynes made a wince of dismay. "The facial scar has helped as narrow the search grid considerably," Butterfield continued. "We've ruled out members of associated terrorist groups, and we're going to try other known criminals. However, that could take a little longer-"
"Dammit, 'narrowing the search grid' isn't gonna help!" Josh yelled. "We don't have that kind of time! We need Leo. We need him here, and fast!"
"Josh." Hoynes put a restraining hand on his shoulder, and the Deputy Chief of Staff visibily deflated.
He apologised to the Secret Service man with a half-shrug, and waved him away. "Go. Find this guy, and find Leo. Do it now." Whether he actually had the authority to order Butterfield about was questionable, but the Secret Service leader obeyed without hesitation.
Hoynes turned back towards Josh, looking concerned. "Josh, you're totally frazzled. You should-"
"Get back to work," Josh cut him off hurriedly. "Leo's not here. Somebody's gotta run this place." Before the Vice President could react, he left the room and dashed towards his office, yelling loudly for his assistant.
CJ came to a halt in the communications bullpen. "Where's Josh?" she asked, waving a piece of paper in the air. "I need him on this."
"Join the queue," said Sam, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he tried to focus on his writing. "He's in like, three meetings at once right now, and there's at least four other people looking for him."
CJ pulled a face, and sat down on the desk beside him. "This isn't easy for him, is it?" she sighed.
"No. You and Toby aren't exactly helping, either," Sam pointed out, in as close as he got to an accusing tone.
"I know, I know," CJ admitted. "It's just..."
"Feels weird," Sam agreed.
"Yeah. And... wrong. Like we're replacing Leo." She looked at Sam earnestly. "We can't... He's Leo. We can't just... do stuff without him."
"I know that," Sam agreed. He gave her a pointed look. "Josh knows that too. He knows that better than any of us. He's doing both their jobs at the same time, and he isn't having fun."
"Yeah, yeah." CJ sighed, swinging her legs. "But he's not making it easier his end, either. I don't wanna fight him. He wants to fight the world."
"He's scared," said Sam quietly.
"Yeah." CJ was silent for a moment. "Are you?" she asked suddenly.
Sam stopped writing, and looked up at her. "Are you?" he asked in return.
"You first."
He paused. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm kinda scared. And why did I have to go first?"
"'Cause I'm the girl. If I'm scared and you're not, then it's girly or something." She hugged herself uneasily. "But yeah. I'm scared too."
The bullpen was empty as the various assistants charged about the Wing on urgent missions, but even so Sam scooted his chair closer to CJ and lowered his voice as he spoke. "This guy the neighbour saw... what do you think? Do you think it's got something to do with Qumar?"
CJ grimaced. "I don't know." Neither of them wanted to voice aloud the thought that if Qumari terrorists had Leo, the odds of him being returned unharmed were pretty small. She hesitated for a moment. "Nobody's told me anything about Qumar. I know with the whole- with the military and everything, but... Sam, nobody's told me anything about Qumar."
"Nobody knows anything," Sam told her. "The President's in the Sit. Room all the time, but he hasn't said anything to anybody. Not even Josh."
"Really?" CJ looked shocked, and concerned. "If it's that bad... Jesus, how's the President doing this without Leo?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted. Everybody knew the President leaned heavily on his Chief of Staff in all things military.
CJ remembered her piece of paper, and dropped down from the desk. "I have to go find Josh." Sam shot her a soulful look, but she could only shrug at him. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is dump more work on him. But he has the authority, and right now he's the only one round here who does."
"I beg to differ." They both spun round in surprise, to see Vice President Hoynes standing in the doorway.
"It seems like you people could use a hand here," he observed. He turned, and called down the corridor. "Isaac!"
The Vice President's neatly turned-out aide came running. "Sir?"
"Cancel my appointments for the day. And see if you can find me an office somewhere." He turned back towards the others. "I'm the Vice President of this country. I think it's about time you people let me take a hand in running it."
It was hard to think in the dark. As fast as the ideas came to him, they would slip away again. He didn't know how long he'd been trapped here, but even his too-often-neglected stomach was complaining. He was too old to go this long without eating. He wished he had Margaret here, to cluck over the state he was in and bully him into looking after himself.
Scratch that. He wished he had Margaret, a desk lamp and some work to do. Then he wouldn't even notice his imprisonment at all.
He wanted a drink. It frightened him how strong the craving was, here in the dark with nothing to distract him. At home, if the need ever came upon him in the night, he could simply crawl out of bed and slave over his files until he was too tired to want anything. Now, though, he wasn't sure if he could still tell the difference between waking and sleeping.
Exactly how he'd ended up here was foggy. It always felt a wrench to leave the White House with jobs still unfinished, and his mind lingered there as he made the quiet, solitary walk to his apartment. He hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, but then he hadn't even been looking.
He'd always scoffed at the way Margaret fussed over his walking, secure in the confidence that his long-ago military training would take care of any would-be muggers. It seemed, however, that the very most basic element of that training had long since deserted him. Stay alert.
Fine job you made of that, McGarry.
The itch to be at his work was almost as strong as the desire for a drink. He wondered what would happen to him when their all-too brief time in the White House was finally over. What would he do? Retire? Forty-eight hours at home with nothing to do, and he'd be crawling back into his bottle.
Of course, it was looking increasingly unlikely that he was ever getting out of this trailer, let alone the White House. He was in no condition to tackle a big man with a rifle, never mind run away if he somehow succeeded.
Even as he thought it, the sound of someone at the door entered his consciousness. Ready for it now, he squinted his eyes to cut out as much of the light as he could. Despite his precautions, he was momentarily blinded.
"Still alive?" said that maddeningly familiar voice. "Of course you are. It takes more than a few days in the dark to kill a man. And I should know. Oh, I should know."
Leo blinked his eyes furiously. Focus, focus, dammit, focus. Maybe while he was wishing for a mini-office inside his prison, he should add his glasses to that list.
His captor seemed intent on rambling on. "It's about time you learned. It's about time you paid. You thought you'd got away with it, didn't you? Thought nobody knew. Nobody remembered. Well, you were wrong. I was there. I know what you did."
Slowly, very slowly, the silhouetted figure came back into view. Something about the set of his shoulders, and that voice...
It took a moment for the memory to surface, as he dredged through the waste of times best forgotten. When it finally clicked, he jolted upright in complete amazement.
"Trace?" he exclaimed, in utter disbelief.