Falls the Shadow

By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew

Part 2/14

McGarry was one of the few who understood how deceptive that benign appearance could be. The internal fires were banked for the moment, but he knew with sure certainty that those flames were about to erupt into an all-consuming conflagration. Jed Bartlet was not one to sustain a controlled, slow burn for long. Unfortunately, those same fires tended to burn fiercely for short periods, devouring emotion and intent along with the man's patience.

And the last few months had see far too many of those fires. There wasn't much left within the man to burn and McGarry had no idea how much more the President could take and still stand before the storm. Driven by hard necessity, he'd taken the morally ambiguous path, chosen to damn himself rather than let the innocent continue to suffer.

Posse Comitatus. Bartlet hadn't said the word, but McGarry knew in his heart that in his darkest moments the President thought it, that the perceived evil of his choice had never truly left him. Probably never would. Regardless of what others may have thought or tried to convince him of, he had passed silent judgment and found himself wanting.

Murderer. Shareef was dead. It didn't matter that the President had no other alternative, that for the greater good all the rules of civilized conduct and government were abandoned.

Sighing, the Chief of Staff rubbed his eyes, banking his own irritation and offering the President the only thing he could. "The possibility existed they were about to lose the Kremlin, sir. The Red Mafia is spending money like water, putting their people into the Duma, struggling to maintain a very profitable status quo. Against all odds, they lose. Money doesn't always talk. Then this? In the middle of a hotly contested election, you don't announce to the electorate, Russian or otherwise. 'Oops, sorry, missed that one. While we weren't looking some petty thief... '"

"Hardly petty."

"' ... and his organization have decided a liberal reformer in the Kremlin is not good for business.' Then you come along, after having slapped them down once already about shitty weapons control, happily meet up with the new man in charge, who does agree with you, in Helsinki and actually listen to the visionary bastard ... "

"My fault again, is it?" Bartlet made no attempt to keep the sarcasm from his voice, although a weary amusement flashed in his eyes when he added, "And that sentence structure would earn you a serious scolding from Toby."

"Screw Toby," McGarry muttered, leveling the President with what he hoped was a quelling glare. "Sir, with all due respect, shut up and listen, will you? Just this once?"

Despite herself, Nancy couldn't help but be fascinated by the heated exchange. She'd never seen the like before - certainly not in the Oval Office - and probably never would again. These two men, balanced by a deep friendship and abiding loyalty, were skirting what little remained of the protocol line and executive etiquette like circling predators. With some trepidation, she wondered who would snap - literally and figuratively - first.

If the situation hadn't been so grim, she might have found it a touch amusing. A small part of her already did. As briefings go, this one was shaping up to be a true classic.

At his Chief of Staff's outburst, the President spread his hands in a pacifying gesture, content for the moment to let the man continue. A sharp glance in the National Security Advisor's direction warned her that not only was he aware of how this exchange looked, but also promised in no uncertain terms that any laugh, sarcastic or otherwise, by her at this point would find suitable punishment in future.

Satisfied that at least one of his advisors was towing the line, he turned his attention to the disappointing paperwork laid out across his desk. Bartlet had already read the NSA report, several times in fact, and been given Nancy's dry take on the events and findings that had prompted this meeting. Admiral Fitzwallace as well. Neither one of them had been able to provide any satisfying answers. The facts, what little had been provided, were there, easy to see. What he didn't see was where he, the President of the United States, figured into the state of Russian politics and criminal business practice. It didn't make any sense.

Nancy had been unable to explain it, and for all his diligence, other matters had distracted Fitzwallace. That stalwart was doing his level best to clean up the mess and tie up the loose ends created by a presidentially ordered murder. It wouldn't do to have the damning trail of breadcrumbs lead straight back to the Oval Office.

That left Leo McGarry. As it should be. Bartlet was satisfied to let him fume, to find his own truths amongst the lies. He was good at it, almost too good. It appalled Bartlet sometimes how such a kind, loving man could lower himself to that level, to think himself into the darkness that was not only international politics, but also the world in general. It was a frightening talent, being able to lower oneself into the pit like that.

Bartlet couldn't help but wonder how long Leo could continue to do so and find his way out again.

Rather than let these two men continue to go at it and risk getting sucked in herself, Nancy decided to inject a few pertinent facts into the proceedings. She knew it wouldn't calm either of them, but it would, hopefully, bring them both back to earth. Finger pointing wasn't going to do them all any good.

Flipping through the report on her lap and choosing her words carefully, she began to recite what little was known, "The Quantico labs have confirmed the type and the source for the plastic used to bring down Marine One. Semtex was the base."

McGarry scowled. "Semtex is a Czech specialty, sir," he told the President. "A favorite of terrorists and arms dealers the world over."

"If it's Czech, then where do the Russians figure into this?" Bartlet asked irritably, never comfortable discussing any aspect of military hardware. "Czechoslovakia hasn't been a member of the Warsaw Pact since 1989."

"Up until the late eighties, the Czechoslovak government was in the habit of allegedly... " McGarry almost winced at his poor choice of words, allegedly being one of the more over-used political evasions currently in use and guaranteed to ignite the man's temper. Watching the President for signs of imminent eruption, he continued, "... selling large amounts of Semtex plastic explosive to a number of nations that are known to sponsor terrorist groups, including Libya, Iraq and North Korea."

