AN: This chapter has been a wee bit of a pain to write. It was difficult to rethink/rewrite the Black Tuesday part. Oh yes, I should add that Black Tuesday is also known as the day the stocks crashed in 1929 in the US. There's just so much to do with this story. Here's chapter nine--have fun reading!

Oh, before I forget, all references to the Pentagon Papers are historically accurate, including newspaper headlines, quotations, and details.

And as always, please read and review!!

Chapter Nine:

When the angels looked down at the presentation of Jack's life, they saw that the scene had changed. Instead of looking at the living room in Laura's apartment, they were now looking at the exterior of a large church where a small crowd was gathered. Family, friends, and others were grouped around the stairs, waiting, talking, laughing and crying.

Suddenly the doors burst open.

Here they come! shouted Emily Sloane.

Jack and Laura Bristow appeared in the doorway, clad in their wedding finery. Jack looked sharp in a black tuxedo with a red rose in his boutonniere, while Laura wore a long silky white dress with a low back, and carried a bouquet of matching red roses, her hair pulled back in a loose chignon. The sound of the Wedding March faintly playing from inside the church accompanied them as they walked down the stairs in a shower of rice. Jack placed his arm protectively on the small of Laura's back as they posed on the steps with family for a photo. When the Bristows finally reached the street, a black limo was waiting for them. As Jack opened the door for Laura, she turned and tossed her bouquet, which was caught by Judy Barnett. Then, together, they slipped into the limo and kissed happily as they pulled away from the curb.

After several minutes, the tinted glass that separated them from the eyes and ears of the limo driver slid down.

If either of you two see a stranger around here, it's me, said a voice from the driver's seat.

Hey, look! Somebody's driving this car, Jack said in mock-surprise.

Arvin turned around and reached over, handing Jack a bottle of champagne done up in gift wrappings.

My parents sent this down, he said, grimacing slightly. Couldn't be there for my wedding. Couldn't be there for the wedding of my best friend who's practically my brother. But at least they remembered.

Oh, look at this. Champagne! Jack held the bottle out, showing Laura and shooting Arvin an understanding look.

That was awfully sweet of them, Laura commented, unaware of the tension between Arvin and his parents.

By the way, where are you two going on this here now honeymoon? he asked the newlyweds, changing the subject.

Where are we going? Jack said jovially. He pulled out a thick envelope from his briefcase. Look at this, he says, waving a stack of airplane tickets, their passports, hotel reservations and the such.

I feel like Joe Kennedy's wife, Laura giggled, holding up the foreign currency Jack had obtained.

You know what we're going to do? Jack started. We're going to shoot the works. A whole week in Paris. A whole week in Venice. The highest hotels--the oldest champagne--the richest caviar--the hottest music, and the prettiest wife! We'll be ambling along in a gondola, strolling down the Champs Elysees, holding hands in the Louvre. It'll be something to remember, all right.

That does it! Then what? asked Arvin.

Then what, honey? Jack turned to Laura.

After that, who cares? she smiled, her eyes twinkling.

That does it--come here, Jack growled, tickling underneath her ribs.

The limo passed the building where Jack's department had their offices, under the guise of a government think tank, and Arvin, as he drove, saw a mass of people crowded around a newsstand, all holding copies of The New York Times.

Arvin stopped the limo. Jack, there's something going on out there... he started, then paused remembering the presence of Laura. Looks like there's a big story in the Times, I'm going to go grab a copy, Arvin gave Jack a look, raising his eyebrows, and hopped out to get himself a copy.

He bought himself a paper and stood outside, glancing at the coverage on the front page. Arvin inhaled sharply at the main headline, Vietnam Archive: Pentagon Study Traces 3 Decades of Growing U.S. Involvement, and walked briskly back to the limo. Getting into the driver's seat, he immediately turned around and handed the paper to Jack.

Jack looked down at the front page.

he exclaimed. Arvin, this is a problem. You know the feds are going to want everyone to come in... he trailed off. Park here, I'm running into the office.

Jack, what is it? We have to make our train. Let's not stop. Let's go! pleaded Laura.

Jack got out of the limo and looked down the street. Just a minute, dear. Oh-oh...

Please, let's not stop, Jack, Laura tugged on the sleeve of his jacket.

I'll be back in a minute, Laura, he said, as he started to jog down the street to his office.

