Blood and State

By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew

Part 11/22

Friday, the Press Room

"... C.J.?"

C.J. blinked and looked down at the upturned faces and calling mouths. Like so many fledglings straining upwards to snatch a juicy morsel - and just about as mindlessly ravenous. She took a deep breath. Time to toss Leo's ball into play. She just hoped for the President's sake that none of his team would fumble the pitch. 

"Okay, the White House is now prepared to corroborate the rumor that an incident occurred in the Oval Office early yesterday morning." She regarded her audience with unusual bitterness. "But given that most of you were up bright and early this morning to see the President off and speculate on his appearance, you already know that, right?"

She swept the crowd with an almost contemptuous gaze, meeting each eye in turn. Most turned away, shuffling papers and notes, or checking recorders that had suddenly developed a fault. A select few held their ground and accepted her implied censure. One brave soul in particular caught C.J.'s eye.

Will Sawyer gave her an almost imperceptible nod, his own gaze sharp and assessing as it met hers. For a moment, C.J. held that look; pondering the circumstances of the reporter's return to a venue he considered a waste of his time and talent. What was he doing back here?

Still, his presence gave her a possible ally among the pool. However oblique that support might be, she accepted it.

Purposely clearing her throat to silence the impatient murmuring that had begun to spread, she continued coolly, "The purpose of this briefing is to acquaint you with the facts of that incident, preferably before some of you get even more carried away than you already did in your initial reports. If we'd left you to your own devices any longer, you'd have declared the President dead." 

Well, that was an unhappy choice of phrase. C.J. could almost see Carol wincing out of the corner of her eye. The assistants were as shaken as their bosses were. They may not know the full, horrible truth - that there seemed to be an enemy within their very gates - but they knew something terrible had already happened, and that this might not even be the worst. The atmosphere all over the White House was as brittle and fragile as spun glass.

The slightly mutinous air of the all-too-briefly-subdued reporters told the Press Secretary that they felt she bore a fair bit of the responsibility for the crazier rumors floating around. The last twenty-four hours had been an insane whirligig of vague, non-committal statements and faceless spokespersons as she and her staff tried to pick up the pieces and cover up the worst of what had happened; waiting on definite orders on how to handle the appalling and foreign situation in which they were now embroiled. 

And the situation hadn't improved. Relief at finally having a game plan had given way to outright dismay at the nature of that plan. Not even Leo McGarry's usual authority and confidence had been sufficient to persuade his Press Secretary and Communications Director. For the first time, the Chief of Staff almost had an outright mutiny on his hands, with C.J. leading the pack. 

Her confidence in Ron Butterfield's judgment, and his commitment to his President's care and well-being, had swayed C.J., but it had taken an assurance of the President's own agreement to this insane strategy to win her unwilling cooperation. 

Hell, Sam and Josh still didn't know the full, insane details. They were about to get the shock of their lives while watching this briefing. The entire West Wing was.

Might as well jump right in. "Yesterday, the President called a 8:00 am meeting of his senior staff in the Oval Office. Shortly after the meeting commenced, the President noticed a chess piece on his desk. We now know this piece was hollowed out to hold a very small quantity of explosive. The explosive trigger was apparently heat sensitive, and it detonated shortly after the President... One moment!" - as she was almost drowned by the frantic chorus from the press - "... the President picked it up. The President sustained minor injuries to the face and left hand, both from the explosive force and from shrapnel when the chess piece fragmented. He also sustained some second-degree burns to the hand from the heat and proximity of the blast."

The Press Secretary took a deep breath as she was almost swamped by the memory of the President sitting there, hands concealing his face and blood streaming everywhere. For a few heart-stopping seconds she had dreaded what she would see when those hands were lowered, and knew she had not been the only one. 

"The President was removed to the Residence, where his wounds were tended to by Admiral Robert Hackett. These wounds have subsequently been deemed to be minor." She almost choked on that half-truth.

Yeah, right! C.J. understood Leo McGarry's strategy in downplaying the effects of the explosion and she knew it could unquestionably have been so much worse. She had glimpsed the initial damage to the man's hand, and then seen the lines of pain still etched on his face last evening.

She forced her outrage back. Minor didn't even begin to cover it.

"I know a lot of you picked up the report of an ambulance being summoned. As it happened, the President's physician was more than satisfied that there was no need on medical grounds to remove him from the White House."

