Falls the Shadow

By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew

Part 3/14

"How do we know for sure Chagarin was aware of the situation?" the President was asking, snapping McGarry out of his dark musings. He couldn't help but note the faint thread of hope in the man's voice.

Nancy smiled thinly and shot a sidelong glance at the Chief of Staff. McGarry hadn't liked this one bit when he'd found out. Time wasn't going to make it go down any easier. "We sicced Lord Marbury on the Russian ambassador."

Far from disappointing her, McGarry performed to standards. His snort of disgust was loud, heartfelt and nearly rattled the windows.

A reluctant smile pulled at one corner of Bartlet's mouth and he shook his head with amused wonder at McGarry's reaction to the British ambassador's name. Uttering it in his presence never failed to illicit some sort of exasperated response from the Chief of Staff.

"Be fair, Leo," Bartlet consoled him. "The man is good at his job. Besides, thanks to recent events, he was already in the loop."

"The man is a menace," McGarry responded with a curled lip. "And considering we're trying to keep this in house, away from the press, the gossip and several dozen international intelligence agencies that leak like a sieve, he shouldn't be in the loop in the first place."

"He can be trusted."

"So you say."

"So I know." With that, the President closed the book on any further arguments. One of these days he was going to have to lock the two of them in a very small closet and let them work out their issues. The entertainment value alone would be worth the effort.

Wisely, McGarry refrained from making any further comment.

Nancy relaxed a bit at the camaraderie displayed by the two men. It was still far from perfect, but the strained atmosphere of earlier had lessened considerably. She could work now. "Ambassador Koslowski was less than circumspect in Marbury's company."

"In other words, he smiled at her like a loon and she caved," McGarry commented dryly.

"She caved."

Bartlet grinned. "He has that affect on women."

"Not to mention your staff." McGarry put the emphasis on your, disavowing any claim or responsibility for the individuals in question. It hadn't taken long for the British Ambassador to wrap the majority of the senior staff around his finger. As far as he was concerned, neither the senior staff, their assistants or anyone else working in the West Wing were going to be allowed in the same room with that man again.

For an instant, McGarry's gaze sharpened and he measured the President with a shrewd, appraising stare.  Mind you, certain other people shouldn't be allowed either, but for the moment he had no control over that, or the inexplicable disappearing act the President had pulled at his wife's birthday party that had brought about the revelations to Marbury in the first place. As much as he hated to admit it, McGarry had to give credit where credit was due, to both the Ambassador and the senior staff. The best and the brightest.

His scowl deepened into an accusing glare, now giving Bartlet his full attention. Oh, they'd found him eventually. But the damage had already been done.

The President caught the look and the meaning behind it. "Don't go there, Leo," he cautioned sternly, all too aware of the lecture he was about to receive if he didn't put an end to it right now.

He'd already caught a small part of it from his over-protective Chief of Staff, often and usually when he least expected or wanted to hear it. He'd caught the other part from his equally smothering senior bodyguard. Ron Butterfield may have been a man of few words, but those few had been quite a mouthful.

Abbey had let him have it as well, although that particular set-down had been far more entertaining, if not the reforming influence his wife had hoped it would be. At least he was winning points on that front.

Bartlet sighed, weary of the argument. It wasn't going to change anything and some good had come of that evening's escapades. It had been his wife's birthday party, and he didn't want or need to be reminded how quickly the shadow of current events had nearly destroyed it and the precious peace he'd managed to find.

Easily changing the subject, the President turned to his National Security advisor and demanded curtly, "Long story short, Nancy."

"According to Lord John... "

McGarry snorted.

"You know," Nancy made no effort to hide her irritation at the peanut gallery comments as she confronted the scowling Chief of Staff. "You're gonna blow an adenoid if you keep that up."

"He's been warned," Bartlet couldn't resist adding. "Many times."

McGarry's eyes flashed in a familiar display of annoyance. "Happy as I am to provide the both of you with ammunition for the ridicule neither of you seem to be able to contain, I would like to know what Lord Fauntleroy found out."

"There's that questionable sentence structure again," Bartlet muttered.

Eyes narrowed, McGarry somehow managed not to offer the President a few more words of questionable merit.

"Not much," Nancy responded, shaking her head and feeling like a referee in a sand box scuffle. "Nadia caught on pretty quick and clammed up. Even Marbury's charms couldn't shake much loose after the first few minutes."

"Why am I not surprised?" McGarry sneered.

"Leo," Bartlet cautioned his friend in a low voice. "Not now."

"My apologies, sir." If asked, McGarry couldn't say exactly what it was about Marbury that set him off, but it never failed to do so. Schooling his features into a somewhat more receptive cast, he asked Nancy a bit more reasonably, "So what exactly did he manage to pry out of Nadia?"

Nancy eyed him warily. "You sure?"

"You're not helping," McGarry accused her with a besieged glower. A quick glance at Bartlet only confirmed the observation. He had taken his reading glasses off and was absently twisting them in one hand. The other hand was tapping out a staccato rhythm on the arm of his chair.

