"Morning, Charlie."
"Mr. President."
Despite the fact that both had already been at it for some time, this was the first time today that Young had managed to exchange even this basic pleasantry with his boss. As he stood aside to let the last uniformed figure pass out into reception, the aide looked down at the executive schedule and sighed. That had been the fourth meeting of the morning, and it wasn't even ten AM.
Hell, the President had already been in the middle of his second meeting of the day when Young had arrived at his desk at what would have been an ungodly early hour in just about any other office in the world. Their only communication up to now had been confined to his quietly ferrying a mug of coffee to the somewhat bleary-eyed President and receiving a nod of gratitude. It looked very much like shaping up to be one of those days, even by Oval Office standards.
"Did you sleep well, sir?"
"I overslept, Charlie, owing to some devious behind-the-scenes plotting to cancel my morning alarm call." Bartlet eyed his aide's expression of wide-eyed innocence derisively. Not that he could blame the boy; he knew just who the main instigator of that particular scheme had to have been. He was grateful to his old friend, but still… it wouldn't do to give them the idea that Jed Bartlet was a pushover for being manipulated, however gently, and he did have one potential victim for retribution right here. His lips curled mischievously. "Fortunately, the First Lady took it upon herself to institute a wake-up call of her own."
Charlie Young had one of the most maddeningly imperturbable faces his boss had ever encountered, but there was no mistaking that sudden, subtle shift from innocence to a glazed, fixed and panicky 'oh dear God, no details, please' look about the eyes. He adored his employer and, like the rest of the West Wing staff, took an almost personal pride in the obvious and genuine bond the First Couple shared, but he would never, ever get entirely used to their open playfulness. It was almost an art form, the way they rarely actually said anything you could point to, but just tossed out teasing comments and then stood back and watched as the listeners' imagination take over. He was very glad that his coloring at least hid his blushes.
His boss smirked, and then took pity on him. "Where's Leo at this morning?"
"I believe he's in a meeting with the NSC."
The President's responding grimace could be only partly attributed to the now tepid coffee he was sipping. "Wonderful. That's never a good sign. Ask him to step in, when he's got a minute?"
"I've got one now, Mr. President, if you do." McGarry appeared at the connecting door to his office, buttoning his suit jacket." The President waved him in. "Did you have a good night, sir?" There was no mistaking the faint, knowing grin the Chief of Staff wore.
Bartlet glowered at his old friend. "Very nice, thank you."
McGarry sensibly decided to let that go. "How's the hand? Did Hackett catch up with you?"
"You were in on that?" Bartlet's tone was outraged. "You all set me up! Yes, you too." This last was hurled after Charlie as the young man attempted to slide discreetly from the room. "You and I are going to have a little chat about relative loyalties one of these days, Mister."
His aide paused in the doorway, and replied to the rebuke with studied dignity. "It's not a question of loyalty, sir, so much as yielding to the overriding authority of the White House Prime Directive."
The President blinked. "And that would be?"
"In matters relating to the presidential well-being, one does not ever conceal from, obfuscate or lie to the First Lady." Young bowed and gracefully withdrew under cover of Bartlet's astonished snort.
McGarry smiled, then sobered. "Everything okay, sir?" He nodded towards the other's bound hand, noticing with slight anxiety that the wrappings appeared fractionally bulkier now than they had on the preceding evening.
Bartlet's grimace indicated his clear distaste for the subject. "I tore a few stitches. Hackett wrapped me up to try and stop it happening again." He looked woefully at the dressings. "And he's going to make me undo this lot for examination twice a day now."
He thoughtfully turned his hand over for a moment, then abruptly dismissed it, looking up to pin his companion with a sharp gaze. "You've been meeting with the NSC?"
McGarry regarded his President wryly. "Your speech tossed a pretty big cat in among the pigeons."
"Well, that was what we wanted, wasn't it?" Bartlet leaned back in his chair, motioning his chief advisor towards the chair opposite. With the man comfortably seated, he finished, "I'm not playing games anymore, Leo. No more brinkmanship. We're going to do this thing."
"It'll be a fight to gain funding in Congress. They'll say it's Russia's problem, not ours."
Bartlet snorted. "I think recent events have underlined that it's everyone's problem."
"Congress doesn't know about recent events," McGarry pointed out reasonably. "They definitely don't know the full story behind that." He nodded towards his friend's bandaged hand.
"C.J. must be going crazy trying to spin the events at the farmhouse, too." Bartlet spared a sympathetic thought for his Press Secretary. Maybe it was time to see about getting her a raise. She'd certainly earned it this past week. "We can't afford to tell the truth about this, Leo. The implications for national security are too serious, and then there's the economic impact when Wall Street goes into a tailspin. To say nothing of the implications for our partner in this proposed treaty."