Glancing up, C.J gauged how these revelations were going down. So far, so good. The vast majority of the press corps had their heads down, scribbling away frantically.  Looking around though, she caught slightly puzzled expressions from Steve and Sandy, and a look of outright skepticism from Will. 

Damn!  The first two were White House veterans; no doubt they sensed something a little off about the response to a security disaster of this magnitude. Will Sawyer might be off his usual beat, but the man's career was practically a résumé of the world's hot spots and criminal dens. She had no doubt his investigative radar was screaming at him. 

The Press Secretary drilled all three with a challenging glare, daring them to dispute anything she had just uttered. Both Steve and Sandy obediently dropped their gaze, and C.J. felt her heart oddly lighten at this silent agreement to trust her... for now at least.  Sawyer on the other hand, met her glare for glare. She tried desperately to convey silently her need for him to play along. 

A blink and slightly bemused expression was her only reply. Then he gave her a short nod, as if to say, "We'll take this up later." 

C.J. sighed. Lucky her. 

"C.J.," a voice called from the pack, rising above the ever-present din. "Does the Secret Service have any comment on how such a device made its way into the White House, never mind onto the President's desk?"

"Well Frank, I can tell you the Secret Service is certainly conducting an investigation into that even as we speak. Beyond that, the White House never comments on Secret Service proceed..." 

The Press Secretary found herself drowned out in a chorus of groans and appeals of, "C'mon, C.J.!" 

"Hey, you know the drill, guys!" C.J. snapped. For the love of God, some of them were actually whining! "We've been here before. The Secret Service never comments on ongoing investigations."

'And I was never more grateful for that excuse,' C.J. thought acidly as the grumbling died down to a more manageable level. This cover story already had holes big enough to drive the presidential motorcade through. "And to save you the bother of asking; no, the President is not going to be seeking any resignations over this security breech. It was unfortunate that security glitched, but that happens. The President has the fullest confidence and trust in his security team, and won't be looking for any changes there."

That last part wasn't in her notes, but C.J. was sure President Bartlet would agree with her on that point. Besides, Ron Butterfield and his team deserved this administration's support.

"C.J., what do you know about the explosive and the exact nature of the injuries it caused?"

"The amount of explosive was fairly minute; the exact amount is being held back for identification and control." She waited for the inevitable outburst of protest, but was surprised when it didn't come. Will wonders never cease, but they could actually think before spewing out a question. "Anything more would never have gotten into the White House, never mind the Oval Office. Still, it was enough to totally fragment the container, turning it into shrapnel. Given its common availability, we can tell you the explosive base was Semtex." - the same plastic explosive that the NTSB report had stated was used in the Marine One crash, C.J. recalled grimly.

She deliberately omitted that little detail. No one outside the immediate executive staff and the various security agencies involved knew the truth about Marine One. If the press ever found out, it would blow the lid off a scandal that would make the MS affair seem like a cakewalk. 

Speaking of the MS... C.J. winced as she carefully avoided the eye of one particular member of the press corps. Older, calmer and more dignified than most of his colleagues, he was something of an unknown element to her. The typical White House press briefing usually held no place for his particular field of journalism. But since the health crisis of the previous year, she had found that he and his fellow specialists were becoming an increasingly standard element of her audience.

Finally caught in his steady regard, she resigned herself to getting it over with. "Yes, Lawrence?"

The Times chief medical correspondent rose to his feet. "C.J., you state the President's injuries were 'minor'. I see from the briefing notes that he only sustained small gashes to the face. However..." He squinted at the press release in his hand, "I see a statement that, in addition to the second-degree burning you mentioned, the President also received a dozen stitches to his left hand and that there was considerable tissue trauma. Does Admiral Hackett expect him to regain full use of that hand?"

"Yes, he does." C.J. felt a slight twinge of relief at being able to answer positively. "The Admiral detected no tendon damage. The hand will have to be bound and immobilized for some time, but there is no lasting damage."

"It seems like a remarkably light escape, considering the cause."

"What can I say?" The Press Secretary shrugged, forcing a nonchalance she didn't feel. Her stomach was doing loops just thinking about it. "Fortunately the President had just released hold of the chess piece. We got lucky."

"Indeed. Does the Admiral expect any secondary complications?"

"Not really." C.J. began to relax. "The President may have to undergo some light physiotherapy once the bandages are removed."

"Hmmm." Altman continued to peruse his notes. C.J. was amazed he had been allowed to hold the floor this long. Presumably his colleagues felt he knew what questions to ask better than they did. "Any risk of infection?"