Whatever release the humor had allowed was fading rapidly. The internal fires were getting hotter, burning higher. McGarry gave his companion advisor a subtle warning, tilting his chin towards Bartlet.

Nancy caught the warning, giving the President an appraising glance of her own. The man wasn't going to like this. "Chagarin knew, of that much we're now certain. But he was caught between a questionable reactor sale to Iraq, his own Duma, and the need to open an honest dialog with you. With most of his advisors already in the Mafia pockets, who does he trust to send the message?"

"Another excuse?" Bartlet growled, suppressing the majority of his anger under the mask of executive indifference. "He managed to get the nuclear sound byte through. Why not this?"

McGarry already knew the answer to that one. "Because if he did, he had no guarantee you'd even show up at Helsinki. He couldn't risk that."

"I would have shown."

"He didn't know that," McGarry pointed out as reasonably as he could. "A Russian national tried to kill you, came damn close to succeeding. Would you have believed him if he had told you that neither he nor his government were involved? Another president wouldn't have."

"I might have. But thanks to stubborn Russian reticence, we may never know." Rubbing eyes burned dry from lack of sleep, Bartlet tried to recall the last time he'd beat the four-hour mark and managed to make it through the night. The fact that he couldn't remember was enough of a clue that it had been far too long.

Blinking away some of the grit and forcing fatigued optic muscles to focus on his Chief of Staff; he realized tiredly that only one question remained to be asked. "Why me?" Bartlet had a nasty suspicion he wasn't going to like the answer.

McGarry looked at Nancy and nodded, passing her the ball. This answer belonged to her. He already had a glimmering of the final result, but she'd been the one to put the first pieces of the puzzle together.

Even if she did have to ask Marbury for help. That just added insult to injury.

Nancy paused for a moment and weighed the question. There was no easy answer and she wasn't a politician. She didn't play the game, couldn't dance with the diplomats with any degree of skill or balance. She was far too blunt. But she was good at putting the pieces together after the fact, creating a coherent picture from seemingly unrelated people and events.

This picture was an ugly one. "Chagarin needs you, sir."

Bartlet was honestly confused. "Me?"

"He wants to tear his government apart, rebuild it from the foundations up. With half the Russian governing body in some criminal's pocket, the military selling itself and its weapons to the highest bidder, and a raging criminal element wanting to keep it that way, he can't do that without support. Your support. Helsinki was only the beginning. Without you in his corner, he can't do it, Mr. President."

"Mr. President." Bartlet laughed mirthlessly. "He may not have me in a year."

That was a possibility McGarry didn't even want to consider. Something had happened that night at the theater. He knew the President had met with Governor Ritchie, and that more than a few hot words had been passed. Exactly what, his friend had yet to tell him. The President had come away from that meeting more grimly determined, but with a much darker, almost Machiavellian outlook on the future.

McGarry wasn't sure that added darkness was a plus. "He doesn't need a year, sir. Whatever support you give him now is enough. If," he put a heavy emphasis on the all-important if, "you lose next year, whatever President-elect who's sucker enough to take the oath of office ... "

Bartlet shot his friend a dubious look, unable to stifle a self-mocking smile. "Thank you for that, Leo. This job was your idea."

Nancy shook her head, chuckling softly.

McGarry ignored them both and continued, "Whoever takes that oath is going to have no choice but to follow through with what you've begun. International, public and moral pressure will force him to."

"Even Ritchie," Bartlet muttered sourly. It was true. He could see that now. Chagarin was in a corner and taking the only way out he could. In a way, they both were. That sudden insight gave him little comfort.

"Even Ritchie," McGarry agreed, wondering at the hidden meaning behind the President's low-voiced comment. Why him? Ritchie was no more a shoo-in than his opponent was. "Chagarin needs the support of an American President to reshape his world. He has you; the one man luck or blind fate has given him to at least have a slim chance of succeeding. Your support. He couldn't risk losing it."

"They kill you," Nancy added softly, watching for the executive reaction, "and it ends before it has even begun. The criminal element wins and they get to keep their profit margins. If they can get at you, nobody is safe."

"Nobody laid claim to Marine One," Bartlet pointed out, not quiet ready to buy into his advisors' somewhat elaborate speculation.

"You didn't die," McGarry replied sharply, unsure of whether the surge of anger he felt was directed at the still faceless assassins or the apparent indifference of their target. "Why brag at a failure? This isn't a terrorist act. This is strictly for profit. They don't want your fear, they want your death."

The President's reaction wasn't quite what McGarry had expected.

"Business as usual," the President muttered, slipping his glasses into his coat pocket and closing the file on the desk in front of him. It was a signal he was about to call the meeting closed. "A hope for future gain, regardless of cost, is no excuse. People died," he said wearily, still struggling to come to terms with the revelations.

"It's their excuse," McGarry pointed out, not quite as ready as his Commander in Chief to call the issue closed.

"It's a poor one."

