X

"You wanted to see me?" Charlie asked.

It was funny how, even when there was no crisis looming on the horizon, just being in the same room as Ron Butterfield seemed to heighten your awareness of the dangers all around. He was a very high-profile, extremely visible reminder of all the ways in which this wasn't your everyday office job.

"Charlie." He nodded soberly. Ron did almost everything soberly. Even on the rare occasions that he smiled, he somehow projected the impression that it was a carefully regulated expression, ready to be shucked off at a moment's notice and replaced with something more suitable.

The two of them had moved temporarily into an out-of-the-way office, less liable to be invaded by interns or wandering senior staffers at short notice.

"Is this about the threatening letters?" he assumed.

Ron nodded. "We've identified a new area of threat that you should be aware of."

"Oh, boy. New threats." He probably shouldn't take it with such sarcasm, but, well... what else was he supposed to do?

"We've been tracking a series of letters from a group calling themselves the Sons of Herod, who may be affiliated with one of the organisations already on the list, or possibly an aggregate of members from several other groups."

"So what's new?" Charlie wondered with a frown. Ron regarded him seriously.

"The letters show a consistent pattern of phrases involving 'cleansing' or 'purification' that we believe to be in relation to Zoey's pregnancy."

It took him a moment to get to the centre of that, because it was such an impossibly hard concept to try and grasp. "They're talking about- what, they're-? The baby?"

Ron didn't sugarcoat it. "The group consistently refer to the foetus as a parasite or disease, and appear to consider it their duty to make sure the pregnancy never comes to term."

"Duty," he echoed bitterly. Somebody out there considered it their duty to ensure that his baby was never born.

"The OPR consider this a credible threat, and we're stepping up security around Zoey in public. We don't have any reason to believe you're in further danger, but we need you to be aware, particularly when you and Zoey are out together."

Somehow, that was the icing on the cake. They didn't even care about him anymore, they were shooting straight past him to aim at his unborn child. But wasn't that always the way? They hated him, and everybody else ended up in the firing line.

He didn't say anything, and after a moment Ron nodded in acknowledgement, and said "I'll keep you informed," and left him alone.

He sat down on the edge of the desk, and thought quietly for a moment. Then he calmly got up, walked over to the wastepaper basket, and kicked it hard enough to leave a dent.

"Charlie?" Linda from accounting poked her head in and glanced at him curiously.

"Nothing, I just-" He shrugged away any enquiry, and pasted a smile on his face until she went away again.

After that, it didn't last long.


CJ wandered into his office with her nose in a manuscript. She perched on the corner of his desk without waiting for an introduction.

"Bubbly," she mused. "Would you say I was bubbly?" She pushed up her glasses and frowned. "Bubbly is not a manner in which I'm accustomed to being described. Bubbling, possibly, I'm told I have a bubbling laugh..."

Toby looked at her. She didn't seem to take his lack of response as unencouraging.

"How about feline?" She flipped to another page. "I'm feline." She frowned. "However, I'm neither blonde nor petite. Although that could well be a cunning act of misdirection." She peered over the top of the papers at him. "Tobus?"

"You are neither blonde nor petite," he agreed, and returned his chin to the palm it was resting in. She folded her papers away and gave him a searching look.

"You've been somewhat quiet of late, Mr. Ziegler."

"Of late?"

"Well, since this morning." She folded her arms and sat back to regard him. "And a quiet Toby is a disconcerting thing. What's going on?"

He weighed up his options, and decided on selective honesty. "I'm waiting for a call."

"Who from?"

"Andy."

CJ frowned worriedly. "Something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No." He hesitated, and then after a moment, slid his gaze up to meet hers. "Possibly something... not wrong." She looked puzzled, but CJ knew him well enough to know when to respect his silence. After a moment, he asked "Was there something...?"

"No." She stood up, closing the manuscript. "Okay."

She gave him an odd look as she left, but he didn't volunteer any further information.

Toby looked at his watch. Andy should have left the doctors' by now. She still hadn't called.


"Donna!" Josh charged into her office area. "Who are you talking to?"

Donna blinked at him for a moment, then looked very carefully around the empty room and down at the silent phone. "My grandfather's ghost," she said brightly. "He follows me around, but only I can see him, and wacky hijinks ensue. We solve crimes."

Josh leaned against the doorframe and gave her a look. "I meant on the phone."

"Do I look like I'm on the phone?"

"No, and why is that?"

"Because I can only do four things at once, and currently those are typing, picking out points from the commerce report, talking to you, and trying to eat my lunch."

To her boss, this was apparently some kind of coded signal for 'Yes, Josh, you may begin stealing my fries'.

"Hey! Back away from the table, hyena boy, I need those carbohydrates, and you definitely don't."

"That's a risk I'll... just have to take," he said dryly. He paused for a beat. "Hyena boy?"

"Hyenas are scavengers. They scavenge," she elaborated.

"For French fries?"

"No doubt they've learned to adapt to the urban environment." Donna slapped his hand away as he reached to steal another. "No more, Josh! I paid for these."

"With money you earn by, hypothetically, working for me. So why aren't you on the phone?"

"Because Rita Wells didn't answer it the last forty-seven times, and unlike you, I recognise that repetition expecting different results is a sign of madness?"

"Hence, my question," Josh shrugged, as if this was logical.

"That's why you asked if hyenas eat French fries?"

He narrowed his eyes. "The... other question. If Rita Wells won't even come to the phone, who have you been talking to all this time?"

"Ashley Bowers, I told you."

"The secretary?"

"Yeah."

Josh snapped his fingers decisively. "Then call Bowers, and set up a meeting. Ask if the two of you can..." he shrugged- "meet up for coffee and bitch about your unreasonable bosses or whatever it is you people do."

"We plot rebellion, Josh."

"I'll bet you do."

"We have colour-coded battle plans and everything. It's gonna be the best organised bloodless coup in history. Josh, why do I want to have coffee with Ashley Bowers?"

"You don't."

"I know that. So why are we saying that I do?"

"Because it would be pretty weird for the Deputy Chief of Staff of the White House to arrange to meet with the secretary of a minor-league Congresswoman, don't you think?"

"That is weird," Donna agreed.

"Indeed."

"But you want to do it?"

"I do," he nodded.

"So I should set you up a meeting?"

"Yes."

"But I should say that it's for me."

"Yes."

"Because otherwise it would be weird."

"Because otherwise it would be weird," Josh agreed.

Donna gave him a look, and then loosed a long-suffering sigh. "Okaaay," she said, mostly to herself. She reached resignedly for the phone.