"Breaking the story that Russian organized crime took out a contract on the President of the United States certainly won't help our relations, or win funding for any bilateral treaties, that's for sure."
"Indeed," Bartlet said bleakly. "I won't hang Chagarin out to dry on this, Leo. The meeting in Helsinki could still mark a real turning point in this war. He wants to rid his country of this, as badly as we do."
"So badly that he was prepared to risk hanging you out," McGarry pointed out, anger building in his voice. "He knew. He knew for so long, even before Helsinki. About the contract, the Red Mafia, about Volkov. And he said nothing."
"You said it yourself, Leo," Bartlet pointed out mildly. "He didn't dare risk my not going to Helsinki, or refusing to meet him. He was too weak, fighting against a hostile Duma clinging to its old Cold War paranoia about the West. He had the vision to wish to rid his country and ours of the threat of unchecked nuclear proliferation. He knew the danger that existed in his own back yard. The Soviet nuclear industry was open for business with anyone who could afford to pay. He wanted to tackle the threat, but he couldn't do it alone."
"The man served twenty years in the KGB, Mr. President. I really wouldn't underestimate his ability to be devious."
"He's a reformer, Leo. And he asked for my help."
"He could have warned us," McGarry insisted stubbornly.
"Yes, he could have." Bartlet sighed. "He did at least give us a name in the end."
"I'm still not sure that wasn't Nadia on her own initiative."
"Doesn't make any difference now. We've thrown the ball out there. We can't go and take it back, Leo, and I'm not sure I want to. The nuclear black market is a threat and an obscenity. It's murder for profit and we need to prick the complacence of these people and stop them cold. This is one war I can feel good about waging."
"And Volkov?" McGarry regarded his companion seriously and didn't miss the dark flicker of pain that flashed through the man's eyes.
Bartlet shook his head slowly. "A different battle, Leo, in a slightly different war. Let's leave that to the people whose job it is, shall we?" His face tightened slightly with irritation at the sudden memory that one of the chief strategists of that particular brand of warfare had yet to make an appearance. He was going to have some choice words for Ron Butterfield when the man finally showed up.
The Chief of Staff threaded his fingers together and rested his chin on them. "Our own battle seems to have taken another step since your highly inflammatory speech yesterday."
"Forwards or backwards?"
"I'm honestly not sure. Neither is the NSC, which is why I've spent the last hour listening to Nancy and her minions arguing with me."
"Her minions?" Bartlet looked up sharply. "And here I thought my first problem would be with Congress. They're all pissed at me?"
"No more than usual. No," McGarry leaned forward in his chair. "I had an interesting phone call just over an hour ago. Nadia Koslowski."
"Why?"
"Requesting that you accept a personal phone call from President Chagarin in - " McGarry glanced at his watch, "- approximately ten minutes' time."
Bartlet's head snapped up. "Really?"
"Yes, sir."
"He had his ambassador arrange a phone appointment? Rather than follow the usual White House communications channels?"
"On the day after you announced your intention to do everything in your power to assist the Soviet authorities to clamp down on nuclear black marketing," McGarry agreed placidly. "See why I've spent the last hour trying to calm the NSC?"
"Next time take along a whip and chair." The President chewed at his lip. "What do you think is going on?"
His friend shrugged. "I just know that Nadia was very careful to emphasize to me that this would be a personal call. She described it as a tête-à-tête."
"No translators?" Bartlet eyed his companion incredulously.
"That was my overwhelming impression."
"He really is flying under the radar with this one, isn't he? Leo, I don't speak Russian."
"Chagarin speaks English."
"Well enough for this?"
"As you may remember, his preference is to use interpreters for official communiqués and negotiations, but there is every reason to believe that he has good conversational English." Sam had been the one to pick that one out. McGarry could only hope he was right. "Enough to conduct a private phone call."
Bartlet thought for an instant, and then asked, "We're set up for this?"
"Yes, sir." McGarry nodded to the phone on the desk. "A line has been cleared, and I have a translator standing by in my office in case we run into difficulties."
"What about Fitz and Nancy?"
"Waiting outside, sir. They'd like to be in on this, but they'll defer to your judgment."
Bartlet nodded sharply. "Okay, get them in here and let's do this."
McGarry rose and opened the door into reception, nodding to the two waiting outside, as they accepted the unspoken invitation. Bartlet looked up as they entered.
"Morning, Fitz, Nancy."