"Allegedly," Bartlet muttered, not so much because the word irritated him but that he knew his repeating it would irritate Leo. "Don't we know anything for certain? Again, just in case you're not up on recent events, Czechoslovakia hasn't been a country since 1993. Who are we dealing with now? The Czech Republic, or Slovakia?"

"The Czech Republic, sir," Nancy interjected, saving McGarry from a verbal flaying. The President was in an unpredictable mood and they both needed to present a solid front. "There is a tough export control policy in place requiring a case-by-case examination of any arms sales from the Czech Republic by the ministries of Foreign Affairs, Defense, Trade and the Interior. But unfortunately, there is also a powerful black market in the country. A good portion of their GNP comes from arms sales, both legitimate and covert. According to the Czech Security Information Service, it is more than possible to still illegally obtain any amount of arms, ammunition, support equipment and any number of plastic explosives of your choice, including Semtex. No questions asked."

"Including Russia?"

"Yes, sir. Their biggest buyer."

"Wonderful." The President tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Whatever he'd expected from this meeting, it hadn't been a rundown of the current state of international arms sales. "And we know the Semtex is Russian how?" he asked, hoping for once he'd get a simple answer.

"The base was Semtex, Mr. President," Nancy replied. "Unfortunately it's fairly common on the open market. The stabilizer was a Russian RDX known as Cyclonite. That trace element is unique to a government run arms factory outside Minsk. Unfortunately, that same factory also deals in a thriving civilian trade. Weapons grade isn't their only market."

Bartlet's answering smile bordered on a sneer and contained very little humor. "And Russia's weapons controls are?" That one he already knew the answer to, he just needed to hear his National Security Advisor say it.

Nancy sighed. "Worse than the Czech, sir."

"And the nightmare continues."

"Yes, sir," Nancy agreed, slumping a little in her chair.

"Anything for an easy buck," McGarry snarled, disgusted at the expediency of profit without accountability.

While she agreed with him, Nancy was still irked by his cynical tone. Straightening a bit, she turned a bit of her ire on the Chief of Staff. "Yes, money, Leo. The new god of the Russian Republic. Don't ask who, don't ask why, just collect the cash and lose the records."

Aware that the annoyance he was feeling was rapidly spilling over into an open rage, McGarry forced his jumbled emotions into order. He needed to think right now, not feel. "Agreed. That line of inquiry is a dead end. What passes for their marketing department isn't going to let their customer lists out for open scrutiny, international or otherwise."

Irritated by his mocking tone, Nancy tried to disguise her own frustration and snapped at him, "And still no word on who or how said explosives were placed on Marine One's rotor housing."

"It was an inside job."

"Tell me something I don't know. Money, Leo. Find me the money, and I'll tell you who did it."

Ignoring them for the moment, Bartlet had his reading glasses on and was slowly leafing through his own copy of the report. Frowning, he blinked to bring the blurry lines into focus. Shaking his head, he realized he must be more tired than he thought. No great revelation there. Lack of sleep would do that to a person.

Of course, nothing had changed since the first time he'd read it. No new disclosures leapt from the pages. Oh, he was a bit calmer now, but not by much. There were too many questions without answers. "Tell me about the nuclear problem."

McGarry fielded that one. "That's about the only good news we have. So far, there's been no word on any front indicating a loose nuke or pony bomb on the market. The Russians are desperate, but not that desperate."

"It's only a matter of time, Leo," Nancy interjected sourly. She'd seen too many close calls over the years to give that problem an easy pass. "Remember what happened last year? Forcing the Kremlin to accept UN and US inspectors has curbed the temptation for the moment, but the vultures are still circling. Government and criminal vultures."

"Is it just me," Bartlet asked, giving both his advisors a hooded look, "or are there far too many questions without answers? We do have an intelligence budget, right? Where is it going?"

Neither of his advisors could give him an answer. At this point, the President wasn't surprised. As intelligence briefings go, this one was a true classic. Nothing concrete, no sure bullet points and no answers. Just questions.

"So we come full circle, right back to the Russians." It was a statement requiring no response from his advisors. The headache he'd woken up with this morning clicked over onto the next level. Yet another problem to deal with.

One question, however, refused to be stilled. "Did Chagarin know?" the President asked, looking up from his desk and giving both McGarry and Nancy a veiled warning. He didn't want excuses, not now. "During Helsinki, did he know about the possible threat?"

Both advisors stared at each other over a sudden, ringing silence. That was the question they'd both been dreading. So much good had come from that meeting. Two men had agreed to bring the world back from the brink of nuclear annihilation. Nothing truly concrete had been set, no words on paper to lock it down. But it had been a bright beginning. Now this.

Unfortunately, Nancy had the answer. "Yes, sir. He knew."

Finally said aloud, McGarry felt an odd disappointment at her words, a sorrow that seemed to weigh him down. Not for the world or the petty politicians left out in the cold, but for his friend. The President had so wanted something good to come from that meeting. Afterwards, he'd been able to believe he'd actually been able to accomplish something, to take a stand on an issue that would affect the world and leave a lasting mark on history.

Bartlet's mood had improved considerably after that. Then came Shareef, followed by the senseless death of Secret Service Agent Simon Donovan. His friend had seen too much, been witness to too many petty scenes and had his moral certainties nibbled at by lesser souls. The knowledge of what it had cost the President twisted in McGarry's heart. Just once, he would have liked to see something turn out the way it should. Just for him.

He should have known better.

To be continued…