"It's the only one he has, Mr. President," Nancy told him, willing him to understand. "Can you blame him? Hard line communists, criminals and a government unraveling at the seams. He's riding a thin line. You listened to him, and now we're stuck with it."

"I'm stuck with it." Bartlet rose from his chair, the final signal that the meeting was indeed over. For now. "I want names. I realize keeping this in-house puts you all under considerable constraint, but it can't be helped."

McGarry and Nancy respectfully stood as well, exchanging troubled glances.

Rubbing his eyes, Bartlet hoped his voice didn't sound as hollow to his advisors as it did in his own ears. Truthfully, he felt as hollow and listless as his voice sounded. "Use whatever avenues of inquiry that you feel safe exploring." He gave McGarry a hard look, warning him, "And I do mean any avenue."

McGarry took the rebuke on the chin and didn't bother arguing with him. There would have been no point. He may not like it, but Marbury would remain in the loop. "Sir... "

Waving him off with a curt gesture and making his way towards the doors leading to the portico, Bartlet gave both his advisors an ultimatum. "Names, Leo. It's an odd conceit, but I find that when I'm someone's target, one they would like to see six feet under, I find that they as a naming qualifier is somewhat... unsatisfactory."

"In the meanwhile, sir?" Nancy asked, giving Leo a questioning look. This wasn't ending the way she had envisioned. Unsatisfactory didn't even begin to cover it.

Opening the glass doors, Bartlet paused and turned. Giving her a curiously sad smile, he said, "In the meanwhile, I get to tell my wife. That should be fun, don't you think?"

McGarry winced. "Sir, I don't think... "

"Tell the staff, Leo," Bartlet interrupted, ignoring his friend's attempt to caution him about the wisdom of telling Abbey the whole truth. He wasn't about to listen. As ugly as this truth was, he was done keeping things from her.

God knows she'd more than earned his candor. Telling her would be suitable punishment for whatever transgressions he had left.  He'd forgotten exactly where he was on the list. "Charlie!" The President's bellow was directed towards the closed office door where he knew his body-man was hovering just outside.

Lately, all any of his staff seemed to be doing was hover. It was starting to get on his already frayed nerves.

The door opened and, hands shoved into his pockets, Charles Young reluctantly stepped into view. Pausing just inside the entrance, he spared a quick glance for McGarry and Nancy, and then turned his attention to the President. "Sir?"

"Cancel any meetings I may have left for the day, Charlie."

"Yes, sir."

"Tomorrow morning, Leo. Eight A.M. I want the senior staff here, prepared and ready to listen." Bartlet turned back to his aide and one corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. For such a good poker player, the young man's guilt was clearly evident. "You too, Charlie. Just reward for... eavesdropping?"

The flustered aide wasn't given a chance to stammer out an apology or excuse. With that enigmatic statement, the President turned on his heel and strode with stiff dignity out the doors. Once outside, an agent quietly pulled the doors closed behind him and two others stepped forward to follow discretely behind as he made his way towards the Residence.

Yet another moved up alongside, keeping himself between the President and the portico's outer railings.  Butterfield's security measures had hit an all-time high since the party.  Bartlet felt he could barely turn around now without barking an elbow on a solidly built agent.  He was only surprised his staff hadn't come right out and asked what was going on. 

Through the French windows, Young watched him pass down the portico and out of sight. Confused, and more than a little troubled, he turned to the Chief of Staff and tentatively asked, "Leo?"

"Clear his schedule as much as you can for the next few days."

"Already done," Young responded confidently, a look of implacable determination on his face. Running pass interference for the President was his job, and he was damned good at it. As keeper of the schedule, he had to be. "Should I be there?" he asked, somewhat more cautiously. Senior staff meetings weren't part of his job description.

Catching some of his reticence, understanding its source, McGarry told him, "He said to be there, Charlie."

"But..."

"I happen to agree. Thirty minutes, my office. Be there."

Though Young didn't answer, his face spoke for him. He may not have been staff or an advisor, but he still cared. Deceptively composed, there was still a hint of gratitude in his expression when he nodded curtly to both McGarry and Nancy, then left without a word.

Watching him leave, Nancy let out her breath and stopped herself just short of swearing. "That whole thing didn't go well."

McGarry's brows rose and with ill-concealed sarcasm said, "You think?"

"Did that help?"

"No."

"Didn't think so," Nancy sighed. Considering the source of the order, the next question was rhetorical. But knowing McGarry as she did, she had to ask, "You really gonna tell the staff? Everything?"

"I've been ordered to." McGarry's voice clearly indicated he wasn't happy about it. On the one hand, they deserved to know, even Charlie. On the other, he knew what was going to happen when they found out. Given recent events, even deaths, there was a lot of repressed aggression floating around the West Wing.

Oh, Leo McGarry knew all too well what their reactions were going to be.

So did Nancy. "I'll duck the shrapnel. You might want to find a nice, out-of-the-way soundproofed room."

"Like that's going to help," McGarry muttered darkly.

To be continued…