"Mr. President," Fitzwallace rumbled, while the National Security Advisor confined herself to a brisk nod of the head to her Chief Executive.
"Shaping up to be an interesting morning, isn't it?"
"And it's barely gone ten o'clock," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs agreed amicably, as he eased his sturdy frame onto one of the couches.
Nancy McNally rarely took time for pleasantries. "Mr. President, do you have any idea what President Chagarin may have in mind with this phone call?"
"Not a one, Nancy." Bartlet spread his hands. "I swear to God."
"Hmm." The NSA cocked her head to one side to regard him narrowly. "I'm not sure whether to be pleased or nervous about that, sir. Your speech yesterday was… interesting."
McGarry swallowed a grin as Bartlet actually squirmed slightly. "Yes, about that Nancy - "
She continued remorselessly. "Only I don't remember the preliminary negotiations at Helsinki, or indeed anything since, resulting in such definite, not to say fiery, proposals."
Bartlet grinned. "Toby was on a roll, wasn't he?"
"He wasn't the only one," Fitz muttered, not even trying to hide his amusement, and unfazed by the glare his Chief Executive tossed at him.
Nancy stood in front of the Kennedy desk, arms folded. "Not that I don't applaud the intention, sir, because this is a problem with grave implications for international security, but was it wise? Don't forget, this is still a war - of an unprecedented kind. I don't like the idea of you placing yourself so firmly on the front lines once again. Especially so soon."
"I have to put my money where my mouth is, Nancy."
The NSA harrumphed, unable to put her heart into arguing against a stance she secretly admired. "Well, leaving that aside, sir, we have absolutely no guarantee that the Russians will respond to your call for cooperation. And if they don't come forward, then the war is lost before it's even joined. Our own Congress will kill the initiative dead, and probably try to bury you in the process."
McGarry winced. "Nancy, could you possibly find another metaphor to make your point?"
Nancy had the decency to look suitably mortified at her slip of the tongue. "Sorry, Leo."
"I know what you're saying, Nancy," Bartlet said, placating them both and heading off a confrontation of words he did not want to be in the middle of. "Don't think that I haven't thought of all those possibilities. But someone had to step forward first. Chagarin came to me, remember. I've stepped forward. Now I have to trust that he'll come to meet me."
"He came to you through back channels and covert messages, sir." Nancy's displeasure was evident. "And now he's doing it again. He withheld vital information that put your life at risk, and he has yet to give proof that he will do anything himself to bring this situation to an end. What proof do we have of his sincere intent, or will he leave you alone to draw the fire, emerging later to pick up the pieces?"
The ringing of the phone broke the challenging silence that followed this speech.
Bartlet nodded to his advisor. "Well, we're about to find out." He picked up the phone and pressed the speaker button. At least, he hoped it was the speaker button. "This is President Bartlet."
The voice that emerged from the speaker was heavily accented and filled with the minute hesitations of a person struggling with an unfamiliar tongue. "President Bartlet, this is President Chagarin. I thank you, sir, for taking my call."
"My pleasure, sir." Bartlet glanced across at his companions. "But before we proceed, I must tell you that I am not alone."
A pause, then, "I see. May I ask, who is with you?"
"My Chief of Staff, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and my National Security Advisor." Sensing the other's hesitation, Bartlet added, "They are also friends."
"Which means that you give them your trust."
"Yes." There was no hesitation in the President's reply.
"For me, the word friend has a particular meaning." The Soviet President's tone seemed to ease slightly, as if he found this thought comforting. "I think that for you too it is not given lightly?"
Bartlet looked across at his Chief of Staff and smiled. "No, sir, it is not. When you have experienced what true friendship can mean, it makes you reluctant to dilute the term with overuse."
McGarry rolled his eyes slightly, but could not help smiling. He knew of many who counted themselves friends of the President, and indeed had reason to believe so. Jed was a warm, gregarious, sociable man. But McGarry also understood beyond question that very few of them really knew him. Jed was wary of new people, slow to let them inside. McGarry flashed back almost half a dozen years, hearing Josh Lyman's exasperated query as to just how many people got close enough to Jed Bartlet to know him, and his own quiet reply, "Not that many."
If they were lucky, they just might be adding another to the list.
"Indeed." Chagarin's voice sounded almost sad. "I too had a friend like that once. Such trust, I have never since felt for another person."
"I am sorry." Bartlet truly was. To bear the weight of such a position and have no one on whom you could totally rely to have your back… he felt cold at the thought.