On the sidewalk, a crowd of reporters waited around the locked door. Jack walked over with an assumed cheerful manner. The people looked at him silently, half shamefaced, but grimly determined on their rights.

Jack started cautiously. Is there a problem here? Are you all looking for someone or something?

No one answered. Jack turned and quickly unlocked the grill door and pushed it open, turning the knob on the proper door and entering the building. Followed by the crowd, Jack walked into reception area for the Research and Development offices. As he went around the back of the counter, it became clear to the reporters that this was the man with whom they wanted to speak. After a second's delay, camera bulbs flashed, notebooks were opened and questions filled the air.

Jack blinked, startled by the sudden buzz that filled the air. He turned towards his office and noticed Ben Devlin standing in the doorway to a private office that Jack often used. Ben took a drink from a bottle and motioned to Jack to join him.

What is this, Ben? The start of World War III? Jack asked anxiously.

Ben started, pointing to Jack's office, again gesturing for him to follow him in there.

Jack turned back cheerfully to the crowd. Come on in, everybody. That's right, just come in, he said, as he vaulted over the counter where the receptionist sat. Now look, why don't you all sit down. There are a lot of seats over there. Just make yourselves at home, he continued, motioning to the throng of reporters.

Jack, can I see you a minute? Ben asked.

The reporters ignored Jack and remained standing in front of the counter, questions being shouted relentlessly towards the two men, while scribbling furiously on their notebooks. Seeing this, Jack hurried into his office where Ben was waiting for him.

Why didn't you call me? Jack asked, closing the door behind him.

I just did, but they said you left. This is a pickle, Jack, this is a pickle, Ben paced in front of Jack's desk.

All right now, what happened? How did it start?

How does anything like this ever start? All I know is the paper got hold of the report, said Ben.



About a day ago, I guess. The press is looking towards us since we're connected to the think tank, Ben explained.

And the agency?

I called over to Langley an hour ago. It sounds like chaos over there.

Holy s***! Jack exclaimed, running his hand through his hair.

And then, Jack, I closed the doors. I wasn't sure how we should handle the press.

The whole city's gone crazy.

The telephone rang, interrupting their conversation.

Ben picked it up, Yes, hello? He listened to the voice on the phone, Yes, sir. I see, sir. Here's Bristow, sir. He covered the phone with his hand and whispered, Jack...it's Paul Lindsay.

Jack cleared his throat and took the phone, Hello?

On the other end of the phone, Lindsay was seated behind his desk, his son alongside him. Standing in front of the desk was a distinguished-looking man, the director of Interagency Cooperation. He stood there, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

Jack, there is a rumor around Langley that you've closed your doors. Is that true? Oh, well, I'm very glad to hear that...Jack, are you all right? Do you need any support? Police? Agents? Lindsay spoke into the phone, a gleeful smirk upon his face.

Police? Agents? What for? Jack raised his eyebrows.

Well, reporters can ask pretty ugly questions sometimes, you know, Lindsay said rather matter-of-factly. Jack, I'm going all out to help in this crisis. I've just guaranteed the Department of Interagency Cooperation that I will personally take care of this mess about the leak.

Jack looked over to Ben, covering the phone, He just took over the IAC department.

I may lose a little face in the press, but I'm willing to help your department too. Just tell the reporters to bring their questions over here and I will take care of it. You don't have to worry about a thing; I'll find the leak and plug it. And Research and Development won't be connected to the think tank's work at all.

You never miss a trick, do you, Lindsay? Jack said furiously. Well, guess what: you're going to miss this one!

Jack threw the receiver down with a crash and turned to face the oncoming storm.

Back in Lindsay's office, he continued speaking into the phone, If you close your doors on the press, or accidentally leak something else, you will be brought in and thrown in prison. When there was no response, he realized Jack hung up on him and clicked the phone furiously.

In Jack's office, the two men sat quietly, pondering their course of action.

Jack, was it a nice wedding? Ben asked, breaking the silence. God, I wanted to be there. You getting married. I'll never understand how I got stuck with overseeing the op center today. His eyes narrowed, I'll bet Bob had his father screw me over just so I'd miss the wedding. That son of a b****...he's just jealous that you and Laura...

Jack sighed. He looked down at Ben's hand. What's this? he asked, pointing to a loop of thread on Ben's index finger.

