XVIII
"Toby!" The Communications Director was passing as he emerged from the Roosevelt Room, and Leo gave him a nod. "Did you want something?" he checked.
"World peace, the ascent of logic, and a decent cup of coffee," Toby muttered darkly. He glared into his coffee cup with an expression that said that if it couldn't provide at least two of those, it was in trouble.
"This is the White House. We don't do any of those," Leo reminded him. They fell into step together along the crowded hallway.
"I have changed my mind about gun control. It's no longer this country's most vital priority. I want statistic control. There are people who should be banned from exposure to any kind of figures until they've demonstrated enough common sense to understand that two plus two does not equal a purple hippopotamus!"
"You haven't been looking at websites again, have you?" Leo winced. Toby's last foray into the world of political debate as conducted by anybody who could power up a web browser and type something stupid had not been a fun time for anybody.
"I have been quoted figures about increased crime in Britain since they banned handguns! Increased figures! Because of course, why should we pay attention to such things as critical values and statistical significance when you have the immeasurably better analytical method of 'look, that one's higher'? Why should we consider the differences in the system for crime reporting or every other social factor in the intervening years, when it's transparently down to the government taking away people's handguns? The handguns that almost nobody actually had! It was not normal in British culture to own a handgun! We are arguing on the basis of the removal of weapons that did not, in practical terms, even exist!"
"You're arguing, Toby," Leo reminded him calmly. "I'm just along for the ride."
Certainly, his input didn't appear to be required. Toby was still going. "Of course the increased crime figures are down to the removal of weaponry that only a tiny fraction of the population ever possessed! It all makes sense now. Just like our crime figures would surely rocket if they took away our bulletproof vests!"
"'Kay, Toby, are we going to have to put a childlock on your browser as well as Josh's?"
"We are governing a nation of stupid people, Leo!"
"I'm fairly sure that at least some of them are pretty smart, Toby," he said dryly.
"Then they should pick up blunt objects and start hitting people. There ought to be a law against being that stupid! We legislate against far less dangerous things. The police ought to be able to stop people in the street and administer a moron test whenever they have reasonable cause to suspect gross stupidity!"
"Unfortunately it would have to be passed by Congress and, well, therein lies the problem," Leo said. "Listen, Toby-"
He was, thankfully, rescued from the alarming prospect of defusing a ticking Toby by the sudden arrival of Margaret. "Leo? The National Security Advisor's on the phone."
"Excuse me." He hastily ducked into his office and picked up the receiver. "Nancy. What have you got?"
"Leo, the ambassador's story checks out."
He let his breath out in a gratified rush. "The pilot was a Libyan defector?"
"Yuh-huh. He took a dive over the border during a training exercise, and was pursued by the rest of his unit until he ran out of fuel and was forced to eject. The Libyans would probably have mounted a recovery operation, but Chad must have been informed he was coming because their forces got there first."
"Is this going to be a thing?" he asked warily.
"No. Libya's got too much to lose by way of ruffled feathers if something this embarrassing goes public. The pilot was high-level enough to be a humiliating loss, but he's not about to divulge any major secrets. Most likely Chad wanted him this bad just for the gloating factor."
"Are the Libyans likely to take steps?"
"Not with us watching. We'll keep an eye on the region for a while, but I predict they're gonna cool off and pretend it never happened for the moment."
"Okay. Thanks, Nancy." He put the phone down.
Toby was still hanging around in the hallway when he went out. "Nancy says the Chad-Libya situation's resolved," he explained.
"The current Chad-Libya situation's resolved," Toby corrected.
"You're a real little ray of bitter sunshine there, aren't you?" Leo noted.
"You know it'll only take the slightest thing for it to flare up again."
Leo shrugged. "Then we'll step in again. That's what we do."
"It's all we ever do," Toby said, and stomped off. Leo watched him go for a moment, then went back into his office, and got back to work.
"Ash?"
He turned, and gave Josh's assistant a smile. "Oh, hi, Donna."