"Some slight risk. It was almost impossible to avoid. The wounds contained a lot of debris. The President has been running a very mild temperature, but his physician is confident that the infection is minor and under control."

"A slight fever?" Altman's brows rose. "And of course, shock as well?"

"Yes," C.J. admitted, suddenly wary.

"So." Altman's gaze suddenly sharpened and he regarded the Press Secretary shrewdly.  "Given the President's medical history, is there any danger of his suffering a relapse of his MS?"

And there it was. Damn. C.J. closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the air in the Press Room fairly crackle with tense expectation. The vultures were circling already.

"Don't lie, don't conceal it," Leo had told her. "We don't want to broadcast the worst - apart from anything else, it doesn't help the strategy - but we can't afford to cover it up, either.  If it comes up, address it.  But you don't have to paint them a road map either."

Well, it was out there now all right. And she was torn. On the one hand, what had been done to the man was an outrage that left her longing to shout her anger and indignation to the world. On the other hand, Leo's plan aside, she was damned if she wanted to give their opponent that kind of satisfaction, of letting him know just how deeply and painfully he had struck home on his target.

She took a deep breath.  There were enough lies and half-truths being flung around this room already. On this, they couldn't afford to obfuscate. Not after the last year. 

"Yes, well..." She looked down at the expectant faces and silently damned them and herself for once again holding this man up to public scrutiny. And consigned to perdition the monster that had driven him down to this. 

"I regret to report that the President did experience a resurgence of his symptoms yesterday, after receiving treatment for his injuries." She gritted her teeth as the press pool once again erupted. "The reason he has departed for Manchester is the perceived need by his physicians for him to take a couple of days to rest and get over the shock of the explosion and his injuries."

"C.J.! Does this explain the President's apparent unsteadiness when boarding Marine One this morning? Has the relapse affected his legs? Can he walk unaided?"

"No, Cheryl. If you'd looked a little more closely as he boarded Marine One this morning, you'd have seen that we had the President mounted on a small hover pad, propelled by the First Lady." C.J. had no compunction about venting her unhappiness by mauling the occasional reporter. The press pool could certainly spare them. "For heaven's sake! You were there, you saw the man. The President's MS can induce numbness and slight weakness in the lower limbs. It does not paralyze him. He was quite able to proceed under his own power."

"C.J., in view of this relapse, what does the White House have to say to the past accusations of Republicans and Governor Ritchie that the President's condition risks making him unfit to govern this country in the near future, and that he should not contest the election? Particularly in light of the fact that his condition has once again been induced by stress."

C.J. glowered down from the podium. After all the man had been through lately, they still had to harp on this?  "Well, Billy, I would remind the Governor that the President has been under a considerable amount of strain lately, from work on both the domestic and foreign fronts. He was also recuperating from previous injuries suffered in a serious air crash," - Oops! She really shouldn't have brought that connection to their attention. 

Scrambling for the save, her temper sparked by the almost contemptuous tones of the original question, C.J.'s voice hardened ruthlessly as she snapped, "If, after all that, the final straw that induced a relapse was an explosion that damn near took off his hand, then I'd say Governor Ritchie need not worry unduly about President Bartlet's ability to handle stress."  

"Furthermore," she continued, really warming to her theme as her mind's eye replayed the picture of the President the previous evening. Bruised, gashed, weary and in pain, with an air of quiet resignation she had found disturbing; yet still alert and shrewd. And caring, concerned about how all this had affected her. "You should know by now that the President has always fully recovered from his rare attacks. There is no evidence the condition may ever affect his cognitive powers. It is well controlled and regulated, and only troubles him in extreme circumstances. Cut us some slack, people! The man was injured!  We've spent the better part of a year educating you people on the realities of MS - not just its myths - and on the President's health. Yet after all that, you still act as if he's going to lose the use of his mind or his limbs every time the topic comes up. Give us a little credit. Give him some credit."

Collecting herself, she said grimly, "We've given you all the information you could possibly need on the President's MS and his course of treatment over the last year. Given that, we just hope you'll report this responsibly and without any hysterical speculation.  Grant the President some ordinary human dignity at least." C.J. heard the bitterness spilling over into her voice and made no attempt to hide it. Let them chew on this. "He's not just the President, he's a man with a chronic medical condition that he's managed to cope with very well in his day to day life. Some acknowledgement of that might be nice."

To be continued…