Ben looked up, a wide grin spreading across his face. I was coming up with a new trick for my yo-yo while I was baby-sitting the new recruits. I named it Jack Lassos Laura.'

The other man ducked as Jack tried to whack him upside the head.

An ominous sound of angry voices came from the other room, interrupting Jack and Ben, who then turned to exit the office. A younger man, the new recruit Ben had been "baby-sitting", Bill Vaughn stood by the counter, straightening his tie, his forehead wrinkling as he nervously waited for the other men. By this time, more people had crowded around the counter. Their muttering stopped and they stood silent and grim.

Now, just remember that this thing isn't as big as it appears, Jack started. At that moment, a breaking news bulletin came onto the television set in the reception area, blaring the latest news of the report. The reporters all turned to the television, and then back to Jack.

I have some news for you; I have just spoken to a representative of the various agencies involved with this issue, and Interagency Cooperation has just been temporarily replaced. The man to talk to with your concerns is Paul Lindsay. He's CIA, Jack added as an aside.

But, Jack, we're hear to talk to reps who know something about Rand; not some crusty old fart who sits around at Langley, interjected one reporter from The Washington Post.

Does the CIA have anything to do with this office of the Rand think tank? asked another.


Well, no, Charlie, Jack answered. We don't take orders from Lindsay--we're not lackeys for the g-men.

Okay then, Jack, said a man holding a microphone towards his face. What'd you know about a Mr. Daniel Ellsberg?

Did McNamara really order this study?

What does President Nixon think of this?

Was this report supposed to go public?

What affect will the Pentagon Papers have on the war?

Questions flew through the air without stop. Throughout the day, there was a revolving door; each time it opened to let someone out, someone new came in. Jack dealt with the first group, then Ben took his turn at answering the reporters' questions. After watching for a while, Bill Vaughn also tried answering questions in the same manner as his two superiors did. The rotation went on until early in the evening.

Hours later, Jack, Ben, and the secretary, Mrs. Hannigan, were standing behind the counting, closely watching the minute hand of a clock on the wall as Jack counted off the seconds. Bill stood by the door, waiting to close it and lock it shut.

We're going to make it, Jack. They'll never close us up today! Lindsay will miss his chance yet again! exclaimed Ben, who was anxiously fiddling with his yo-yo.

Jack shouted, waving to Bill.
Bill slammed and locked the door, and scurried around the counter to join the others.

We made it! Look... Ben pointed to the telephone, which was not ringing, ...look, we're still in business! No calls to bring us in for screwing up too much! he took a swig from a new bottle.

Well, let's have some of that. Go in back and pull out the six-pack, Bill, Jack said. Turning to Ben, he added, We're just two wild and crazy guys! mimicking a sketch from a new variety show on NBC, as he wiggled his hips. We're the next generation--look out 007, 00B, 00D and 00V are in town!

In your face J. Edgar! Ben added, high-fiving his friend.

As Bill came back carrying the beer, each man grabbed a bottle.

Jack raised his bottle, To Research and Development!

Ben added, To Paul Lindsay!

Bill, silent for a moment, spoke up, To Jack, on his new wife! May you and Laura have many years of happiness and joy!

And may you have lots and lots of dangerously hot sex! added Ben with a smirk.

The men clanked their bottles, and each took a deep gulp.

Oh, before I forget--wedding cigars! said Ben, passing around a box.

Oh-oh...wedding! Oh s***, I'm married! Where's Laura? Laura... he called, running around the office looking for her. Poor Laura. Look, I've got a train to catch, he said, looking down at his watch. Well, the train's gone. I wonder if Arvin's still there with his car?

Jack rushed into his office to look out the window.

Jack, there's a call for you, Mrs. Hannigan announced her her employer, holding up the telephone.

Look, will you get my wife on the phone? She's probably over at her friend's, Jack told her, bustling around the office, picking up his jacket and various other personal belongings.

Mrs. Bristow is on the phone, she announced.

I don't want Mrs. Bristow. I want my wife. Mrs. Bristow! Oh, that's my wife! Here, I'll take it in here, he said to his secretary, walking into his office. Laura? Hello. Listen, dear, I'm sorry...what? Come home? What home? Three-twenty Sycamore? Well, what...whose home is that? The Waldorf Hotel, huh?

TBC