"It is about trust that I wish to speak to you today, Mr. President." Chagarin's voice had not lost its melancholy undertone, but it firmed and grew more business-like, the heavy consonants becoming more guttural.
"Although you wished to speak with me privately?" Bartlet could not keep the slight tinge of irony from his tone.
"I did not say on whose side the distrust should lie, sir." There was a note of black humor in the reply.
"Indeed." Bartlet raised his eyebrows quizzically at his companions, who were hanging expectantly on each and every word being spoken. "I presume that this call is also in relation to my speech yesterday?"
"To the speech, yes. It was a powerful speech, a bold offer."
"A serious offer, President Chagarin. I only await a response." Bartlet felt himself tense in the following silence.
"I chose to make this conversation private because I cannot yet speak for my Duma, sir."
"I understand." The President of the United States sagged slightly in his chair.
"I also chose to make this private because I want to promise you that I will work to make them see the necessity of accepting your offer."
Bartlet saw Fitz and Nancy straighten slightly out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you, sir. That is all I ask. And thank you for your confidence in me. I know it is never an easy task to admit that you do not have the full support of your government."
"I would never admit such a thing in public." Chagarin's tone was only half-joking now.
"I hear you." Bartlet grinned wryly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm sorry. I understand what you are saying."
"Ahh. Sir, I must ask you. With all honesty, do you think your Congress will agree to such a treaty? To assist my country against this trouble?"
Bartlet pursed his lips and looked across at the intent McGarry. "I cannot say, sir. But I can promise you that, like yourself, I will do everything in my power to bring this agreement into being."
"I have your assurance on that?" Chagarin's voice was urgent.
"You do."
"Thank you, Mr. President." There was no mistaking the relief now. "To have the knowledge of such an assurance, it will be of help to me. There are many moderates among my own people, you understand? They know we cannot do this alone. But if I can convince them that you will fight with us against the criminals and the corrupters, they may well join us."
"I will fight, Mr. President."
"Recent events have convinced me of that, sir. Which brings us back to the trust I mentioned." A slight hesitation and the phone line crackled in the silence. "I owe you an apology."
"Mr. President?" Bartlet kept his voice deliberately non-committal.
"I think you understand me, sir."
"I do." Bartlet decided frankness was the best policy. "I will not lie to you, Mr. President. Your decision to remain silent was ill-judged, and costly."
"I know it." The regret was palpable in the other's tone. "It has cost you in particular a great deal. My decision was wrong, sir. I can offer no excuse, save this. I feared that the truth would cause you to wish to have nothing to do with me. I saw you, sir, as my best hope for the future. In my eagerness to grasp that hope, I almost allowed it to be destroyed. I brought danger upon you, and for that I am sorry."
"I accept your apology." Honestly, could he do anything less? The President could feel for the man, even if his actions had unleashed a storm of violence over Bartlet's head. "Your intentions were sincere, and your goal worthy. If we can only get this started, well… it will go on with or without me." He could feel the glare McGarry shot towards at this point, positively singeing him in his tracks.
"I would not find that an acceptable price to pay," the Soviet President said seriously. "You have already paid enough in this battle, and it is not even yours to fight."
"It has become my fight, and it should be fought by all of us, for this is a menace that threatens everyone. I do not regret my involvement."
"I hope that neither you nor your family will have cause to feel such regret." Chagarin hesitated, sounding almost reluctant to close the conversation. "Mr. President, I thank you for the hope you have offered me, and my regret for the danger you have incurred, all unknowing, on my behalf."
"I only ask that the sacrifices and the blood shed thus far not be wasted."
"I will do my best. Goodbye… my friend."
Bartlet regarded the speaker, startled, and then glanced up to see if his companions had noticed the change in address. They had, if their stunned expressions were any indication. He looked over at McGarry, the man's shocked features speaking volumes.
He's telling me that he trusts me, asking me to trust him. Impulsively Bartlet spoke, "Goodbye, Piotr."
He pronounced it Peter, the Western pronunciation smoothing the harsh Slavic consonants. Chagarin did not correct him, perhaps comforted by the softened sound of his given name and what it implied. Bartlet imagined his counter part putting down the phone on his end, feeling lightened in mood for the first time in months, as if he had been granted a measure of absolution.
Perhaps they both had.
In the Oval Office, Bartlet replaced his own receiver and looked at his companions. "Well, what do you make of that?"
Fitzwallace glanced at McGarry and Nancy before replying carefully, "I'd say, Mr. President, that President Chagarin just stepped forward."
Bartlet nodded slowly, and then brought his good hand down onto the Kennedy desk with a triumphant clap. "We've finally got ourselves a battlefield, people."