II

"Hey, Mitch." A mug of coffee was pressed into his hands, and he nodded acknowledgement to his partner.

"Thanks, Tony."

The two men walked into briefing room 8A. They both took seats, amidst what was already quite a crowd of serious looking individuals in dark suits. It was a scene that was probably playing out in literally hundreds of conference rooms across America.

Very few of those rooms, however, were likely to hold quite the concentrated level of experience with firearms, explosives and every other imaginable form of weaponry as this one.

Ron Butterfield stood up, giving the two agents of Nest detail a quick tilt of the head. He cut straight to the chase, never having been a great one for much small talk.

"Okay. You're all aware of the increased security procedures since Osprey's announcement." Osprey was the new codename for Zoey Bartlet-Young, adopted after her graduation since the Bookbag pseudonym was both no longer apt and too long in circulation. They had to be doubly careful with the First Daughter's security now that she and Charles Young had not just resumed their relationship, but sealed the deal by marrying in the summer. Young, Christened Peregrine by the Service, now had a full time detail of his own... whether he wanted it or not.

And then, a few weeks ago, had come the announcement. For most people, the news of a pregnancy was something to be celebrated. For the Secret Service, it brought the twin worries of increased nutcase activity, and a more physically vulnerable protectee.

"In addition to the groups added to the list in recent weeks," Ron continued, "there's a new organisation I wanted brought to everybody's attention. They may be affiliated with one or more existing groups, operating under the name of the Sons of Herod. They've sent several letters specifically targeting the baby." If it was possible, Butterfield's face grew even grimmer.

"Targeting how?" That was Tony, leaning forward in his seat.

"The OPR has said there's a consistent pattern in the letters of referring to the pregnancy in terms of a parasite or a disease - key phrases involving cleansing, purifying and burning out the infection. They're cross-referencing with similar threats against high-profile mixed race pregnancies, looking for repeated phrases."

"What about Peregrine?" asked Glenn Howard, a solidly built man assigned to the detail that accompanied Young when he was away from the newlywed's apartment, codenamed the Nest.

"Peregrine is not specifically referenced in the letters. The pattern suggests that their priority is 'saving' Osprey." Even the expert in straight faces that was Butterfield couldn't quite manage that one without a slight curl of contempt.

Mitch guessed it fell on his shoulders to ask the awkward question. "What's the procedure on informing the protectees?"

Obviously, the Secret Service didn't keep their protectees appraised of every last threatening letter that came their way - not least because if the true weight of malice and insanity that was out there was ever revealed, they might never leave the house - but when new areas of threat were identified, assessments had to be made. The First Daughter was well aware of the fact that her relationship with Charles Young made her a target; would it aid or hinder their protection of her to let her know that the pregnancy itself was an area of attack?

This time Ron did visibly grimace. "Eagle will be kept informed. We'll take his input under advisement."

That was one duty Mitch didn't envy him. Few things in this world the Secret Service had to contend with were quite as daunting as the presidential bear when a cub was in danger. A protective instinct that extended not just to his daughters, but almost anybody else who came under his wing for any length of time. Indeed, just about the only person the president didn't flip out over threats to was himself.

Ron nodded shortly. "Okay. That's all. Everybody have a good day."

In the world of the Secret Service, that parting wish had perhaps a more direct and immediate connotation than in most.


Josh breezed into the office. "Hey, Donna."

"Hey. Do you need those GNP stats this morning, or-?"

"No, that can wait." He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up.

"Do you want me to shift Jo Chalmers to four o'clock?"

"Thanks."

"Would you like a kitten?"

Josh paused in the doorway to his office and turned around slowly. "Okay, did you just ask me if I wanted a coffee, or-?"

"A kitten," Donna confirmed.

He let his eyebrows do the talking. "A kitten."

"My roommate's cat just had kittens, and-"

"Donna!" he objected.

"Josh, they need homes!"

"Donna... my last houseplant died of neglect, and it was made of plastic," he reminded her.

"Yes. That is true," she admitted. She paused, and then brightened again. "Would your mom like a kitten?"

"You're gonna ship it to Florida?"

"Josh, she needs to find someone to take this kitten. We absolutely can't take another cat in our apartment."

"I'm not surprised! You know those cats are plotting to take over the world," he warned her. She tilted her head on one side to regard him.

"You know, it bothers me sometimes that you have the president's ear."

"Yeah. Donna, I need you to pull all the data we have on Alec Goss, Tim Wiley, and Selena McGann."

"This is about the leak?" she surmised, switching quickly back into business mode.

Josh nodded, and wandered over to stand by her desk. "It doesn't make any sense," he mused, mostly to himself. "None of these guys would sabotage this, we've been working towards it for months."

"You want me to set you up some meetings?"

"Yeah. Yeah, see if you can get me some time with Senator McGann."

Donna gave him a look. "Senator McGann?"

"Yeah."

"Any particular reason why Senator McGann particularly?"

He shrugged with exaggerated innocence. "Because... she's on the list?"

"And because you like that she flirts with you."

"That too."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Josh, you are aware she flirts with everyone?"

He shrugged again. "I'm secure."

She snorted expressively, and he gave her a look.

"Donna, just set me up a meeting, okay?"

"Okay."

"Thank you." Josh headed towards his office, and paused again in the doorway. "I'm not, like, going to go in there and find a kitten on my desk, am I?"

"No."

He moved to go in, and stopped again. "Or, you know, secreted about the place in any kind of-?"

"Josh!"

"Sorry." He disappeared into his office.


"Hey." A hand descended to cover his forehead, and Jed tilted his head back in the chair to look up at its owner.

"Hey yourself."

Abbey bent down to press a brief kiss beside her hand, and pulled a face. "You're hot."

He smirked at her, upside-down. "So are you."

"Behave." She tapped him lightly on the head, and walked around to stand in front of him. Jed shrugged.

"Abbey, I really am fine. It's just a cold."

She smiled softly at him. "I know. But look after yourself, babe. That chill could turn nasty."

"I always do," he retorted in injured innocence. Abbey gave a highly expressive snort. "I do," he pouted.

"Yeah. And sitting out in the snow for half an hour was real smart."

"I have to watch the first snowfall of the year," he reminded her.

"You're in Washington, honey, it's probably going to be the only snowfall of the year."

"All the more reason why I couldn't have missed it."

She accepted that. Jed had always loved his home, and nothing could make him ache for New Hampshire quite so much as watching the snow fall somewhere else. It was a ritual of his that no matter where he was, when the first flakes started drifting down he had to be out in it.

A ritual was a ritual - but there was such a thing as common sense. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and sighed.

"It really would have killed you to put on a coat?"

He launched immediately into reminiscence mode. "I remember when I used to-"

"Jed," she cut him off before he could get started. "Were you, by any chance, sixteen years old at the time of the anecdote you're about to launch into?"

He blinked guilelessly at her. "You know, that doesn't invalidate it as documentary evidence."

Abbey sighed, and kissed him resignedly. "Hopeless man."

He grinned. "That's why you love me."

She held his gaze wryly. "Yeah. Something like that."

"And really, Abbey... I am fine."

She looked him in the eye for a long moment. He started to sneeze.