She was already on the move as he crossed the lobby to join her. "This way." It was an effort just to keep up. He thought working on the Hill had accustomed him to hiking between meetings, but people in the West Wing seemed to power-walk like they were training for the Olympics. Slip behind, trip, or get snarled up in the crowds, and half your instructions had gone over your head before you knew what was happening.
He found the pace, and managed to draw level with her. "Well, at least I'm getting in some practise at walking into the building," he observed. It was amazing how just being confronted with that big seal in the lobby magically disconnected your brain from your legs.
"Don't worry, the security guys are trained to deal with White House geekout syndrome," Donna reassured him.
Ash smiled. He was finding there was a fascinating kind of dual attitude with people who worked in the West Wing; for want of a better way to phrase it, a kind of irreverent reverence. There were few things so sacred that nobody would mock them, and yet underlying it all was a deep aura of respect. These weren't people who venerated the country and the work of government from afar, but rather treated it with all the familiarity you gave a much-beloved relative.
"I guess this must be a pretty busy day for the president?" he asked, as they turned another corner. The main core of offices in the West Wing was not actually that big, but the speed with which they travelled through them was enough to make you dizzy and disoriented.
Donna shook her head. "Big days mean a lighter schedule, if it can possibly be worked out. He needs time to get prepared if there are last minute changes, and he can't look tired on camera."
Ash thought privately that the president quite often looked tired in his press conferences, actually, but he still took the point; it was a dignified sort of weariness, one that said he had a lot of weight on his shoulders but he was bearing up under it, rather than that he was reaching the point of exhaustion.
"Then should I be seeing him today at all?" he wondered. At least partly out of desire not to be a burden, as opposed to raging nerves. He'd grown comfortable enough interacting with Josh fairly quickly, but there was a whole world of difference between the Deputy Chief of Staff and the president. Josh might have many impressive qualities, but an imposing air of dignified mystery wasn't one of them.
"Don't worry, you're fine," she told him absently.
"When will the president will be free?"
"Right now." They swung to the right, and suddenly there was the Oval Office. Charlie Young was there to greet them with a nod.
"Hey, Donna. Go right in," he directed.
Swallowing slightly, and wishing he'd thought to start psyching himself up earlier on, Ash followed her through into the Oval. And so, without further warning, there he was again face to face with his country's leader.
Or rather, knee to face, since the President of the United States was currently sitting of the carpet of this most famous of offices, trying to persuade his kitten to bat at a small fluffy toy of some description.
Donna swallowed a giggle. "Good morning, Mr. President."
"Good morning, Donna," he said expansively, with a flicker of a brilliant grin. He hauled himself up with the aid of the corner of his desk, and straightened his tie. Somehow, the utter lack of embarrassment about the position he'd been caught in robbed it of its indignity.
Still, there was no denying it had rather deflated the pomp of the occasion. Ash's jelly legs steadied themselves enough for him to risk a shaky smile of his own. "Okay, suddenly this isn't quite as intimidating as I was expecting," he noted.
"You hear that, Buster?" the president enquired of his pet. "You're bad for my image. Either you're going to have to learn to look properly dignified, or else we're going to have to trade you in for a tiger."
Donna grinned, and knelt to allow the kitten to sniff her hand. "He's a cutie, isn't he?"
"See. Right there. 'Cutie'. That, to my mind, is not a presidential word." His warm smile graciously included Ash in this moment of light-heartedness. His whole demeanour couldn't have been more different from the sternly unapproachable man he'd seemed the morning before.
Donna straightened up, and glanced briefly at the president.
"Okay, thank you, Donna," he said, with an acknowledging nod; a polite dismissal, but clearly more than just a formality. Genial or not, he was still the man with the power.
"Thank you, Mr. President. Would you like me to take Buster?" Donna asked as she was leaving. The president waved her away.
"No, he can stay." He glanced sideways at Ash. "You don't mind if he listens in on your interview, I hope?"
"As long as he doesn't take notes."
He was rewarded with an infectious grin, and relaxed a little. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad...